Lady Malloy's ball was among the most sought after events of the Season. Laura would have gaped at the splendor of it had she not been brought up a lady. Her governess and her aunt had trained her in deportment and correct behavior. She managed not to stare but couldn't hide her excitement. It shone through her eyes, drawing admiring glances to her animated face.
Her first dance was with her brother. She executed her steps flawlessly and managed to converse. True to her word, Lady Maria found partners who were not in the least intimidating. Lord Emsworth, her partner for the second dance, was heir to a dukedom but not at all stiff-necked. Laura caught him counting steps. He gave a bashful smile and shrugged. “I'm not good at dancing.”
Instead of dissembling, Laura said, “My lord, may I offer a few pointers? I used them when I first learned to dance.”
“Say, you are nice! Lady Priscilla was laughing at me. Not outright, she wouldn't because of my father. But I could tell!”
After that Laura found it easier to talk to her partners. Though some appeared to be more sophisticated, it was all a pretense; they were only trying to make a good impression and were afraid of failing.
As the dancing progressed, the ballroom became overheated. Lord Newington, a young earl not much older than Laura, asked, “May I bring you something to drink?”
“Lemonade, my lord, if it will not be too much trouble.”
Lord Newington offered to escort Laura back to her mother. “I'll wait there,” Laura offered, pointing to an unoccupied sofa. The ballroom was so full that she would expire of thirst by the time Lord Newington deposited her with her mother and made another trip for the lemonade.
After a moment’s hesitation, Lord Newington escorted her to the seat and left. Laura was relieved to sit down. Her shoes were new and not very comfortable. She could feel a blister forming. Perhaps she could ease the pain if she repositioned the strap. She moved to one end of the curved sofa and spread her skirts wider. Bending down quickly, she removed her shoe.
What a relief it was! She lifted the hem a bit to see the damage. As the lights were behind her, she couldn't make out. Sighing, she slipped her foot back into the shoe and straightened. Her eyes fell on a man. He stood a little away and was staring at her.
Mortified that the man had seen her exposed ankle, Laura felt her face grow hot. She looked away. A moment later, she stole a glance. The man's stance was unchanged. Hands in his coat pockets, a shoulder negligently placed against a fluted pillar, and feet crossed at the ankles, he continued to look at her.
This was the out and out of everything! Fuming, Laura glared at the man. The man started, as if only then noting her presence. Making her an elaborate leg, he turned away. Laura watched him as he threaded his way along the perimeter of the ball.
“Your lemonade, Lady Laura.”
Laura accepted the drink. Lord Newington sat down beside her. As she sipped the lemonade, he chatted about his home and his love for astronomy. Laura tried to pay attention but her mind kept wandering to the brooding gentleman. His knitted brows and the frown creasing his forehead spoke of troubled thoughts. Suddenly, she wanted to know what ailed him. What was the burden that prevented him from enjoying the glittering ball?
“Lady Laura?”
“I'm sorry. I was woolgathering. Please tell me more. Your sister seems to be wonderfully accomplished,” Laura said, and managed to give his lordship her attention until he handed her over to her next partner.
***
The next morning, Laura was surprised to see pinpricks of sunlight through the curtains. Usually, she was an early riser.
Bessie came in with her chocolate. “How was the ball, my lady?”
Taking a welcome sip, Laura said, “It was a grand affair. The ladies wore pretty gowns, some of them shockingly revealing.”
“And the dancing? Did you enjoy it? You were worried you wouldn't.”
Laura laughed. “Lady Maria was right. I only needed confidence. I'm already looking forward to another ball!”
Bessie would have asked some more questions but she was eager to try out a new hairstyle. Lucy had showed it to her before leaving.
When Laura came down, her mother and aunt were finishing breakfast. “You are a sight for sore eyes, dear,” Lady Helena said as Laura dropped a peck on her cheek. It was how she greeted her aunt every morning.
“You look lovely, dear,” Lady Catherine said, her eyes suspiciously bright. Feeling self-conscious, Laura bent down to kiss her mother's cheek and received a tight hug in turn.
“Thank you, dears. Bessie has done my hair differently. She's very clever. Can you believe she's already learned three new ways of doing hair?”
“The rose muslin becomes you well, not that you didn't look lovely in your old gowns. These are of a fashionable cut, that is all,” her aunt said with a satisfied smile.
“Have you seen the flowers come for you?” Lady Catherine asked.
“Flowers? For me? Who sent them?”
“I counted seven when I came down. You are a success, my dear!”
There were eleven bouquets in all. A maid had arranged them tastefully in the drawing room. Laura took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of roses and lilies. In addition to the gentlemen with whom she had danced, four others had thought fit to send flowers.
Laura skipped away to the library, to share her success with her brother. Gareth wasn't in there.
“His lordship has gone to Severn House,” a footman informed her.
Laura suppressed a smile. Her brother was well and truly snared. He had always protested he wouldn't marry for love. Love is a quagmire I will not be caught in, he was wont to say. And now he was living in Lady Maria's pockets.
