"Would you like to have a mask too, Camilla? I could have the dressmaker bring it to you before we get to the ball."
Camilla's eyes grew dark. She was growing angry as well.
"You know, I heard Lady Violet Northam and her group of gossip mongers will be at the ball." Camilla resumed. "If I were you, I'd stay away from anything that could cause me any form of scandal."
"Are you sure she didn't just tell you herself? Perhaps you're a member of this group you speak of." Juliet retorted. Having a mask on her face might be the most excellent idea she'd ever had, after all. If her face had been uncovered, she wouldn't have been able to give back these sharp, snide remarks at her half-brother and his wife.
"That is enough!" Juliet heard her father yell. "You're a Lady, Juliet, and you will comport yourself as such. No one likes a Lady with a loose tongue."
"But Father—"
"Do not interrupt me again, or I will have this embarrassing thing taken off your face!" Peter continued.
The carriages stopped before them, and they all climbed in. Adam and Camilla got into one, and Juliet got into the other with her father.
"And you are still not free of your obligations. The whole reason I'm allowing this profanity of a dress in the first place is to make sure you secure a husband." Peter continued once the carriage started to move. "If you fail to do that today, I will be very disappointed in you."
Juliet sighed. "I feel very comfortable in this attire, Father. Any man worthy of my hand will wish to know my character before trying to see what I look like."
"I do not care for your tone, Juliet. I see the roses around your face are beginning to affect your tongue and your reasoning."
Juliet didn't think to protest. Nothing good was going to come from it.
"I apologise, Father."
Peter waved his hand in disregard as the carriage crossed over a huge stone, causing it to become unstable for a while.
"Remember, your only task today is to impress the members of the elite class in any way necessary. I do not care if they have to see your face. Make sure you represent Willowbrook in an orderly fashion. Do not wag your tongue dangerously at the men like you do to your brother."
"Yes, Father." Juliet replied.
"And try to behave like a lady this time. We do not want a repeat of what happened last year."
Juliet shook her head, trying to shake away the flood of memories threatening to escape their prisons in her mind. She had tried incredibly hard to forget what had happened the previous year but her father bringing it up now had made all her efforts ultimately futile.
She'd been in the garden at one of the grand affairs during the season, examining the roses. It also happened to be one of the days that Willowbrook Manor housed several people from all parts of London. She'd gotten stung by a bee and had grown disoriented. She'd fallen into the dirt soil, dampening her dress and her well-made hair. Somehow, she had managed to appear in the drawing room, looking majestically unruly and sending the ladies and the men into temporary shock. The look on their faces had continued to haunt her, even to this very day, more so now that her father had brought it up.
"Yes, Father." She repeated, now doing all she could to lock away those memories once again. Some part of her was looking forward to the ball, and not even her father's unkind remarks could take that away from her. She looked outside the carriage window as they rode past the rocky road. The sky was slowly darkening, and the cold, dry evening winds were starting to blow onto her face. Willowbrook Manor was a prison. One she couldn't wait to escape. She couldn't wait to be done with her father's temper tantrums and her half-brother's foolish remarks. Perhaps this might be the night she found her one true love, once and for all. She needed this to happen more than anything else.
***
As he adjusted his cravat in front of his mirror, Weston's mind strayed a little, and he wondered just how tightly he would have to squeeze it so he could die and escape his mother. She sat in his bedroom chair, watching him button up his red waistcoat.
"I don't know why you would choose to appear at the Ball looking like a merchant commoner. Your choice of color baffles and disappoints me, Weston." Beatrice started, staring hard at her son through the mirror.
Weston reached for his tie one more time and thought about how long it would really take for life to get sucked out of him.
"Couldn't you wear something else? Like the blue jacket, I had the dressmaker make for you the other day. You were supposed to wear it for Anne's coming out ball, and you didn't."
"Crimson has always been my colour, mother. You've seen me wear it almost all the time. I don't see any reason to change it this time around."
Of course, that wasn't the absolute truth. He couldn't be less interested in the ball. He was only going in the first place because it was another opportunity for his sister to familiarize herself with society's elite. Just because he couldn't find someone to settle down with didn't mean he wouldn't try to ensure Anne didn't suffer the same fate.
"You wouldn't impress many women in that garb, Weston." Beatrice continued.
That was the point.Weston thought, but he decided to keep it to himself. The last thing he needed was another fit on hishands. His friend, Charles, had traveled to South England and would not return until dusk. He had no one in his corner like he used to.
"The only reason I am attending this ball in the first place is for Anne. Nothing else." He said, remaining as level-headed as possible even though his heart and mind were both screaming out. "I don't exactly look forward to auctioning myself off like some prized horse."
