Chapter 8
That afternoon, Mary had carefully brushed Elizabeth’s long hair and then massaged a perfumed pomade into it to soften it. She’d then dusted her head with a cleansing powder, which she then vigorously brushed out together with any impurities present in the hair. Finally, she put up most of it in an elaborate style with what felt like a hundred pins, leaving the hair around the face loose, in order to shape it into curls later on.
“You are a magician, Mary,” Lizzie breathed in awe when she saw herself in the looking glass after Mary had helped her dress.
“I only work with what God has given you,” Mary waved her hand, dismissing the compliment. “And that colour suits you more than I thought possible.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth’s mouth twisted into a grimace as she tried not to cry.
“Don’t you dare leave streaks in the powder,” Mary threatened. “Now let me find a ribbon that goes with the dress.”
The days leading up to Elizabeth’s first Wednesday ball had passed in a feverish frenzy of preparations that had tried the entire household’s nerves, and she could only exhale in relief while ascending the impressive stone staircase that led to the ballroom, accompanied on this momentous occasion by both Isolde and Sophie.
The ballroom at Almack’s was smaller than Elizabeth had imagined. It was tastefully decorated, with a carefully polished floor and fine drapery hanging on the ornately moulded walls. Comfortable-looking settees lined the sides of the room.
Its brilliant lustres illuminated the room by magnifying the light through hundreds of little glass drops. Lizzie felt eyes on her as she was looking up at the lustres, and she noticed one of the orchestra musicians staring at her. She quickly looked away.
Some of her magazines had called Almack’s the "exclusive temple of thebeau monde", and as the orchestra played some soothing background music from their gallery up in the clouds, Elizabeth could very well picture pristine white wings on all the guests and worried, for the first time, if her mulberry dress was perhaps too daring for heaven.
She remembered the excitement of going to Miss Euphemia’s to have it made, followed by the disappointment at how different things were at the salon now that she was a customer. None of the girls had been allowed to come out and greet her because, understandably, they’d had to work.
Elizabeth had then spent days arguing with Aunt Isolde about the dress, which culminated in her aunt bringing the matter to Nicholas and Sophie, who saw the dress and deemed the colour appropriate. They also reminded Isolde of Lizzie’s workand fashion experience and urged her not to interfere unless Elizabeth wanted to wear a scandalous cut, which even Isolde had to agree was very unlikely.
Elizabeth and her chaperones stopped in front of Lady Georgiana, who was conversing with two other, equally formidable-looking ladies. Elizabeth could not decipher whether the older woman approved of her attire.
“Your Grace,” they all curtsied to Sophie, who returned their greetings with all the appropriate titles effortlessly and only then acknowledged Isolde.
Elizabeth committed the scene to memory, resolved that one day she’d be able to do the same.
“Lady Hawthorne, Countess Levine, may I present to you my husband’s sister, Lady Elizabeth Hawkins?” Sophie said in her sweet voice that belied the stone foundation beneath.
After all three women acknowledged the introduction (and the title), Lady Georgiana proclaimed, “The other Patronesses and I have decided to permit you to engage in waltzing tonight.”
Lady Burnham had already told her that the waltz was still considered somewhat improper by the older set and that they carefully selected who was allowed to dance it; thus, Elizabeth had expected nothing but quadrilles and reels on her first night.
“Thank you very much,” she managed to say just as a young man approached the group and bowed deeply before greeting them.
He had the most striking turquoise eyes and smiled in a way that prominently displayed his even teeth.
“Good evening, ladies. Your Grace, Marchioness.”
“Good evening, Lord Slaymaker,” Sophie greeted the newcomer.
“Lord Slaymaker,” Lady Georgiana said, “I wish to present to you Duke Hawkins’s sister, Lady Elizabeth Hawkins.”
“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Elizabeth,” the man told her in a voice that was as beautiful as the rest of him.
Elizabeth’s throat threatened to quiver when she spoke.
“As am I, Lord Slaymaker.”
“Would you be so kind as to dance the first dance of the evening with me?”
“I shall make note of it in my dance card,” she said, relieved that she sounded composed and polite.
After all the pleasantries were concluded, and Elizabeth and her companions left the Patronesses, Aunt Isolde explainedsotto voce, “Lord George Slaymaker is Earl Slaymaker’s younger son. He is six and twenty, I believe.”
Isolde continued to offer every piece of information she had on every young man they saw or talked to for the rest of the night, which turned out to be surprisingly helpful.
