The Brahmin Ball (A Sweet Historical Romance Novella) (Brahmin Brides Book 1) Read Free

her. And soon after, another.
    With each partner who asked her to dance, she hoped that her secret admirer would reveal himself. But no man did.
    At last she felt that she needed a rest and some cool air—the ballroom was crowded and stifling. The parlors and libraries of the Boston Brahmin were no match for the growing “Calling List” that each socialite kept, from which she drew her invitation list, and the balls had swelled to numbers that tested the limits of even the largest home. Though her mother abhorred the idea, Grace longed for the day that balls were done the “New York way”—renting out entire restaurants or halls to host a ball.
    A few of the New York City elite had dared to do so, and after much ado about the new trend, it was gaining popularity. Trying to make her way across the crowded music room toward the blissful relief of an open window that overlooked the back end of the home, Grace could understand why. A few others were already gathered there to partake of the cold breeze, and Grace was eager to join them.
    “Did you like the rose?” The voice from behind startled her.
    She whirled to see a handsome, tall man in finely tailored garb. His thick, jet hair swept back from his face, and trailed down over the back of his collar. His dark eyes sparkled, and a smile played about his lips.
    “It was you!” she exclaimed. “Yes, it was lovely, thank you. But I must admit, I’m surprised that a man such as yourself would feel the need to send a rose anonymously.”
    “A man such as myself?” A hint of concern passed over his face.
    “Yes…I half-expected someone unattractive, or very short,” she laughed.
    “Then you think I’m attractive?” His smile was undeniably fetching.
    “I…I meant…” she was flustered, and reached for the easiest excuse “…that is, it’s unusual for a man to pluck a rose from an arrangement and send it to a young lady anonymously, rather than just ask her to dance directly.”
    “I’m terribly embarrassed. You figured me out. I had hoped you’d believe that I ran out into the cold and woke a florist from his bed in order to purchase it for you.” He laughed, then leaned in with a low voice. “However…I haven’t asked you to dance.”
    “Oh.” Her cheeks burned, and she glanced around to see if anyone had just witnessed her humiliation.
    “Not that I don’t want to,” he rushed to add, “but I prefer conversation to dancing…dancing is not my forte. Why else would I have sent the rose, rather than invite you to dance?”
    She narrowed her gaze. “Something tells me there’s more to the anonymous rose than a mere lack of dance skills.”
    A shadow passed over his eyes, but it was gone before she could make note of its meaning.
    “Forgive me for intruding.” Clara appeared at Grace’s side, leaning in to whisper. “Mother is looking for you. Likely she has a particular ‘victim’ in mind.”
    Grace’s stomach churned. She wouldn’t be forced away from a man who actually intrigued her, to meet whatever boring rich man her mother had in mind. “Mr. Gladstone, may I introduce you to my youngest sister, Miss Clara Barstow.”
    “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Gladstone.” Clara dipped in a slight curtsey.
    Mr. Gladstone returned the gesture with a bow of the head. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Barstow.”
    “Clara, please tell Mother that I’m otherwise engaged. Mr. Gladstone just invited me to dance.”
    “I…did?” He was taken aback, then recovered. “That is…I’m glad you’ve accepted.”
    “I’ll tell Mother.” Clara nodded, taking her leave.
    “Thank you for being gallant. Mother will spend the entire evening trying to match me up with someone wholly unacceptable, if I let her. I apologize for taking advantage of your kindness.”
    “If pretending that I asked you to dance will keep you at my side a few minutes longer, I’m happy to oblige.”
    “Oh, I’m afraid you don’t understand.” Grace smiled sweetly. “If my