IT WAS EASY TO hide beside the ficus. That was what Juliet always did at balls. Rarely did anyone notice. The challenge, if she wanted to take it on, was to try and hide a book in her pocket to read for the next ball. That sounded delightful. Only the decision of which book to bring was a greater challenge.
Juliet scanned the ballroom crowded with beautiful women and men in their finest attire. Looking down at her simple white gown, she felt out of place. Technically, this was her first season, even though she was four-and-twenty. But she couldn’t have come out any earlier, nor did she want to, because when her father, the Earl of Chesterson, passed away just after her eighteenth birthday, nothing could prompt Juliet away from the house and her books.
But being near spinsterhood now, it was nearly impossible to convince those closest to her to allow her to stay home another season.
So here she stood, slightly hidden behind her leafy green best friend, in awe of the beauty around her. She had never been pretty. Or so everyone’s silence on the matter reminded her. Even her father, a good father mind, ever reassured her by saying it wasn’t yet her time. Only one person had ever truly tried to encourage her in the area of esthetics. He had called her cygnet. That was so long ago. Well, she supposed she was still waiting for that promised day. It seemed no amount of white dresses would fool the beau monde.
This was her fifteenth ball of the season, and her dance card remained empty. Again. A sigh escaped her lips. Fashion worked for some people. Just not her. Perhaps she would continue brainstorming her idea to start hosting a salon for women to discuss topics other than fashion. Philosophy. Fencing. Fishing. And other topics not starting with the same sound. Juliet grinned to herself. It would be exhilarating to discuss more in depth issues with similarly minded women. She need only wait until her twenty-fifth birthday. Then this long-awaited search for her absent guardian would be over.
It still rankled that her solicitors would not tell her the name of her guardian. Didn’t she have a right to know? She could be of help in finding him. The irresponsible wastrel. Well, truth be told, she had no idea what he was like. Not knowing his name, she knew nothing about him. But what kind of man shirked his responsibilities?
Her father’s solicitors had been searching for him for a few years now, and there was no word of him. The number of bow street runners that had traipsed through her house was greater than the number of balls she had attended this season.
Oh well, she had one season to enjoy, and then she would do whatever she wanted with her life. Her father had left her an enormous inheritance, which had somehow been kept under wraps so far. Thankfully she had no fortune hunters to fend off. Especially thankfully, since her chaperone was off playing cards and her cowardly guardian was nowhere to be found to help with said fending.
This season was to be all about having a pleasant time. She was too disillusioned for anything serious like love and marriage.
Or so she kept telling herself.