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Chapter24
Afew of the gowns Lady Edith ordered were finished and delivered early Tuesday afternoon, just in time for Lord and Lady Grenvilles’ ball. I donned the soft pink gown—the only ball gown in the lot aside from the monstrous white confection—uncertain if the color made my pale red hair appear brash and uncouth. It was a delicate balance at times, and there was no changing my hair color, so I had to be particular about gowns.
“Fanny.” I rose, pulling on my elbow-length gloves. “Be honest. Does this gown make me appear pale or discolored?”
She paused near the dressing table, a handful of unused pins clutched in her nervous grip. “You look lovely to me, ma’am.”
It was clear that I would not receive an honest answer from my maid. I stepped closer to the firelight and strained to see my reflection in the dressing table’s mirror. The only person I could be depended upon in this house to give me the truth of things was undoubtedly my mother-in-law. She cared far too much about Society’s opinion to allow me out of the house looking ill in the cheeks.
Which I was nearly certain I did, for my own mama had never permitted me to order a pink gown before, and with good reason.
I slid on my dancing slippers. Evelina sat on my bedside table, and I dropped it into my reticule. It was always best to be prepared. One never knew when one would find an opportunity to read.
Lady Edith stood at the bottom of the grand stairs, her three sons surrounding her, as I descended the steps. I waited for her reaction to my gown, but she did not appear to find fault with my toilette.
Her scrutinous eyes roved over the gown, and she approached me to run the fabric between her fingers. “This is not the pink I selected.”
“Are you certain?” I asked.
She nodded. “I chose a silk.” She dropped the fabric from her gloved fingers and shook her head. “You look well, in any case. We must not be too frustrated by the mistake.”
Well, that certainly explained why she had not yet found fault with my coloring. I could not imagine changing the fabric for the gown was as simple as mistaking one fabric for another—not for a professional. Though, during our first visit to the shop I had mentioned my concerns. Madame Rousseau must have chosen a fabric that would suit my complexion and hair color. She was worth the expense, after all.
James offered me his elbow and led me out to the awaiting carriage. My nerves had been so wrapped into the concern for whether or not I looked a fright that I had not yet worried over the dancing that would soon be required of me. I pulled his elbow before stepping into the conveyance, and he looked up.
“What is it?”
“The dancing,” I whispered, acutely aware of Henry and Benedict waiting behind us. Their mother was already seated inside. “I cannot do it.”
His eyes sparkled from the glowing torches on either end of the carriage. “Do you think you might perform one? We can choose a waltz so you remain with me for the entirety of the dance.”
Could I? I had not considered a waltz with my husband. James had a habit of calming my nerves. Could he do so on the dance floor? “I am not sure.”
“Shall we try it?”
“And if I—” I swallowed, unable to bring sound to the worry that plagued me.
“If you begin to feel faint, I will direct you to a chair immediately. You can claim a headache and sit out the remaining dances.” He looked at me apologetically. “You are a new bride, Liss. Lord and Lady Grenville will expect you to open the first set.”
I shut my eyes and imagined dancing beside James, focusing solely on him, allowing his strength to seep into me.
“Is there trouble?” Lady Edith called from within the carriage.
Yes.
“No,” James replied. He helped me inside, and I had a sudden, unnerving thought.
What if the first dance was not a waltz?
* * *
Lord and Lady Grenvilles’ small gathering was anything but small. It appeared that the entirety of the local Society came out in full force, and if Lady Edith imagined this to be a meager representation of the locals, then I could only imagine how massive her ball was bound to be.
My grip tightened on James’s hand, and he looked down at me through his clear, green-brown eyes. “The moment you feel faint,” he murmured, “I will direct you to a chair.”
“Shall we sit now then?” I jested.
His returning smile was laced with concern. I drew in a fortifying breath and allowed James to lead me toward our hosts. They were both shorter than average, plump, and with mouths that seemed to turn down more often than up. It was with displeasure that they each pulled out a looking glass and swept it down my person after James performed the introductions, then shared a look with one another.
