“It feels good to be back in your own flock, doesn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” he said with a smile designed to be seductive.
From the corner of his eye, Talbot could see Elizabeth conversing animatedly with her unimportant dance partner, and he wondered what she was saying. The sentiment struck him as odd and unnatural, for heknewwhat Lady Helena would say next.
He then wondered whether Elizabeth was stepping on the man’s toes, and hoped she wasn’t, for her sake. He directed all his focus on Lady Helena and herunforestlikeeyes and didn’t let his gaze stray for the rest of the dance.
*
Elizabeth couldn't remember a lot about her debut. She knew she had worn the yellow dress with the exquisitely and intricately embroidered bodice, which, in the coming years, Mary would often blame for her poor eyesight. She knew that Mary had painstakingly curled her hair and pinned it up in anintricate hairdo, because her scalp ached and tingled for days afterwards. Everything else? The atmosphere, the people, the ballroom? It was like a hazy memory that belonged to someone else.
Afterwards, both Nicholas and Sophie seemed proud, and they both told her she had done well. That was something she'd never forget – how the pride had straightened her brother's body to make him look even taller, and the warm liquid joy that spread from her heart into all of her limbs at the knowledge that she had pleased him. That she had stopped, even briefly, being the burdensome, shameful secret their dead father had kept, and instead had become a proper young lady who does well while presented to the Ton.
Strangely, during the carriage ride home, she also remembered a conversation she’d had with her mother leading up to her debut. She briefly had a vision of a younger Catherine’s tear-stained face after being told she wouldn't have the Season in London she’d been promised, because her father had gambled all their money away. She thought of her mother as a young governess, running after Isolde's snotty children and then being noticed by a duke. She thought of warm liquid joy and fatherless young women until the carriage motion lulled her to sleep.
Chapter 6
“Any invitations?” was the first thing out of Catherine Williams's mouth every morning at breakfast since the day Lizzie had made her debut.
At first, Lizzie would exchange glances with Mary or Jane and shake her head, smiling at her mother's impatience. But once a fortnight had passed, it stopped being funny.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” Mrs. Barlow told Miss Catherine as they all sat in the kitchen one night. “Just yesterday, Miss Lizzie went for a walk with Lady Isabella and that good-looking husband of hers. How many of these outings is she supposed to go on?”
Lizzie immediately looked over at Mary, who stopped washing the dish she was holding and said, “Ma, I’ll tell Dad that you peek at other men from the window.”
“I only look out of curiosity,” Mrs. Barlow said primly. “Besides, you know my opinion on good-looking men.”
Both girls knew very well that Mrs. Barlow disliked good-looking men and believed that they never belonged to one womanalone. Even if he doesn’t stray, other women will stare at him wherever he goes,she’d say whenever the topic came up, much to Mary’s amusement.
“Doesn’t Pa ever get offended that you keep calling him ugly?” Mary asked as she sat back down at the table with the other women.
“Mind your mouth, Mary. I asked Madam a question, not you.”
“I’m afraid there are many more events and balls Elizabeth needs to be invited to, in order to meet the right people and be seen by them,” Catherine said, ignoring the effortlessreparteebetween mother and daughter.
“The right men, you mean?” Lizzie added, using insolence to hide the jealousy and shame she felt.
Aunt Isolde had used every opportunity tokindlypoint out that Lizzie wasn’t getting as many invitations as Charlotte had last year. It had caused Elizabeth to foolishly wish Charlotte weren't away at her husband's estate in Sussex, because that would mean at least one dinner invitation she could count on.
“Not only men, Elizabeth. Lady Fairchild returning your visit was very good. It means you will likely be invited to any balls her family may give.”
“Is she the handsome blonde?” Jane asked.
“No,” Miss Williams replied, “That’s Miss Woodhouse. Lady Fairchild is the thin, tall one.”
“The poor thing looks like a strong wind could knock her over,” Jane said. “She needs to eat more.”
“I’m sure she eats enough,” Lizzie frowned, not liking how they were talking about her friend.
I consider them both friends,she realised with a start.
“You should ask her for dinner. I’ll prepare a special meal for her, I’ll even make Shrewsbury cake,” Mrs. Barlow added helpfully.
Lizzie ran her fingertips over the tabletop, feeling all the grooves and knife marks, the sensation relaxing her enough to give up arguing.
“What a lovely idea.”
*
