“We had no ‘balls,’ in the English sense, no,” Hudson explained. “But the slaves celebrate the end of harvest or ‘crop over’ with dancing and feasting in the plantation yards.”
“Oh. I see.” Helen brightened. “Then this shall be the inaugural servants’ ball for the both of us. I have several ideas, but what have you thought of so far?”
Hudson rocked on his heels. “Well... there should be food, of course. A nice buffet supper.”
“I wonder if Monsieur Fournier would have any suggestions? Though perhaps we ought to hire a cook and waitstaff for the day so none of the servants have to work.”
“I doubt Monsieur Fournier will relish the thought of handing over his kitchen. But day help is an excellent idea.”
She beamed, and it did Nathaniel’s heart good to see his sister looking so happy.
“We must have music, of course,” Helen said. “And dancing.”
Hudson agreed. “Mr. Arnold informs me he knows of an excellent fiddler who plays all the country dances.”
“Wonderful.”
Nathaniel felt like a spectator at a shuttlecock match as the two batted ideas back and forth.
“And perhaps a few games or a contest?” Helen added. “A prize or two?”
“Or a small gift for everyone.”
“Very thoughtful,” she enthused. “This will be great fun, Mr. Hudson. I for one look forward to it.”
Hudson nodded slowly, eyes fastened on her bright, smiling face. “As doI.”
The following morning, Margaret entered Miss Upchurch’s bedchamber to dress her hair as usual. Helen stood at the window wearing her day dress of Devonshire brown. When she did not turn, Margaret went to join her at the window to see what had captured her attention. The distant clang of steel drew her gaze down to the arcade below.
There, Nathaniel Upchurch and Mr. Hudson were fencing in shirtsleeves. Through the columns, Margaret saw them advancing and retreating, lunging and striking, in an intricate fast-paced dance. Their swords clashed, circled, and struck again, morning sunshine glinting off polished blades.
Without looking away, Helen murmured, “What is it about men and swords?”
Even from a distance, Margaret could not help but admire their grace and agility. Nor could she fail to notice the outline of Nathaniel’s broad shoulders against damp shirtsleeves. Nor how his leg muscles strained against snug white pantaloons with each lunge. She hoped Helen could not read her thoughts.
She glanced over and saw a strange light in Helen’s eyes as she observed her brother. Or was it Mr. Hudson she watched? Margaret hadn’t the courage to ask.
Leaving Helen at the window, Margaret took herself into the dressing room to see if anything needed to be done. A few moments later, Helen came and sat at her dressing table. She eyed the new arrangement of flowers Margaret had delivered earlier that morning—yellow and white chrysanthemums amid vibrant greenery.
Helen turned to smile at her, but her eyes quickly returned to the colorful flowers. “Did you arrange these?”
“I did.”
“Exquisite.”
The simple compliment pleased Margaret greatly. She was less pleased by Helen’s apparel but made no comment. By now, she was resigned to Miss Upchurch’s habit of alternating between her day dresses of grey, brown, and a dull gold color that did no favors for her sallow complexion.
Margaret picked up brush and pins to begin, only to be startled when Helen suddenly rose from her seat.
“Do you know, I believe I shall wear the green walking dress you made over for me. Such a pity to waste it. If you would kindly help me change?”
Margaret smiled. “Of course. I should be delighted.”
She brought out the dress and a pair of long stays. “The line of the gown would be so much improved by correct underpinnings, Miss Helen. Would you mind terribly?”
Helen’s face puckered at the sight of the boned contraption, but she acquiesced. “Oh, very well.”
Margaret helped Helen out of the brown dress and unstructured undergarments, then into the long stays. While Margaret worked the lacing, Helen eyed her reflection in the looking glass, tilting her chin from side to side. “And perhaps, just a touch of rouge?”
