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Mother’s victorious smile was bound to send me over the edge, I just knew it. The carriage rocked us slowly toward the Gibsons’ ball, and I caught her grin periodically with light from lanterns swinging outside our window. I tensed further each time.
Mounting the steps to the ballroom, she leaned in and whispered, “You may not decline a single dance.”
I could have laughed. Did she really think I would find enough partners to dance every dance at my first ball? I knew no one beyond Mr. Fenway and Rosalynn’s brother, Lord Cameron. Though I was unsure if I could even claim an acquaintance with Lord Cameron in the general public, I had only been around him a handful of times in the quiet of his own home.
“I am aware of the conditions of our agreement,” I reminded her. Father walked behind us and we stood in line to greet our hosts. Flickering candlelight from enormous chandeliers spread from the ballroom and a country dance was beginning. Couples lined up down the center of the room, a border of spectators eyeing the dancers and discussing them from behind their fans.
Rosalynn stood on the other side of the room beside her brother. Their dark heads were bent together and their resemblance was strong.
Mother grasped my arm when I turned to go. “You will remain by my side, Elspeth,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have introductions to make.”
Suspicion slithered down my spine. It mounted and grew as Mother led me toward a well-dressed man in a vivid purple waistcoat and striped bottle green jacket. A watch chain dangled from his pocket and he looked down his sloping nose at my simple white ball gown with rosettes embroidered along the neck and hemline.
“Mrs. Cox, you look absolutely dazzling this evening,” he drawled.
“Oh, Lord Fischer,” Mother simpered. I wanted to be sick. I glanced over my shoulder, but Father was left behind, speaking with other men. He wasn’t even bothered by Mother’s fingers grasping Lord Fischer’s coat.
The dandy seemed to mind, however. His pointed look was enough to remove her pudgy claws.
Awkwardly, Mother transferred her grip from his arm to mine. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Miss Elspeth Cox.”
I curtseyed. His shoes were even more flashy than the waistcoat. I was unaware shoes could be purchased in a golden yellow leather.
“Pleased, I’m sure.”
“Elsie has come to London for her first Season,” Mother said. “And I was only telling her this morning how honorable and valiant the men of the drawing rooms are.”
A flush spread over my cheeks. She was begging him for a dance—and being dishonest about it besides.
“I hope you are proved correct, ma’am,” he said obediently, turning to me. “May I take the next dance, Miss Cox?”
Bowing my head to hide my shame, I nodded, playing the bashful debutante in the hopes that he would escape until our set began. Relief momentarily visited but was quickly chased away by the arrival of another young man that Mother chose to solicit for a dance.
Thirty minutes later, I had never been more mortified in my entire life. My schedule was full except for the two waltzes that mother had dashed away—you don’t want to be seen as fast, Elsie—and I was standing opposite Lord Fischer while we waited for the minuet to begin. His eyelids drooped, slowly running up and down my person. Clearly, he was unimpressed.
I tried to see myself through his lens. My frilly white gown and intricately designed hair made me appear overly done up. I looked like every other marriage-hungry debutante in the room—nothing set me apart. I suppose I would be unimpressed too.
Not that I had been trying to impress him, or any man. But it was my first foray into London Society, and I wanted to make something of a good impression on the general population. Wasn’t that all anyone wanted at the base of their motives? To be accepted, if not esteemed?
I could still want to be held in good opinion without wanting a husband.
Lord Fischer and I came together for small spurts of time, but the majority of the dance was spent moving down the line or to another partner and back. When the set ended, I was returned to Mother’s side momentarily before my next partner arrived to whisk me away again.
It was more than an hour before I earned a break by way of a waltz and I took the opportunity to search out Rosalynn and Freya. I found them, their heads bent together, near the refreshments. I took hold of each of their arms and they glanced up in unison.
“Deliver me from this wretched fate.”
“Whatever is going on?” Freya asked, cupping my shoulder. “You have not sat out a single dance.”
My shoulders drooped with exhaustion. This was only my first ball of a Season that would last three more months. How ever was I going to endure?
Rosalynn stepped in. “Mrs. Cox made her a deal. If she completes the Season without interest in a man then she can take her dowry now and live independently.”
Freya’s eyes could not have possibly grown wider than they did at that moment. “But you are only eighteen!”
I released their arms and leaned back against the wall. “I know. Many women don’t find husbands until their second or third Season. I am choosing not to analyze this gift too closely and appreciate it as it is.”
“You haven’t a partner now, though?”
“I am not allowed to waltz,” I explained. “The only rule tonight I agree with.”
Freya’s gaze followed the dancers floating in time with the smooth music. “Neither am I,” she said wistfully.
Rosalynn’s posture straightened. She gazed at Freya’s uncomprehending face. “You want to though, don’t you?”
Instantly Freya stood tall and turned away from the dance floor. “Of course not. I was only admiring the way the gowns moved along the floor.”
Rosalynn’s eyebrow raised in judgment. She looked stunning, her cheeks lightly glowing and her dark hair curled and plaited in a regal design. Freya’s bright red hair was similarly arranged, but she had the unfortunate skin tone that seemed to wash out against a canvas of white. Even Mrs. Hurst’s expert advice could do nothing for Freya’s bleached face.
“I must return to my mother.” I sighed, sorry for myself. “Mr. Fenway is next. I vow I will lay abed all morning tomorrow and still my feet are bound to ache.”
“No!” Rosalynn shot her arm out and stopped me. “We must meet tomorrow and reconsider your dilemma.”
“I have to go on calls with my Mama,” Freya said apologetically.
“Come to my house then,” Rosalynn said. “Add Lady Clifton to your list of calls to make. She arrived this morning with the rest of The Tyrants.”
“Why did they not come to the ball this evening?” I asked.
“Tarquin and Geoff went to their club. Mother needed to rest from the journey. I have no idea what my father is up to.”
“Your house it is,” I agreed. “Now wish me luck.”
Mr. Fenway found me minutes later and led me into a minuet. His sweaty palms and leering smile gave me a shiver of disgust.
“Your first ball is turning into quite the success.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I did not guess when we came to dine that I was getting a leg up from the rest of the ton.”
His cat-like grin was unnerving. His fingers pressed into my flesh and instinct told me to turn and run. I glanced up and caught Mother’s smug smirk, my mind racing back to the conversation that morning and the very binding terms of our agreement.
I was caught; I could not flee the dance floor. Neither could I give this man any reason to think I was uninterested in his verbal advances.
Alarm crept on like a slow-moving wave, engulfing me all at once in utter dread. For the first time, the unfavorable possibilities of my agreement presented themselves. By consistently saying ‘yes,’ not only would I be making my interest known to any man that requested it, but I would not be able to put them off, even when I was repulsed.
Mr. Fenway’s predatory gaze stuck to me like honey, making my skin crawl.
What had I gotten myself into?