Laughing at herself, she knew she didn’t care. Her gown was pretty, her hair glowed and sparkled with one or two beaded aigrettes, and she was going to what might be the only ball she’d ever attend.
And it was entirely possible she might even have a dance with James.
Secure in the belief that she’d re-created that impermeable wall around her emotions, Letitia turned from the mirror with chin held high. It was going to be a good night for the Ridlington sisters.
She’d make sure of it. Word of a lady.
*~~*~~*
“Lady Venetia Allington, Miss Letitia Ridlington, Miss Kitty Ridlington, Miss Hecate Ridlington.”
The words rang loudly over the crowd of guests at the Seton-Mowbray ball, as all four women walked carefully down the staircase to be welcomed by their hosts.
Letitia noted with amusement the six massive chandeliers, suspended from a very high ceiling over a huge ballroom. It would seem that the Seton-Mowbrays were not concerned about displays of wealth. They possessed it, and showed it off quite elegantly. Nothing was over the top, but everything was first class.
The grey haired gentleman welcomed them with a friendly smile. “Lady Allington, how delightful.” He took her hand and bowed, as she responded with the appropriate phrases…finishing with “and these are my dear nieces, Ridlingtons all, and very much looking forward to this evening.”
Letitia curtseyed. “Good evening, sir.”
He eyed her with curiosity. “A Ridlington, eh? Haven’t seen one of them in an age.”
“Then tonight’s your lucky night, sir,” she smiled. “You have three of them all in one place.”
He laughed back. “I like your spirit, gel.” He passed her on to his wife, a surprisingly young Mrs. Seton-Mowbray, who looked—thought Letitia privately—as if she might have been his mistress before becoming his wife.
However, the greetings were smooth, the line behind them growing larger, and they were into the ballroom proper before Letitia had chance to do more than dip a curtsey to Mrs. Seton-Mowbray.
“Goodness, wasn’t she pretty?” whispered Hecate, eyes wide as she looked around.
“She’s his third wife,” Kitty whispered back. “He wants more children, he says.”
“Poor dear,” muttered Letitia, thinking of Harriet. She stopped dead in her tracks.
“What?” sputtered Kitty, who had nearly walked into her sister’s back. “Are you all right?”
Letitia glanced at her sisters. “I just remembered where I heard the name before. Seton-Mowbray. Harry mentioned it.”
“Harry? Oh, your maid…” puzzled Kitty. “How would she know the family?”
Letitia shook her head. “Never mind. It was a passing thought of no matter. Shall we find a chair for Aunt Venie?”
That lady had already found a friend and was chatting companionably near the girls. She beckoned them when she saw them turn to her. “Do come over, darlings.”
And the introductions began.
There were so many people, realized Letitia. So many names and faces, some scrawled on her dance card, to her surprise. Not sure if she’d remember them all, she stayed close to Hecate, who was generating interest of her own. Both women were over the age of the average debutante, and that fact alone seemed to attract the attention of more than a few gentlemen.
Hoping that their presence at this affair rendered most of them acceptable dance partners, both Letitia and Hecate accepted requests for dances, and when the music began Letitia was stunned to realize that she had a partner for everything up to the supper dance.
After an energetic country dance, a pair of quadrilles and a cotillion, she was ready to catch her breath.
A tall man approached, his face striking, his hair thick and dark. Letitia’s writer’s mind immediately described him as “chiselled” and she wondered if he’d stepped out of the pages of her story.
“Our dance, Miss Ridlington?”
“It is?”
A full lip quirked upward. “Indeed yes.”
