Her smile was coy as he departed. Finally upstairs, he paused to admire the elaborate bell system his host had threaded on copper wire from lodgers’ rooms down to the servants’ quarters. A pull on an embroidered silk cord quickly gained him the hot water he needed. A water closet with a little door opening into the hall allowed a servant to attend to any needs without entering guests’ rooms.
Once bathed, shaved, and dressed, he studied himself in the looking glass, something he rarely did aboard ship. All in all, his new suit left him looking like anyone else of genteel status in Virginia.
No doubt at the ball he would see many Virginians he knew and some he didn’t.
And others he didn’t want to.
“Are you skittish, Sister?”
Skittish?In spades.
Esmée locked eyes with Eliza as they finished dressing in their adjoining bedchambers of the York townhouse. Quinn was below with Father, waiting impatiently, probably.
“You seem unnaturally disquieted.” Reaching out, Eliza tugged on a tightly coiled curl till it relaxed and draped over Esmée’s shoulder.
“You know how I feel about these genteel gatherings.” Esmée stared at her sister’s elaborate coiffure, a powdered pouf over a foot high crowned with a ship, which had taken over two hours to achieve and left Eliza’s lady’s maid in tears. Even now the nautical headdress seemed to be listing despite its intricate scaffolding.
Eliza studied her with a canny eye. “So, the pearls win?”
Atop the dressing table an assortment of gems winked up at them in the candlelight, myriad velvet-lined jewelry cases open. Eliza dangled a glittering garnet on a gold chain, then exchanged it for another.
“I rarely wear anything but pearls.” Esmée touched her throat where the necklace rested. “As for you, how about this star ruby Father brought Mama from the city of Karur in India?”
“How do you remember all the details?” Eliza fastened the ruby about her neck. “Your fondness for geography, I suppose. Celestial navigation has always been your strong suit.”
“As society is yours.”
“If you’d been a son, you might well have been a sailor,” Eliza teased. “A jack.”
With a last look at each other and the looking glass, they put on light silk capes a maid brought and went below. In the coach, the seven-mile distance would be easily managed despite the rutted road. Lady Lightfoot lived halfway between York and Williamsburg in a grand brick mansion named Lightfoot Hall, its ballroom a twin to the governor’s palace in the capital, but as she and Dinwiddie were kin, no one made much of the likeness.
Esmée settled back on the upholstered seat, wishing the seven miles were seventy instead. But even that distance would not give her time to compose herself. “Pleasure” balls they were not. Already she was counting the hours till she could peel off her many layers while ruminating about all the things she’d said and done but shouldn’t have. Yet she liked Lady Lightfoot. And she did not wish to offend by declining her gracious invitation. As she was not prone to lying, pleading illness didn’t suit either. Let the ball be a ruse for raising funds for the almshouse.
Beside her, Eliza sat fussing with the pins in her hair. Her sister’s shipwreck of a coiffure only added to Esmée’s angst as she watched it barely clear the coach’s narrow doorway. The men got in after them warily. Father looked resplendent in admiral attire, and no one could fault Quinn for his wardrobe, respected barrister and member of the governor’s council that he was.
“How goes your marine atlas?” Quinn asked Father as he settled beside Eliza.
“A piece of work,” Father replied, clearly pleased by the subject. “Charting the Atlantic coast is a tedious process, but if it improves navigation safety, ’tis well worth it.”
“I heard the admiralty is hurrying you to finish on account of the French threat.”
“Understandably with the enemy coming by sea...”
The men continued their talk as Eliza gave a final poke with a pin, and the ship seemed anchored at last. “You are my foil tonight, Sister. Unpowdered and unwigged. Plain pearls and remade gown.”
Did Eliza suspect she tried to blend in with the paneling? “All the better.”
“Did I mention Quinn’s parents gifted me an heirloom tiara upon news of the baby? A shocking assortment of diamonds, Quinn says, that’s been in the Cheverton family a century or better. Sadly, my in-laws remain in England but plan to sail unless a declaration of war is decided.”
“When shall you wear the tiara?”
“As soon as it—and the heir—arrives.”
Esmée took a deep breath, her stays overtight. “What makes you so sure the heir isn’t a she?”
“We’ve only chosen names for a boy, so a boy it must be.”
Esmée quelled her eye rolling. “Best ponder daughter’s names, as the Almighty might have other designs.”
