The Proletarian of Mayfair

Chapter Seven

"What if I do not know what my heart yearns for when I fall asleep?"
The Romantic Writings of O.P.B.S.

For days, Olivia replayed her dance with Lord Twombley. Benjamin, she reminded herself. He asked her to call him Benjamin. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard him whisper that in her ear as they waltzed across the floor.

Her dress still hung in the wardrobe, reminding her of the night she was swept up in his arms. They were firm and warm and pulled her just close enough that she could smell the cinnamon of the spice cakes that floated around the room.

When she tasted one at the end of the night, it reminded her of that dance.

She knew the memory of that dance would never leave her, not fully. Each time she listened to that waltz, she would feel his hand pressing into the small of her back. It would not matter whether she married him or not. Olivia would treasure that memory forever and the way it felt to stun all those in attendance.

Then, he leaned in and whispered that, from now on, she could only call him Benjamin. Her entire body still flushed bright pink when she remembered how he said it.

After the waltz, she was asked to dance by three other men. A dance card had six slots, so filling more than one made her heart soar with promise. Perhaps this would end with an engagement, and eventually marriage.

The other three men were Mr. Langham, Lord Corning, and Lord Morrison. Lord Morrison simply wished to meet her and know her as a future cousin-in-law. Despite the rumours flying about that she was attempting to poach him for herself, they both promised they would be friends and nothing more.

After her last dance, she told Caroline she approved of him; he was a man with a good heart and a bit of wit that would balance her well.

She sat with Caroline, Aunt Daphne, Uncle Simon, and David in the drawing room. Caroline was working on a watercolor painting, which resembled (in the most broad sense of the word) a sunset over the Thames. Daphne was working on embroidery, not that she was any better at that than her daughter was at watercolors. It did not change the fact that Simon still told her it was beautiful and she was beautiful. David made a motion as if to indicate gagging.

Olivia stifled the urge to laugh at her younger cousin. Sitting at the piano, she felt music pull her fingers onto the ivory and ebony keys.

It started soft, a little fun. A crescendo drew the melody from the background to the surface as she thought about all the little things that made the Hastings Ball stick in her mind longer than she imagined it would.

I think you're beautiful, Olivia, echoed in her mind. Benjamin's words made her feel beautiful for the first time in her life. You are so much more than any woman here ever could be.

She could see the rest of her life by his side, but there were so many things she needed to know before then. It was obvious his mama did not approve of her. Did he imagine himself raising children? She did not have much of a dowry; did he care about that? No one in society approved of her; would he mind living in the country? Olivia dreamed of living in the country, where nature and solitude were at her fingertips.

Before she dared to enter a marriage with any man, she would need to know his hopes and dreams, whether he liked sweet things or a bit spicier ones, and whether he would love her through the highs and lows.

In sickness and in health, as their vows would say.

The piece ended just as the door to the drawing room opened.

"There is a caller for Miss Bridgerton-Sharpe," Jeffries said to the quiet room.

"Please, let him in," Daphne did not utter a word about what she had played. It did not matter to her; she rarely got to play before joining the Hastings household for the season. Even now it was a rare occurrence, but the keys still felt as familiar as when she was at the height of her abilities. "Olivia, did you compose that yourself?"