“Nothing,” Prudence said. “You don’t have to perform. Just be here.”
“Pick one easy thing,” Charity said. “Like… breathe and remember you like the violins.”
“I do like the violins,” Maria admitted, a small smile starting.
“And if you forget, we’re right here,” Alethea touched her elbow.
Maria glanced at their hands, then up. “Thank you. Truly.”
“You’ll get better at this. Everyone else has been practicing their whole lives. You’re starting now, that’s all.”
“Will I ever feel natural?” Maria asked.
“Yes,” Prudence said. “In time. You will.”
Stephen told himself to stop looking.
It did not work.
Across the room, his wife stood in pale blue and small stitched stars, and every time he glanced away, something in him turned his head back again. He had ordered the gown because the shade suited her skin and because the seamstress had sworn the cut would not bully her frame. He had expected “very nice.” He had not expected this: the way the light found her and stayed,the way the neckline made her look composed rather than displayed, the way she stood like herself and a little more.
Stop it, he told himself, and found his eyes there again.
She was not alone, and her friends hovered around her. He waited until they drifted off, and only Lady Charity was left. It was not as though he found her friends to be a bother, not the least. But rather it would be easier to approach his own wife if she were surrounded by one friend rather than three.
Go to her, he thought.
He excused himself from a conversation that had turned into a monologue, nodded to two matrons, and crossed the floor by the sensible route rather than the shortest. When he reached Maria and Charity, he bowed to both.
They greeted him back, but Stephen could not bring himself to meet Maria’s gaze.
“Are you…” He cleared his throat, “Have you made many acquaintances this evening?”
Maria paused.
“I have seen my friends,” she said quietly. “I have spoken with Lady Dalrymple and two others whose names I did not lose immediately.”
“Excellent,” Stephen said, eyes now fascinated by the top edge of her glove. “It is… it is useful to continue. One must be seen. Make a mark as a duchess.”
Charity glanced between them, confusion knitting her brow.
“I shall fetch lemon ice,” she announced to no one in particular, and vanished into the crowd.
Maria watched Charity go and then looked back at Stephen, waiting. When he did not meet her gaze, she spoke again.
“Making a mark is hard,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. Still, speak to more people.”
“To say what?” Her voice was mild, not defensive. “I can say ‘good evening’ and ‘how do you do’ and ‘what a lovely floor.’ I run out quickly.”
“Ask after their mothers,” Stephen suggested, still fixing his attention one inch to the left of her shoulder. “Or their sons. Or their gardeners. Gardeners are safe.”
“Gardeners,” Maria repeated, and would have smiled if she were not trying to catch his eyes. “I will attempt it.”
He nodded, too brisk.
“Very good.”