CHAPTER ONE
The Hon Miss Louisa Skeffington looked out across the dance floor of Almack’s Assembly Rooms, with the same frozen smile she’d worn all season, as she pretended to enjoy herself. The vouchers needed for admittance had been difficult to obtain and she should be grateful to her grandfather for bothering to get them.
She had every reason to be happy.
Almost every reason.
Over the course of the last few months, she had sat in this same chair, sipping her lemonade and watching other people’s love stories play out from introductions to their inevitable conclusions.
Privileged young ladies had arrived in a flock one Wednesday in November for the very first ball of the Season. She had arrived with them clutching her voucher tightly in her hand and sharing the same hopeful, nervous energy, sure that this would be the year that her life would change.
A fresh crowd of gentlemen had arrived in much the same state of enthusiasm and nerves. There were a few familiar faces from the previous Season and fewer still from the year before that. Even confirmed bachelors would not forego the chance to see and be seen in this most selective of gatherings. There was always a chance that there might be one special girl in thecurrent crop that would change their minds on the subject of marriage.
Once the play had been cast, the players took to the stage and the farce began. Under the guidance of the patronesses, the characters assembled were paired off for a dance, reshuffled like cards and paired again.
Occasionally, a match would stick.
There might be an announcement in Thursday’s paper that Miss Such-and-Such had been pleased to accept the offer of Lord So-and-So and that nuptials were to follow at St Somebody’s after the banns had been read. Then, if the couple came to the following week’s ball, they would spend less time dancing and more time talking about their upcoming wedding with friends and family or looking devotedly into each other’s eyes.
The diminishing number of single people was not noticeable at first. But as the months passed, there were fewer girls, fewer gentlemen to partner them, less excitement and more desperation all round.
On this, the final ball of the Season, attendance was sparse. Though the music was merry, the mood was subdued. Many families had already left London for Bath, Brighton or their homes in the country. The patronesses looked as smug as cream-fed cats, secure in the knowledge that they’d accomplished their mission for the year. A large number of gently born ladies had either married, or would be marrying, titled and wealthy young men.
There were some disappointments, of course. A few wily gentlemen always escaped the snares set for them. Or perhaps it was just that the remaining girls lacked sufficient character to attract them. But the small number of failures were not a reason to worry. There was always next year.
For some of them, at least.
A girl in her third unsuccessful Season was more likely to be pulled aside by friends, family members or occasionally the patronesses themselves, and encouraged to accept defeat with grace. Though everyone was certain she’d done her best, it was time to focus on the skills she might offer to society that did not include marriage and childbearing.
Perhaps she could help a sister with a new family or take care of an invalid aunt. She might become active in her parish and raise funds for orphans, or volunteer at a hospital tending wounded soldiers. Far-flung countries needed missionaries to spread the faith. There was always a place somewhere in the world for a selfless volunteer.
If one did not wish to give one’s life away, finding a job as a companion or governess was a possibility, though a rather extreme solution. Taking a position for pay hinted that one’s family was not financially able to provide for one’s future. A nice young lady should not be an embarrassment. Especially since she had caused enough disappointment by failing at what all the other girls her age had no problem doing—attracting a man and bringing him up to scratch.
Above all, one should not mope. No one liked a spinster. They were burdens on their loved ones. But it was even worse to be bitter or unpleasant about it. If one had to rely on charity, the least one could do was to smile and be grateful for it.
Louisa had received no such speeches, yet. But that was probably because she had no female family members to give them. Her mother had died of consumption when Louisa was only eight and her father had followed not long after. Her older brother, Percy, had done his best to be her guardian, chaperone and bulwark as she’d tried and failed at navigating in society. But he did not seem to understand how grave her situation had become. The sunny, ‘better luck next time’ attitude that he’d maintained over the course of the last few years had showed nosign of fading, even as this, her final year, had ended in another ignominious failure.
Her grandfather, who had become the siblings’ legal guardian when they were orphaned, was not given to championing lost causes or offering gentle hints. When she was nineteen and old enough for a come-out, he’d refused to come to town with them, declaring the Season to be an extravagant nonsense. If she meant to marry, there were cheaper ways to manage it.
She’d pleaded with him and eventually he’d relented. But he’d warned her that he would not be so generous in the future.
When she’d returned home, still unmarried, he had not bothered with a lecture. He’d said nothing at all for several months. Not even a ‘please pass the marmalade’ at breakfast. When he’d finally begun speaking to her again, he had been more curt than usual and had remained so for the rest of the year.
When the next Season arrived, she’d begged for another chance and he’d grudgingly agreed, swearing it was only out of a wish to be rid of her.
When it had ended in a second failure, he had jeered about ape leaders needing to earn their keep in the family, while suggesting that she move her bed to the servant’s quarters and find something useful to do in the kitchen.
Percy had assured her that it would never come to that. She would be welcome in his house once he got the money to set one up. But he was almost as financially dependent on their grandfather as she was. Percy survived on the modest allowance provided to him and would not come into his full inheritance until the old man died.
That was not likely to happen any time soon. Their grandfather might complain that gout and various other small ailments prevented him from travelling to London, but he was surprisingly robust for a man of eighty-two.
Perhaps it was spite that kept him alive. Grandfather had always been a cruel man. Louisa did her best to stay out of his way but she would be returning home in less than a week. She dreaded what he would say, now that her third Season had also ended in failure.
On the other side of the room, the orchestra was playing the last dance of this last ball and she was one step closer to doom.
Among the people who had not already given up and gone home, friends were saying goodbye to each other, promising to exchange letters and planning visits to their homes outside of the city.
But, exactly as she had been at the end of the last two years, Louisa was sitting here once again, alone and ignored. She had been no more successful at making female friends than she’d been at attracting a husband. It seemed she was always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time or saying nothing at all when an answer was imperative.
