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“Aye. But assurances from the lord of the manor will go a long way toward relieving them all from worry during this time, so thank you. I know calling on them today wasn’t in your plans, but, then, death arrives when it has a mind to, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed, that seems to be the case,” Ben said.
* * *
Tomorrow, it was happening. The come-out ball Rebecca had dreamed of since girlhood was less than a day away.
Dr. Archibald had visited them one final time, evaluated Rebecca’s ankle, given her a clean bill of health, and then spent time with Aylesham inspecting the foot-corset—for lack of a better word—that Aylesham had directed the cobbler to make for her. Rebecca had been asked to model it for Dr. Archibald so he could get a complete idea of how it supported her ankle. The doctor had been impressed and had asked if he might borrow it to study it further.
Rebecca dearly hoped she never had to use it again.
She set her book aside and walked over to the dayroom window to glance outside, then moved back to her chair and picked up the book. She set the book back down and picked up her needlework. She added a few stitches to the embroidered flower she was working on before setting her needlework aside and rising to her feet again.
Susan glanced up from the book she was reading. “I daresay there is going to be a worn spot in that rug if you cannot contain your nerves.”
“I cannot seem to sit still, Susan! It is as if every butterfly in England is alive and well within my stomach.”
“It is a good thing we decided to forgo Almack’s this evening and enjoy a simple supper at Aunt Margaret’s invitation, then,” Susan said.
“I suppose so,” Rebecca said. She hoped she would be able to sit still for an entire supper.
“It will be quiet and much more soothing than a social event, just the family and Aunt Margaret chatting and enjoying a good meal. I doubt you’ll be able to eat much at all tomorrow.”
Rebecca had hardly eaten anything today. She pressed her hand against her stomach when it suddenly growled a bit.
“I’m ringing for tea,” Susan said, standing. “You must eat, Rebecca, or you’ll be fainting away in the reception hall before the ball has even commenced, and we can’t have that. Aylesham would never forgive you.”
“Aylesham wouldn’t care a whit,” Rebecca said.
“You’re undoubtedly right, but he’s intimidating enough to most people that it was worth a try to use as a threat.”
“Does he know you do this?” Rebecca asked. “Threaten the wrath of Aylesham on others?”
“He does it himself,” Susan replied matter-of-factly.
Rebecca chuckled.
“There, that is what I was hoping for,” Susan said. “A little lightness in your countenance. Now, let’s have that tea.” She went to the bell pull and rang it.
The tea and biscuits did end up having a soothing effect on Rebecca, at least temporarily. Once she and Susan retired to dress for supper, Rebecca found herself unable to settle yet again. She tried on three different evening gowns—for an intimate supper with only her family and Aunt Margaret!—before choosing a rose satin gown trimmed in lace. She sat as still as possible and stared at herself in the looking glass as Mary put finishing touches on her hair. Rebecca was surprised she was able to keep her hands clasped, although she had to stop herself from fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist a few times.
Oh dear. If she was this anxious tonight, what was she going to be like tomorrow? She stared at herself in the mirror, and a pale young lady she barely recognized stared back, with huge eyes and a desperate look on her face. She hadn’t been this nervous when she’d performed before the cream of London Society on Monday evening.
What was wrong with her?
“You look right lovely, miss, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Mary said, setting the comb on the vanity.
“Thank you, Mary,” Rebecca said.
“What I wouldn’t give for nice, soft curls like you have. You and your sister both. Such curls.”
Susan’s hair was much more impressive in that particular way than Rebecca’s, but she appreciated Mary’s compliment.
“I can scarcely wait to see you all dressed up in your fine gown tomorrow, miss. It’s the prettiest ball gown I think I’ve ever seen!” Rebecca watched Mary’s reflection in the mirror as the young maid blushed. “I mean, the duchess’s gowns are ever so elegant too. I hope you don’t—”
“I understand what you’re saying, Mary,” Rebecca said. “Madame Veronique is an extraordinary talent, is she not? Her designs seem to outdo each other with every new creation.”
Mary looked relieved. “Exactly, miss! Thank you, miss.”
