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THE NEXT DAY DAWNED bright for the young ladies. They descended the stairs together and arrived at the breakfast table before ten o’clock, causing the footman to hurry back into the kitchen for their hot chocolate. Helping themselves to the dishes on the sideboard, they were soon chattering about the ball that night.
“Mary, I’m so glad you were able to come stay with us. I wouldn’t have wished such an injury on your mother, to be sure, but the last ten days have been delightful! Now that we’ve both been presented, it will be like we’ll have two balls given for us, instead of only one. I can hardly wait till this evening!”
“It shall be grand, no doubt, but tonight is your ball, Liv, and I won’t presume to appropriate any of the glory. I shall indulge in a country-dance or two, should I be asked, but I intend to remain very much in the background.”
“But that’s not right.” Lyvia frowned. “Though I can see you have that determined look of yours again, and nothing I can say will change your mind. But do tell me how you plan to escape the notice of the gentlemen while wearing the forest-green gown you have chosen for tonight.”
“The green?” Marisa attempted to look as if she did not know what her friend meant. As soon as Marisa had seen Lyvia’s attire for her coming-out ball, she had relegated that particular gown to the back of the wardrobe, with the hope that she could bring it out again in a few months to attend an assembly or the theatre with Will, as his fiancée. “Heavens, Lyvia, the colour and neckline of that dress is entirely too daring for my first appearance in polite society. I shall don a very modest pale pink for this evening with only a hint of jewellery.”
“Oh, I was positive you said...” Lyvia tilted her head to one side, puzzled. “Perhaps I heard you wrong? No, I am sure... Well, it doesn’t matter. You’ll be lovely, whether you wear the green or the pink or a grain sack, and the gentlemen will discover you, no doubt. The pink, you say? Oh, well, you must show it to me this morning, for I declare I don’t know which one you mean.”
“Good morning, my girls, and how are you this morning?” Mrs. Wycliffe swept into the room. She kissed her daughter’s cheek and then laid her slim white hand on Marisa’s forehead. “Marisa, are you better, my dear? You seem well.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you. I felt quite rested when I woke up this morning.”
“Were you sick, Mary?” Lyvia asked.
“No, not at all. A bad dream, nothing more, and the memory of it quite gone, thanks to your mother’s consolation. The hours spent waiting to enter the Queen’s drawing rooms last night were just too much, after everything else I’ve tried to do this past week. My first visit to London and I must see every place worth the effort. It would tire the fittest person, don’t you agree?” Marisa smiled brightly to convince her friend not to worry.
“Well, I don’t know why you had to do so much so soon,” Lyvia scolded. “The Tower has stood in the same spot for centuries, so I dare say it will still be there next week or even next year, for that matter, as will the buildings of Parliament. And I cannot, for my life, see how you could stand to go with Will to that dreadful military history museum. How boring that must have been for you!”
Marisa could only smile. The excursion with Will two days earlier was still vivid in her mind. How could she possibly have been bored, viewing England’s battle glories with him by her side? When he’d mentioned he was going, she’d said she hoped to see the exhibits one day, and he’d invited her to accompany him that very afternoon. They had stayed until closing, ending a most enjoyable afternoon in each other’s company and in study of a subject that interested them both.
It had been a disappointment that Will was not to be seen the next day, and even though Mrs. Wycliffe mentioned he was engaged in some excursion or other with friends from university, Marisa feared he’d tired of her company and deliberately stayed from home to avoid her tagging after him again.
By evening, when he still had not reappeared, she sank in spirits. Although she tried to tell herself it was foolishness, she could not be cheered up.
They’d been occupied all day in preparation for presentation at Court and left before dark. When they returned home at last, Marisa went to bed, only to fall asleep still preoccupied with thoughts of the strange behaviour of Lord Allersdale in Hyde Park. That memory must have led to the nightmare.
For tonight’s ball, a cold supper would be laid out at seven o’clock for guests to partake as they arrived, and the musicians would strike up promptly at ten. There were a thousand small details to attend to, and the house was soon abuzz with activity. Deliverymen arrived laden with food, flowers, and decorations of all kinds, only to leave with their carts empty and their money purses full. Mrs. Wycliffe supervised all, assisted by Lyvia and Marisa.
Mr. Wycliffe, upon arising and seeing the confusion, organized though it might be, said he was quite in the way and went off to his club, promising to return in ample time to prepare for dinner and the ball.
Will was still nowhere to be seen.
So the hours passed as the ballroom, dining rooms, and private rooms slowly began to take shape and sparkle. The ladies paused well past noon for a light nuncheon then launched into one final round of inspections. By late afternoon, all seemed to be in readiness, and Mrs. Wycliffe sent the girls off to rest for the evening’s activities.
More tired than she realized, Marisa fell into a light, easy sleep. Rose woke her an hour later and told her that the water was heated for her bath.
“Did you wake up Lyvia yet, Rose?” Marisa asked, stretching in contentment.
“Yes’m, a few minutes ago. She is a’ready bathin’.” Rose poured perfumed oil into the tub of water set before the fire. “Can I help ye, miss?”
