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“We could take her home,” Eloise’s father suggested, but Lord Crawford shook his head.
“No, she can humiliate herself in front of His Majesty and everyone else. It doesn’t change the facts of the matter. She’s still to be my wife,” he said, and Eloise’s father nodded.
“Very well. I’m sorry for her behavior.” The Viscount looked embarrassed.
Eloise scowled at him. He was talking about her as though she was not there, as though she was a problem, rather than his daughter. But that was what she had become, just as Alice, too, had been a problem.
“She’ll soon learn,” Lord Crawford drawled.
The carriage had now drawn up at the bottom of the steps leading up to the grand doors of the Mansion House. Eloise knew she would be the object of attention as soon as she stepped out of the carriage. The other women were wearing fashionable dresses of every color imaginable – except for black. Black was the color of mourning, of death, of sorrow. The Royal Dance was supposed to be the happiest of occasions, but Eloise knew her presence would only serve to cast a shadow over the proceedings. She was glad of that. She wanted everyone to know this was a moment of mourning, and far from the happy occasion it should had been.
“I’ll learn nothing,” she hissed, as the carriage door was opened by a livery-clad footman.
“Then you’ll have it beaten into you,” he snarled.
Lord Crawford seized her by the arm, and they stepped down, as heads turned and gasps went up from the gathered assembly on the steps. All eyes were on Eloise as she and Lord Crawford made their way up the steps arm in arm. Whispers went up and fingers were pointed.
“What does she think she’s doing? Have you ever seen the like? How could her father allow it?” It was just what Eloise had expected, and just what she had hoped for.
She smiled to herself as she passed the astonished groups of gaggling women, who gawped at her senselessly. This was a moment of control amidst the spiral of chaos into which she had fallen. Lord Crawford was seething, even as he tried to assert himself.
“We’ll attend the presentation, and then we’ll dance after the King begins the proceedings. Don’t make a spectacle of yourself,” Lord Crawford warned.
But it was too late for that. The spectacle had already been seen, and if anyone remembered anything about that year’s Royal Dance, it would be the sight of Miss Eloise Snowden, dressed in black. But now, she nodded. She had made her point. She would go through the motions. She would dance and curtsey. But Lord Crawford would realize there were some things he could not control. Eloise would resist him with all her might – in thought, word and deed.
“I didn’t realize someone had died,” Penelope said, appearing in front of them with Claudia.
She was dressed in a garish pink gown, with a fascinator made of peacock feathers. Claudia’s dress matched her sister’s so that they looked like a pair of sugared plums waiting to burst.
“She’s behaving like a spoiled child,” Lord Crawford grunted, still with his arm firmly clutched to Eloise’s.
“Those who behave like children should be treated like children, seen and not heard,” Penelope said with a haughty voice.
Claudia nodded.
“What is this nonsense? Why are you wearing black? You’re not in mourning.” She gave Eloise a withering look.
“But I am,” Eloise replied, smiling at Claudia, who shook her head and muttered something inaudible under her breath.
At that moment, the Master of Ceremonies called for attention. The King was about to arrive, and there would be a definite order to the proceedings which followed. His Majesty and other members of the Royal Family would take their places on the dais. A procession would form, headed according to the ranks of nobility. Dukes, marquesses and earls would come first, followed by viscounts and barons. Lord Crawford’s father was the Earl of Mismarch, and thus he was to inherit the same title upon his father’s death. The Master of Ceremonies indicated the position which Eloise and Lord Crawford were to take, as all eyes remained on Eloise and her extraordinary appearance.
“You’ll each walk past the dais, turning to make obeisance to His Majesty and the Royal Family. Pause only for a moment, and don’t make eye contact. If His Majesty chooses to speak to you then answer his question and await his response. Move along at the first opportunity,” the Master of Ceremonies instructed.
There were several couples ahead of them, and now Eloise caught sight of the King for the first time. George III was an elderly-looking man, his wig slightly askew, and a vague expression on his face. He was dressed in the finery of a gentleman, and next to him sat Queen Charlotte, a pretty woman, though with a bored expression on her face, dressed in a flowing gown patterned with pearls.
“You’re going to look an utter fool in front of His Majesty,” Lord Crawford hissed, but Eloise only looked at him defiantly.
“I don’t care. Perhaps he’ll help me escape this nightmare.” She shrugged.
Gentle processional music began to play and the first guests were introduced to the royal couple.
“The Marquess of Grindon and Lady Mary Bowes-Clarence,” the Master of Ceremonies announced, and the two stepped forward, turned towards the dais, and made their bows and curtsies.
Eloise watched this spectacle. She imagined how happy she would had been had it been Jackson with whom she had processed that evening. She knew she looked like a fool in her black dress and with her mournful face, but she cared nothing for her appearance, not when presented on the arm of a man like Lord Crawford.
“It’s us now,” he whispered, as the Master of Ceremonies peered down at his paper scroll.
“The Right Honourable Lord Crawford and Miss Eloise Snowden,” he called out.
