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The whole braided, looped, and bowed creation was stuck with diamond pins in the shape of cupid’s arrows. The final touch was a diamondferronnièredraped across her forehead with a central diamond drop that lay in the center of her brow and sparkled in the corners of her vision.
After her hair had been tortured, her body had been corseted within an inch of her life, and encased in a heavy gown of ivory silk brocade with a sheer overlay and voluminous gigot sleeves made of transparent gauze.
The low, wide bodice of the gown left her shoulders bare but encased her bosom in four layers of stiff lace ruffles that extended across the sleeves of the gown, rather like an Elizabethan ruff that had migrated from her neck to spread across her upper arms and décolletage.
The darling slippers of her mother’s dreams completed the ensemble, done in the same ivory silk, which, to Beatrice’s mind, was a ridiculous color for shoes. The slippers had pointed toes that pinched her feet and diamond clips that could prove hazardous to her hem.
When she was finally pronounced ready and led to the looking glass, Beatrice didn’t recognize herself at all. She was an elegant, if bizarrely silhouetted, creature of her mother’s invention, a sylphlike will-o’-the-wisp emerging from layers of creamy lace and topped by a stiff bow of red hair that bobbed when she nodded.
By this time they were late for the ball, so Beatrice was bundled into a carriage like a precious,breakable package and trundled along the London streets with her mother chattering about dance cards and eligible earls the entire way.
Her mother didn’t seem to notice that Beatrice was silent as a tomb, perhaps mistaking her silence for awe at the transformation that had been accomplished, or even acquiescence to her mother’s matrimonial aspirations.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Beatrice spent the carriage ride running through the details of the plan she’d devised.
Her plan required subtle persuasive tactics, which had never been her strong suit, and strategic failure, which was something she excelled at.
If it worked, the plan would result in her mother allowing her to keep the bookshop, and sign it over to the league of ladies, and would allow Beatrice the freedom to inventory the crates of books and manuscripts at her leisure.
It would make these months in London infinitely more bearable if she could escape her mother for even a few hours every day. She might even complete some work on her dictionary in the sanctuary of the bookshop.
Ifher plan worked.
She was determined to make it work.
Upon arriving in the brightly lit ballroom that buzzed with conversation and laughter, Beatrice immediately set about accomplishing the strategic failure part of the plan. She insulted Mayhew’s mother with an observation that she’d seen a similar centerpiece to the silver one on her refreshment table at the home of a grocer’s wife, and trod uponthe Duke of Marmont’s toes as they danced. She managed to catch one of her diamond shoe clips on the Dowager Countess of Fletcher’s hem, which ripped off a goodly portion of lace and caused an awkward scene.
Beatrice’s conversation was alarmingly fast-paced and punctuated by nasally laughter that produced pained expressions from her dance partners. And the coup de grâce was accomplished when she managed to dip her enormous sleeves into the punch bowl, thereby staining the sheer fabric with a watery red splotch that wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard her mother scrubbed at it in the lady’s retiring room.
Her mother draped a lace shawl around Beatrice’s shoulders and pinned it with a brooch, all the while pronouncing that it spoiled the effect of the bodice most egregiously.
Beatrice could barely restrain a self-satisfied chuckle. When would her mother reach her breaking point?
“My dance with Mayhew is at hand, Mama.”
“I know,” her mother said with a grim expression, grabbing Beatrice by the elbow and steering her, none too gently, toward a row of potted ferns.
“I thought I wasn’t to hide behind the ferns, Mama.”
“I want to speak with you. In private.”
She must play this conversation perfectly. No tipping of her hand.
“Now listen to me, Beatrice.” Her fingers tightened around her daughter’s elbow. “Are you trying to humiliate me? When I said you needed to makemore of an effort, I meant more of an effort at being agreeable and charming,notannoying and clumsy.”
“I haven’t read any books, or used one arcane word or mentioned my dictionary at all. I’ve danced with six eligible gentlemen of your choosing, and I’ve avoided the company of the timorous wallflowers hovering along the edges of the ballroom.”
“You have followed all my rules but done so in a way that renders the rules meaningless.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so distracted this evening. My mind is back at Castle’s Bookshop with all of those glorious unopened crates of books.”
Her mother gestured impatiently. “We’ll have the crates brought to our house, though heaven knows where we’ll keep more books. There are entirely too many books already.”
“One can never have too many books, Mama. I didn’t have time to do a thorough search of the premises—but there might be some very rare volumes that I wouldn’t want just anyone handling—”
“Balls, Beatrice. Not books. Focus, please. You must at least pretend to be enjoying yourself while dancing with gentlemen.”
