The Proletarian of Mayfair

Chapter Six

"It only takes a moment to know another's soul."
The Secret Journal of B.T.

By the end of the week, Benjamin Twombley was not only tired of conversing with young ladies, he had not felt a spark with any of them like he had with Miss Bridgerton-Sharpe. They were acceptable matches, but none were extraordinary. None had the chance to offer him a life that would keep him smiling.

"It is the Hastings Ball. I may not like Lady Hastings, but it does not mean we can afford to be late." His mother, if she continued to talk like this, would make them both late. "This is your chance to solidify associations with the many young ladies I've presented to you. Did you find any of them appealing?"

Ben froze. He could not tell her the truth. In reality, he had hardly paid any of the chits any attention. How could he pick one that was appealing when he did not know one from another?

Before he could answer, his mother took the lead as she always did. "Perhaps one will strike your fancy at the ball tonight. There are many eligible young ladies in the ton."

What if he wished to look outside the limits of his station? He knew there could be so much more if only he was allowed to choose who he preferred rather than who was preferred by good society.

"Perhaps," Ben replied, adding in his head, if I was allowed to wait, this would all work out so much better.

But, alas, his mama had made that impossible.

"You should get ready. There is not much time before we must leave." He could agree with that—with only a half hour, his valet would surely be upset with him for putting this all off.

Unlike most gentlemen, he rarely wore black—other colors, such as blue or green or even white, made him feel more confident. Black was such a depressing color and far more formal than he ever felt he had a need to be. Of course, the Hastings ball was one of the most formal events, but he could not force it.

So, instead, he dressed in a green suit coat with the hems stitched in gold thread. His white shirt was the same standard shirt everyone else wore, but the jacket and pants were sure to put everyone else to shame.

"I am ready, mother," Ben said with exactly seven minutes to spare. He extended an arm towards her, who was dressed in a gown that was such a light blue he had a hard time believing it was not white.

That was the way she always dressed; not white, as she was not a demure debutante anymore, but very close.

"That is a...," she studied him for a moment, "...daring choice. It might just draw young ladies towards you."

He did not care whether or not she approved. Whether ladies were flocking to him or not was not on his mind.

All that he could think about was the way he imagined Olivia Bridgerton-Sharpe was dressed. Taken in under the wing of Lady Hastings, she would be one every gentleman would flock to—if they were not scared of her heritage. Her beauty and poise and wit would have any man intrigued. He only wished for a single dance to determine how angry his mama would be.

And angry she would be.

"...and remember, you cannot, under any circumstances, go anywhere near Miss Bridgerton-Sharpe. She is of a forbidden fruit, of a vile and tainted heritage I will not allow this family to be associated with. Do you understand?" He snapped back into reality as his mama discussed, yet again, how Miss Bridgerton-Sharpe was off-limits.

"I am not to go anywhere near her," He repeated.

"Perfect." Cressida's smile gleamed as she looked to the darkening streets of Mayfair.