Elizabeth suppressed a smile at her Aunt’s obvious dilemma. On one hand, Isolde, like many others of her rank, revered Lizzie’s former employer and was well aware that the woman was a pioneer in the fashion world of London. On the other hand, finding fault with Lizzie was of the utmost importance for Isolde.
“Well, perhaps you’ll be pleased with the dress I’ve chosen for Charlotte’s ball - it’s French grey.”
Isolde puckered her mouth in distaste.
“In that case, the name of the colour is the only thing I shall object to.”
Elizabeth laughed, although not entirely sure whether her aunt was jesting or not.
*
At this point in the Season, there was nothing left for Elizabeth but to accept that her nerves would torment her at every event she ever attended, for all eternity. Perhaps it was the heat in these ballrooms – too many people wearing too many heavy fragrances packed into one very hot room, just so they could gape at each other’s attire and hide their mouths behind fans to make you wonder whether it was you they were discussing with a cruel glint in their eye.
Her sister appeared unaffected as she moved through the room soundlessly, almost floating, like the ethereal water creatures from the Greek stories cousin Andrew had made her read. Charlotte’s fair skin and blonde curls were in perfect accord with her sea-green dress, while her pearl jewellery resembled what Lizzie imagined bits of sea foam looked like. Elizabeth’s chest hurt from the longing she suddenly felt for a thing she’d never seen.
The dinner was the best Elizabeth had ever attended as far as food was concerned.Devil take it,she thought as she accepted another serving of the exquisite white soup while already eyeing the poached salmon and the bone marrow. Dessert included various trifles, ice cream, and candied almonds, and Elizabeth tasted them all.
As she chewed, another beauty appeared on the horizon – Lady Helena, dressed in her much-favoured virginal white, which,in Elizabeth’s eyes, belied her ugly character. Lizzie quickly reprimanded herself for being nasty, telling herself it was time to stop eating and to find a place to rest a bit.
She wasn’t very familiar with the Sinclairs’ home, but she remembered being told that there was always a coat room next to the dance halls. The room was not empty as she had hoped, since guests were still arriving and divesting themselves of various items of clothing, but she found a quiet place by one of the windows where she could rest with her back to the room and press her hot cheeks against the cool glass without having to think of her posture or converse with anyone for a while.
Half an hour later, she was gaily waltzing with Corporal Harding.
“You look particularly charming today,” he told her in that unpracticed way of his that Elizabeth found endearing.
“Thank you, Corporal Harding. I like your cravat,” she replied with a smile.
“I get the sense you do not enjoy balls very much, am I mistaken?”
Elizabeth sighed, unhappy that she hadn’t concealed her feelings as well as she’d thought she had.
“I'm afraid you are right. I don’t know why that is. It may be my nature, or it may be my lack of exposure to such events earlier - all I know is they make me very nervous.”
“It’s understandable,” Oliver said thoughtfully. “The sole purpose of such events is to see and be seen, which some people interpret asto judge and be judged.”
“My friend Lady Amelia told me that, as a child, she once passed through a village market where cows were being showcased and sold. She likened the marriage mart to that scene.”
Oliver laughed. “I’m very familiar with such markets. Lady Amelia Fairchild said that?” He asked, incredulous.
“Your surprise offends me! Just because she is of a more timid temperament doesn’t mean she cannot make clever and witty observations. Not to mention how right she was to wonder why there was no other way to meet a husband, one that held less pressure, that was more suited to a character that’s perhaps not as outgoing?”
“It is honourable that you are defending your friend, Lady Elizabeth. I meant no offence. I was more surprised by the idea of Lady Amelia at a village market than I was by her making a witty remark, rest assured.”
Elizabeth was adequately mollified by that. “I apologise for my burst of anger.”
“I’ve told you that I have a talent for reading people, and yet your temper managed to surprise me.”
“I’m glad. It means I’m successfully repressing it.”
“Does it often need repressing?” Oliver asked playfully, and Lizzie found herself smiling at him.
“You have no idea.”
“Did it cause trouble for you when you were a girl?”
Elizabeth let herself think back on her childhood and tried viewing it as a topic of pleasant conversation.
“It did, but mostly with the other children who lived near me. I was always trying to be a part of their little group, but it wasfrustrating at times, and then I’d get angry and ruin my chances even further.”
