Sure enough, the beautiful orange-red colour of the coral stood out against the pale green of the gown, making Abigail’s skin seem creamier than before. She lifted a hand gingerly to her throat, tracing the beads.
“It’s lovely. It’s so kind of you to let me wear this, Aunt.”
“Wear it? It’s yours. It’s a gift. Here, I’ll let you put in the earrings yourself.”
Abigail bit her lip, eyeing the unfamiliar girl in the mirror. She felt… oh, she wasn’t sure how she felt.Different, for sure.
“You’re so kind, Aunt,” Abigail murmured. “I… I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.”
Aunt Florence’s gaze narrowed. She flicked her hand, wordlessly dismissing Lucy. They stood in silence until the door closed.
“You won’t embarrass me,” she said firmly. “I invited you because I like you, Abigail. I believe you’ve been passed over far too much in your life. Such is the fate of a middle child, I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t need me to tell you that you need to think about marriage?”
Abigail looked down. “I’ve been trying, I promise.”
“I know you have, dear. But this is a great opportunity for you to make a good match. The sort of match that will give you security, wealth,happiness. The sort of match that will put you in a position to leave your family for good.”
She bit her lip. “I love my family.”
“Yes, yes, we all love our families, but sometimes we don’tlikethem very much, do we? It’s not a sin to want a good future for oneself, my dear.”
Abigail’s hands clenched at her sides, bunching up the expensive fabric. She tilted her head to one side.Couldshe find a decent husband, looking like this? Abigail was used to thinking of herself asplain. Her mother said it often enough, and certainly Scarlett. Even her father occasionally tapped her cheek and sighed, saying he wished she was a beauty like her sister.
But without Scarlett beside her, preening and flirting, things felt… they felt different.Abigailfelt different.
“Do you think I’m plain, Aunt?” Abigail asked in a rush.
Aunt Florence’s eyes flew up to meet herself in the mirror.
“No,” she said firmly, without hesitation.
“You can tell me the truth.”
“I am. I’m not in the habit of lying to spare the feelings of others, I can assure you.”
“I’m not as pretty as Scarlett.”
“No, you are not,” Aunt Florence conceded, tweaking a curl into place. “Just as I was prettier than your mother when we were young. Society sets the standards as to whatbeautymeans. It changes yearly. One Season fair beauties are all the rage, the next Season it is brunettes. Olive skin goes in and out of fashion, as do curls and blue eyes and shapes. Society dictates whatbeautymeans, just as they choose the fashion for sleeves and necklines and hairstyles. The difference is that people cannot choose their faces, or even their shapes. One cannot slough off olive skin like a dress if next year favours a peach-and-cream complexion. Worrying about whether one is considered fashionably beautiful is a waste of time, I can assure you.”
Abigail let out her breath in one long exhale. Had anyone ever said anything like that to her? No, she thought not. It felt as though a heavy yoke had been lifted off her shoulders. When somebody like Aunt Florence said, with all the confidence that seemed to come so easily to her, that being beautiful did not matter, Abigail found herself inclined to believe it.
Their eyes met in the mirror, and Aunt Florence dropped her a slow wink.
“Better?”
“Better,” Abigail confirmed, feeling the mad urge to giggle.
“Excellent. Now, shall we venture downstairs? I can hear a lot of commotion down there, which means that the guests are arriving. Do you have your dance card?”
Abigail lifted her wrist obediently, displaying the card. It was empty, of course, and generally speaking it would stay empty for the rest of the night.
Aunt Florence eyed the card, a grin spreading across her face. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Abigail answered, and for once it didn’t feel like anabsolutelie.
***
Downstairs was absolute chaos. From wall to wall, the hallway was crammed with people. Abigail couldn’t see into the ballroom, but she suspected that it was worse. Faint strains of music climbed over the noise of chatter and laughter, almost drowned out.