As Laura walked across the foyer, she heard voices. The butler was talking to someone at the door. She stopped behind an arrangement of potted plants and peeped. It was the man from the ball! John was telling him that Gareth was not at home.
As the man turned to leave, his eyes locked with Laura's. He paused and flashed her a smile. The man had dimples! Either that or the folly of hiding in her own home made Laura step out. In spite of the blush staining her cheeks, she stood ramrod straight and inclined her head. The man's lips curved into an appreciative smile. Once again he favored her with a bow, and left.
“Who is he?” Laura asked John, miffed that the man hadn't come in and introduced himself. That would have been the right thing to do. Not at the ball, where he couldn't speak to her unless presented but surely, in her home, it would have been civil to make himself known.
“Lady Laura, he is the Duke of Wimberley. He was here to call upon the master.”
So the man was a duke. Well, his Grace was shockingly lacking in social graces, Laura thought, and with a toss of her head, entered the withdrawing room, to await the first of her callers.
***
Laura was not prone to headaches or to fainting spells. However, after an hour of being surrounded by a cluster of young men spouting inane lines and making sheep eyes, her temples started to throb. To make matters worse, Mr. Bennett, a baron's son newly come to London, chose to wear a sickeningly sweet scent. He even carried a perfumed handkerchief. The cloying scents coming from him were making Laura nauseous.
Lord Newington was on her other side. Laura decided he was a bore. He kept talking about his family, and about the sightings from a telescope, all in a monotone. After some time it was nigh impossible to unravel whether he spoke of his sister or a star.
The third caller, she supposed, belonged to the dandy set. Attired in mauve, with an excess of pomade holding up his hair, he looked old. At least thirty, Laura thought, worrying how she would manage a conversation with him. It turned out she didn’t need to. Lord Hennicker liked to listen to his own voice.
He paid extravagant compliments to Lady Helena and Lady Daventon and launched into a longwinded description of something to do with the upholstery of his carriage. Then he removed a sheet of paper from his coat. “Lady Laura, I wrote a poem about you.”
“I don't...” Laura began and caught her aunt's eye.
“I don't think I deserve a poem, my lord,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You are being unduly modest, Lady Laura. It is my poem that is undeserving of your attention.”
His expression belied his words. Puffing up as if he was about to read out a masterpiece, he cleared his throat and commenced:
Ode to Lovely Lara
A shimmering star is the Lovely Laura
She brings with her a golden aura
If I had to choose among all flora
It would definitely be the Lovely Laura.
A dazzling gem is the Lovely Laura
Her smile brightens every hour-a
If I had to …
The door opened and Lady Maria came in, followed by Lord Daventon. “Lord Hennicker, I'm delighted to see you! Are you reciting one of your poems?” she asked.
To Laura's surprise, she sat down and looked at Lord Hennicker with a rapt expression. Gareth scowled and went across to sit beside his mother.
Lord Hennicker appeared to have swallowed a frog. His friend Mr. Theodore laughed and tried to disguise it with a cough.
“What's the title of your poem? I remember the one you penned in my praise. It was called Ode to Sweet Maria.”
Mr. Theodore smiled broadly. “I've heard it several times, my lady. Hennicker's new poem is very much like it, except that it is addressed to Lovely Laura!”
Lord Hennicker looked abashed but Lady Maria only smiled. “My lord, I can very well see how the poem will also apply to my dear Lady Laura. She is indeed lovely and amiable.”
Lord Hennicker beamed and once again cleared his throat.
***
An hour later, after the last of the callers left, Laura flung herself on a sofa. “Will it be like this every day? Not one of them had anything interesting to say.”
“It will get worse, my dear. You may get stuck with being called Lovely Laura. The ton isn't capable of much imagination. Where one goes, the others follow,” Lady Maria said.
Laura shuddered. “Will there be others writing odes?”
“You may depend on it, and they will liken you to flora.”
“I will not be able to sit through such calls. I was so bored I thought I would fall asleep.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Lady Maria said. “You appeared composed.”
“That’s only appearance.”
“May I remind you that only appearances count here?”
“I’m worried I won’t know what to say!” Laura wailed.
“Never fear, love! You will always have someone who will have a lot to say. The ton does not expect a debutante to have scintillating conversation. You need only to politely agree and say a few agreeable words at appropriate intervals. If something original comes to your mind, put your cap on it.”
“You make it sound so easy!”
Lady Maria suddenly looked serious. “Pretending to listen is the easy part. We can’t wish away the gossip. Or the jealousy.”
“Jealousy?”
“None of the debutantes this year can hold a candle to you. You are far lovelier than any of them.”
Laura stared at Maria as if she was speaking a foreign language. She wasn’t beautiful. Lydia with her dark hair and blue eyes was beautiful. Her own hair was mousy. Her eyes were a dull grey. And her height made her stand out like a dandelion.
And then she looked across the room at her mother. Her aunt was right. She had her mother’s plentiful golden hair and her arresting eyes. She smiled. Why had she thought herself plain?