“Cathy!” Rowena rose and lifted the fine silk fabric off the floor. “Do not ruin it.” Her sister appeared unaware that her fine gown was presently gathering dust off the floor, her expressions as though she were in a dream.
“I only wish I could be received at Court. That is the only thing which would make this ball even better.”
Rowena stood; the fine silky material gathered in her arms. “It is a shame, but the Queen is in such poor health she cannot host regular drawing rooms. But do not let it vex you, I was not presented to the Queen either.”
Catherine grinned, “I know. And Faith, look at you now, dearest sister. About to be wed to the Duke of Thornmouth. Once you are wed, you’ll be sure to be presented at Court. Lord Thornmouth is a favorite of Prinny, everyone knows it.”
Rowena didn’t have a chance to reply, for her sister found herself distracted by a pair of shoes that matched the dress she’d just selected.
Rowena was left to stand by and watch her sister revel in her impending coming-out ball plans which was now less than two weeks away. She sighed. She still remembered her own coming-out ball.
Had it really already been four years? It seems like only yesterday.
Her ball had been held at the prestigious Westerson Hall in Bath, instead of in London. Her mother, originally from Bath, had had her heart set on hosting the ball there and Rowena never had the nerve to say no to her mother. It had been a smashing success. She smiled as she remembered the evening. She’d worn a dress made of the finest satin, in a rather daring evening-primrose color with expensive lace and pearls sewn into the gown.
All the best and finest of society had been there and she’d danced one dance after another. She could still taste the Negus on her lips when she closed her eyes. She’d been so full of hope for the future then, and full of naïve dreams still. Sure, she’d known being out meant that she was to be wed soon. But back then, she’d still hoped that she could combine doing her duty to her family and marrying a man she might actually like.
She scoffed at her own childish dreams.
I made a cake of myself thinking I might get away with finding a suitable man that I liked.
Since then, she’d done away with those foolish notions. She’d seen too many other ladies married off to men who were often the opposite of what they’d dreamt of. Men who were wealthy and influential yes, but who were also often older, widowed, or downright unpleasant.
“What is it, Ro? You look Friday-faced all of a sudden.”
She shook her head, “It is nothing, Catherine. Just a little tired, is all. I was just thinking of–” she got no further for the door to her sister’s bedchamber swung open.
“Oh my, girls. What is this mess?” Lady Hazelshire stopped in the doorway and surveyed the room. Rowena hadn’t realized, but the room had indeed become rather messy. An array of dismissed dresses were piled upon the bed, shoes cluttered the floor, and an assortment of reticules and bonnets and caps littered the floor. And in the midst of it all was Catherine, currently wearing three different bracelets on each arm as well as a variety of necklaces around her neck.
Her sister blinked at their mother and swiftly turned on her sweetest, brightest smile. The one nobody in the family, save for Rowena, could resist.
“Mama! I am ever so sorry for the mess. Alas, I must admit that I have been completely overwhelmed with selecting a gown for the ball.” She turned to her sister. “And Rowena has been of no help whatsoever, occupied as she is with her own plans.”
Instantly, Lady Hazelshire’s harsh expression changed. The good fortunes that were about to be bestowed on both her daughters evidently softened her heart and she gave them a slight smile.
“Rowena has much to consider, starting with the most important question. Summer or winter?”
Lady Hazelshire bent down and picked up a white-satin reticule with lovely roses embroidered on the front and handed it to Catherine. “This one. The roses are the same ones as in our Coat of Arms. Your Father had it embroidered especially for you upon your twelfth birthday. It will be perfect.” She did not allow time for Catherine to protest, for Rowena knew her sister disliked this particular reticle. Instead, Lady Hazelshire looked squarely at Rowena.
“Summer or winter?”
Momentarily confused, Rowena frowned only to be instantly chastised by her mother.
“Now, what did I tell you about frowning? It will only give you wrinkles.” She stepped closer to Rowena and placed her hands under her chin, lifting her head slightly and inspecting her face. “I like the way you applied the powder. Is it the crushed pearl?”
Rowena nodded as much as she could, given the grip her mother had on her face.
“Very nice. It suits you.” She released her hand.
“Betsy did it.”
Suddenly, her mother’s face softened. “She is a girl of many talents. She will do well in life. I am certain of it.”
Rowena could not help but smile. Lady Hazelshire was not a soft woman. In fact, she was quite the opposite. Harsh and with a sharp tongue, her concern was always with the way her family was perceived by the judgmental society in which they lived. She, with the help of assorted governesses and tutors, ensured that her children had the most refined manners and reputations within society. Her son, the future Earl of Hazelshire, had been educated by the most respectable tutors money could buy. He was an expert at horseback riding, fencing, and many other talents expected of a young gentleman.
Both Rowena and Catherine had long been raised to be perfect ladies of the ton. They knew every dance, were well read, and their individual talents were honed and perfected. While Rowena was not particularly talented at embroidery, she had a talent for music and thanks to her mother’s efforts, could play not only the pianoforte, but also the violin and the harp. She was also an accomplished painter. Catherine’s gift on the other hand, was her voice. Trained from an early age, she could sing beautifully and also had a talent for reciting poetry.
Rowena had to admit, their mother had turned each of them into the perfect member of the high society. But it had come at a cost. The motherly warmth that Rowena had often craved as a child had been absent for most of her childhood. Hugs, kisses, and comfort had come from the nurses and governesses, and often also Mrs. Wooster, the housekeeper, instead of from Lady Hazelshire. For many years Rowena had thought that her mother simply did not have maternal feelings, but then Betsy had arrived. And she’d found she’d been wrong.
