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“What’s wrong with it?” the maid demanded, placing her hand on her hip. “It’s the latest fashion, that it is, Milady! Young men will be linin’ up to ask ye to dance, I swear it!”
“Itisbeautiful,” Emily admitted. “Much too beautiful forme.”
“Well, in my opinion, ye need to believe in yerself a bit more, Milady. Now, put yer dress on, and lemme do yer hair.”
“Lady Rutbridge will not be pleased,” the young lady warned her maid. “The last time youfixedmy gown, she declared it was an abomination no respectable lady should ever wear in public.”
“Ye need to stop believin’ in Her Ladyship’s words, Milady,” Jenny told her in a matter-of-fact tone. “Have ye ever seen the gowns yer sister parades in? And she hasn’t even made her bow yet!”
Emily smiled begrudgingly as she allowed the maid to dress her. Indeed, the soft brown and gold color enhanced her coloring, and the cut and style were more in line with the latest trends. Compared to her other gowns, this one bared her chest a little bit more, but shehadseen far more daring necklines amongst the young ladies of the Ton, and she had never heard them being admonished for it.
“I suppose I can try this one,” she mumbled shyly. She ran her fingers lightly over the flutter of lace on the square-cut neckline, flushing when she realized that it allowed a little more of her bosom to peek through. Compared to Amy, she possessed a more voluptuous figure, and the lower neckline emphasized her womanly assets a little more than her other gowns did.
Emily, however, was not quite sure that hacking off her neckline and showing off her decolletage would be enough to find her a suitable enough match. It was a start, though, and at this point, she was willing to try anything, save for courting scandal.
“That’s the spirit!” Jenny crowed, her eyes twinkling as she led Emily back to her place before the mirror. “By tomorrow, His Lordship will be fieldin’ proposals left and right. Just ye wait!”
* * *
As she had expected, Lady Rutbridge was none too pleased with the state of Emily’s gown, and Horatia made it known to Emily that she looked perfectly horrid in it. However, there was no time left to waste, and so, she had no choice but to usher her stepdaughter into the carriage, and they were off to the Hawthorne ball.
However, contrary to Jenny’s predictions, the dress hardly managed to transform Emily’s luck. Aside from that one brief moment when she walked in and garnered a few wide-eyed gazes in surprise, there was still a dismal lack of young men approaching her to ask her to dance.
Fortune favors the brave, she told herself, summoning up what little courage she had left to approach the Viscount of Caney.
“Good evening, My Lord,” she greeted him, her tongue stumbling over the words as her courage was drained to the last dregs.
Lord Caney looked visibly taken aback at having been approached by the wallflower of not just one but nearlytwoseasons.
“Good evening, My Lady,” he greeted stiffly.
His disinterested tone caused her already abysmal self-confidence to plummet even further, and as Emily struggled to find her voice to inquire about some inane topic like the weather, Lord Caney hastily butpolitelyexcused himself from her presence and then promptly asked Miss Cameron to dance.
I had barely even uttered a word!Emily thought dismally to herself, watching them walk to the dance floor, laughing cheerfully as they did.Why does it seem far easier in those romance novels? The hero always seemed to fall in love with the heroine for whom she is without her even having to say a word. Why is it so different for me?
Under the brilliant lights of the chandelier, Emily found herself withdrawing back to the shadowed corners, watching the rest of the ball play out before her with a sad sigh. She watched as one by one, the young ladies were led out into the dance floor for a lively quadrille.
All of them, except for her.
At that point, she dared not even look around the room for fear of meeting the disappointed gaze of the Marchioness of Rutbridge. Her stepmother had already warned her several times, but it would seem that Emily herself was destined for failure.
In her romance novels, it never mattered if the heroine was shy or outspoken, plain or beautiful, mysterious or straightforward—the hero would always see through her and fall in love with her.
Why can life not imitate art?Emily deplored in her heart.Why is it so easy for others?
For the life of her, she could not understand what it took to hold the attention of these young men.
When she had mustered the courage to ask him, her father had looked blankly at her before reassuring her that she would soon find a nice young nobleman who would be worthy of her. Her older brother, Benedict, although he was far more experienced in the affairs between men and women, had merely laughed at her.
Of course, I could not ask Lady Rutbridge or Amy. They would sooner laugh at me than be of any help, Emily inwardly grimaced.
That left Jenny as her only source of precious information, but it would seem that the young men of the Ton were of a different breed altogether, for none of the maid’s suggestions ever worked.
If only I could talk to one of them, I might be able to hold their attention for a minute or two…A minute or two—that is all I need,she thought to herself.
She was running out of options, and she needed to find a suitable match fast. Lady Rutbridge was already losing patience with Emily’s failure over the two seasons, and Horatia was just about ready to declare Emily a veritable spinster, so she could move on to Amy’s coming out.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my beautiful younger sister and her endless stream of beaux.”