“No need.” Marisa draped her robe over a chair and stepped into the tub. She settled back, enjoying the sensation of the water caressing her skin. The maid proceeded to straighten her bed and lay out her clothes.
“Rose,” Marisa began with some hesitation. “Have you seen young Mr. Wycliffe today?”
“Oh, yes’m. The young sir slept late today and didna’ send for ’is man till after noon. Then I saw ’im leave the house. And if you be askin’ my opinion, miss, ’e didna’ look at all well.”
“Was he ill?” Marisa was concerned enough not to care that the girl would probably tell tales later of her unusual anxiety about him.
“No, ma’am, I wouldna’ say ’e was ailin’.’E just seemed sorta tired-like, as if ’e hadna’ slept well. And I over’eard ’is man ask when ’e would be comin’ back to be gettin’ ready for tonight’s ball an’ all, an’ the young sir just looked at ’im, real serious-like an’ said—” and here Rose dropped her voice as deep as she could, attempting to imitate Will, “—‘Dammit, Elvins. You are certainly not my mother, so mind your own damn business.’” Her voice returned to its normal pitch. “An’ then ’e said ’e’d be ’ome when ’e got ready to be. That ain’t like Mr. William, miss, to be usin’ such words. I ain’t never ’eard ’im curse before, miss, truly I ain’t.”
“No, of course not,” Marisa said, lost in consideration of Will’s strange behaviour. “Thank you, Rose. If I need anything more, I will ring.”
“Yes, miss.” Rose bobbed a quick curtsey and left.
Marisa continued to soak for some time, rubbing a cake of lavender soap into lather and then rinsing. So, Will had not slept well last night, and then he’d left again this afternoon in a bad humour. Had their encounter at two in the morning been the cause of his unusual behaviour?
Her bath water finally became too cool, and with a shiver, she reached for one of the soft, thick towels stacked on a nearby table. Stepping from the tub, she wrapped it securely around herself and then sat nearer the fire, combing her fingers through her hair as it dried and then brushing it until it gleamed. Rose returned to help her dress, carefully pulling on the delicate undergarments, the finest that Marisa had ever owned.
A soft knock at her door admitted Mrs. Wycliffe’s lady’s maid. “I will do your hair now, Miss Landon, if you are ready? Mrs. Wycliffe asked me to see to it, because Rose has no experience in the latest fashions.” Unlike the younger maids, Chantal was an educated, middle-aged woman who’d lived for some years in Paris before joining the Wycliffe household.
Rose arched one eyebrow at Chantal’s comment and held Marisa’s robe. “’Ere you are then, miss. I’ll leave you to her as what knows ’ow to fix a young lady’s ’air, and see if Miss Lyvia needs my ’elp.”
“Thank you, Rose.” Marisa suppressed a smile and sat before her mirror as the maid flounced from the room.
“Now, miss,” Chantal turned to the task at hand. “What style did you have in mind for this evening? Something innocent?” She glanced at the bed where lay the pink gown. “No,” Chantal answered her own question. “That lovely dress has such simple, elegant draped lines, that it requires something more sophisticated. May I suggest...?”And she went on to describe the style she envisioned, these sections pulled back and curls framing Marisa’s face just so. “Yes, that should look most becoming. It may take some time but I believe it will be well worth it.”
“Oh, no, then we must arrange it in the quickest way possible. It is Lyvia’s ball, and she should have your best efforts tonight.”
“I have already been with the young miss for some time, and her mother is just now seeing to the final touches. Which one did you think to use, miss?” Chantal pulled out the various colours in the ribbon box on the vanity. “This one would match well. This lighter one, perhaps? Or a white one that would contrast could be very striking. Ah, I see you have diamond pins, as well. Most beautiful. They could be placed here and here, do you see?”
Together they chose the accessories, and before too long, the rose velvet ribbon had been tied and the curls coaxed and shaped just so. Chantal was positioning the last diamond pin when they heard a knock on the door, and Lyvia, with her hair equally coiffed and beribboned, appeared.
“May I come in?” she asked, stepping into the room. “Oh, Mary, you’re breath-taking!” She seemed startled by how Marisa looked with her hair up and accented with delicate jewels.
“And so are you,” Marisa assured her, rising. “Thank you, Chantal. With your help, I think I shall be able to pass muster.”
“You are very welcome, miss. I shall send Rose back to help with your gown.” Chantal nodded and left the room.
“Well, Mary, what do you think?” Lyvia wore a proper white gown, cut to reveal sections of a pale green underskirt. She turned a complete circle for her friend’s approval. With her fair skin and dark hair, Lyvia might have looked like a fairy tale princess, were it not for the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “Will I be able to hold my own among the ton?”
“I should say,” Marisa smiled. “Your gown is perfection and I am convinced that no one else could wear it half so well.”
Lyvia crossed the room and embraced her friend. “Oh, Mary, thank you for being here! To tell truth, when your mother was injured, I became somewhat frightened, wondering if I could make my way without you nearby to give me counsel.”
“But what have I done, Liv? You know far more of town life than I do.”
“Knowing the mannerisms is one thing, Mary. Having the common sense to always know the best thing to do is quite another. And, put simply, you have just been right all along. I do pray that you get exactly what you want from this Season.”