The Last Eligible Bachelor - Ashtyn Newbold Page 0,22
Mrs. Ollerton was right. It made much more sense than the fears that had begun to take root inside me: that he might have genuinely found something to admire in me. Don’t be ridiculous, Tillie. No man had ever found anything to admire in me. I had spent much of my Season on the outskirts of the ballroom, only invited to dance when I was, just as Mrs. Ollerton had said, pitied.
“How would you all like to be entertained this evening?” Mrs. Ollerton asked. “Perhaps we might recite a bit of poetry? I rarely have the opportunity to be surrounded by so many young and intelligent people with whom to discuss the deeper meanings behind verse.”
Mr. Hill leaned against the armrest of his chair—the one closer to me. “I am quite fond of poetry.”
“Especially when it is read by pretty young ladies?” Miss Downsfield raised one eyebrow with a coy smile.
“That does increase my fondness of any poem.” He gave a charming smile, and I had to refrain from groaning. That comment alone would give Miss Downsfield far too much pleasure. As I expected, Miss Downsfield sat back with a satisfied smile aimed in Miss Benham’s direction.
“Poems recited from memory are even more impressive,” Mr. Hill said. “I will be quite eager to hear if any of you have one to share.”
A look of panic stole over Miss Downsfield’s features before they smoothed over once again. If only I could share my arsenal with her. I had dozens of poems memorized from the days my governess had encouraged extensive reading. I had not been required to memorize them, but I had wanted to, so I would never forget the beautiful words and messages. Papa valued poetry, and he had taught me to regard it as a deep, meaningful form of art—words forged in the heart. Tonight, of course, knowing that Mr. Hill liked poetry, I would voice opinions quite to the contrary.
“Who would like to stand first?” Mrs. Ollerton’s eyes gleamed with excitement in the candlelight. “Perhaps Mr. Hill might call on each lady to rise and share a poem? And I would be quite loath if Mr. Hill did not also recite his favorite poem for our enjoyment.”
“I would be glad to.” Mr. Hill chuckled. He turned toward me. “Miss Sedgwick, do you have a poem to recite?”
I met his gaze, maintaining eye contact so he could not decipher my lies. “I’m afraid not. I have never seen fit to memorize a poem. I do not enjoy poetry in the slightest.”
His eyebrows rose, causing two long creases to appear in his forehead. Even with that expression he was unjustly handsome. “Will it be torturous for you to endure this evening of poetry, then?” That teasing glint was still in his eyes.
“No, I shall endure it, but I will not contribute to something I so thoroughly dislike.” I put on a grimace. I may have been doing it too brown, but my points had failed to come across boldly enough in the past. Mr. Hill often took my words as jest when they were not.
Mr. Hill studied my face for a long moment. “That is a shame. I was looking forward to your recitation.” His mouth curved upward on one corner, the teasing grin I had come to recognize. “So I should like to hear you sing for us instead.”
Chapter 7
“Oh, Miss Sedgwick, I did not know you were an accomplished singer.” Mrs. Ollerton sat on the edge of her chair, her eyes round with excitement.
I would have glared at Mr. Hill, but everyone in the room was now watching me. He had heard my horrendous singing in the gardens. Why would he ever think that asking me to sing was a good idea?
By the sly grin on his lips, I could tell that he had only suggested it to embarrass me. He likely wanted to watch me blush and stammer and avoid singing for the crowd. So I would do precisely the opposite.
Although my heart pounded furiously in my chest, I maintained an even expression.
Mrs. Ollerton continued, “Well, we would be privileged to hear a song from Miss Sedgwick in the place of poetry, wouldn’t we, Mr. Hill?” She did not have any qualms about offering flirtatious smiles of her own toward Mr. Hill, and he did not even flinch, as accustomed as he was to making women into fools.
I gritted my teeth, keeping a pleasant smile on my lips to cover it.