‘A mere prank! To express my fondness!’
‘A strange method of expression,’ Caleb goaded, then added in lower tones ‘and rather messy toes…’
Nathaniel laughed along in good spirits.
‘Lord Nathaniel Bryant’ Albert continued on with his formal introduction ‘we met through mutual acquaintances – he is the esteemed cousin of Lady Sophia Camden…’
‘Ah!’ Caleb’s eyebrows raised in understanding and Albert widened his eyes by way of warning, for only Caleb to see, urging him to be discreet.
‘Your cousin is a friend of the family,’ Caleb elaborated. ‘Dutton’s family – and by extension, mine, as I consider Dutton as a brother.’
‘I am pleased to hear of it. We shallallbe friends!’ Nathaniel expressed extravagantly.
Caleb forced a smile which only appeared on one side of his face.
‘Your Grace, are you an enthusiast of the Arts?’ Nathaniel enquired.
Caleb was wrong-footed by the question.
‘I am an academic. I favour science and factual analysis over creativity,’ Caleb clarified.
Nathaniel looked momentarily disappointed, then found a benefit.
‘As a result, all the richer our conversation should be!’ He laughed again and Caleb shifted uncomfortably.
‘And is your cousin Sophia present here this evening, Lord Bryant?’ Caleb encouraged the conversation along.
Albert looked keenly to Nathaniel for the answer.
‘Indeed she is. I am yet to set eyes on her – though, as the closest friend to Lady Hannah Haworth, I would expect she is tending to her skirts and tresses ahead of her presentation,’ Nathaniel explained.
‘Then perhaps we should be fortunate enough to meet with her later…’ Caleb intimated, looking pointedly at Albert, who allowed himself a subtle eye-roll at his friends’ jesting.
A loud trumpet sounded, interrupting their conversation and causing a collective startle throughout the ballroom, followed by laughs of exclamation and the eventual quietening of chatter.
‘Presenting Lady Hannah Haworth of Haysendale!’ the booming voice from earlier announced and a ripple of excitement tripped its way around gathered pods of people, whose faces all turned toward the sweeping staircase.
A string quartet started up – some romantic tune Caleb vaguely recognised - and a figure appeared on the platform at the top of the broad staircase. All eyes in the room were set upon her.
She was slim, with a delicate paleness and tendrils of blonde hair that cascaded down from her sparkling tiara to graze her smooth shoulders. Her dress flowed down the first few steps as though she had been positioned just so, to posture for a portrait painting, although in reality she had only just appeared and the dress fell so by lucky happenstance. It was a pastel yellow hue, resplendent with lace trim and intricately affixed pearls. Taking in her whole appearance with his eyes, Caleb came to rest upon her face and what he saw there caused him to inhale sharply.
Her eyes were wide and bright – in truth, she looked a little frightened; not the unconventional artist with a carefree disposition that he had built up in his head since his Mother had planted the idea of Hannah being a Painter.
There was a vulnerability in the way her eyelashes batted rapidly, taking in the scene of people below her. He could not make out the colour of her eyes from the distance at which he stood, but her irises caught the light of the lanterns and touched something deep within Caleb’s chest.
A waiter passed, balancing a tray of glass flutes – Caleb hungrily grabbed at one and sunk back the amber liquid, believing perhaps the sensation in his chest was the result of dehydration mixed with anxiety about the evening.
Albert noticed his friends’ eagerness to suppress a feeling and smiled quietly to himself.
Caleb looked once again at the girl on the staircase and appraised the rest of her face – her flawless skin was that of a porcelain doll and her full lips sat in a coy half-smile. She was quite beautiful. Caleb had not expected beauty to be a factor. He supposed it was a benefit, that he should not have to accompany an ugly woman on his arm for the remainder of his life, but he realised at that moment that he had never actuallywonderedabout Lady Hannah Haworth. She had hung in his mind as an item to strike off his 'to do' list – a mandatory addition to the life his Father had scripted for him. He had never taken pause to consider what she might look like; whether they should become friends. He’d only hoped she would be mild in temperament so as not to cause upheaval in his lifestyle.
Hannah stood for what felt like far too long. Her Mother had instructed her to wait until the quartet reached its crescendo before she began her descent of the steps. Truly, in rehearsal, it had felt like mere seconds, but standing on that platform above the crowd, with the sole expectation that they should be looking at her, she felt every crushing judgment on the faces of mothers, noted every sparkle of envy in the eyes of girls and received it as a stab; she felt the unwholesome desires of the men appraising her body. She wanted none of it – yet she was compelled to stand there, forcing a smile that felt artificial and inadequate.
Her hands were trembling – could they see? Her heart fluttered like a caged bird trying to escape and as she considered her audience might mistake her elongated stance as fear over how to negotiate the stairs, she suddenly became very worried that she might trip. It had been an ongoing familiar joke between Sophia and herself – the humiliation that would be borne of a fall on the stairs during your debut. They had never seen it happen, but it loomed as both a devastating and comedic possibility among their peers. Hannah looked down at her skirts, which folded over the first step; with only two beats of the melody before her descent should begin, she bent to lift her train and poised herself to walk. It felt quite suddenly like an impossible task, but the moment had almost arrived. She took a deep breath, which was painful in her incredibly tight corset Lucy had bound her into, muttering apologies as Lady Evelyn had stood instructing ‘tighter still!’
Hannah felt certain she would fall – a graceful tumble of yellow fabric, but a fall that would tarnish her reputation forever more – when suddenly she saw her Father in the crowd. He was standing at the front, naturally, waiting to receive his daughter for their first dance. His presence and proud expression grounded Hannah and fortified her.
Lord Vincent Haworth, Marquess of Haysendale raised his face to where his youngest daughter stood, looking so refined and radiant. His eyes had glazed over with an overwhelm of pride. He had intended to look about the room upon her arrival – to consider the faces of his esteemed guests; to watch their reactions at the presentation of his daughter. In particular, he had hoped to seek out the face of His Grace, the Duke of Montwood, to contemplate any fondness he may see there. However, Lord Vincent’s attention had been entirely stolen by Hannah as she appeared upon the staircase, rending him blind to anything other than his captivating daughter, in her special moment.
