Tilde couldn’t help but smile. She’d known Betsy couldn’t be happy forever acting as her aunt’s companion. Perhaps she hadn’t done well at school, but she certainly hadn’t ever been feeble minded.
Betsy fashioned Tilde’s hair into an elaborate updo with braids and curls. Then Betsy dressed herself in a second gown, a similar creation in amethyst taffeta.
Her sister impressed her to no end.
Aunt Nellie nodded in approval as they climbed into her ancient carriage. Marvelle House was a Palladian mansion across from Hyde Park. It appeared like a Greek temple set amongst the rows of townhouses. It stood three stories high and ornately carved columns flanked the large front entryway. Numerous coaches, some shiny and new, and others more weathered, lined up in a queue to set down their passengers onto the carpet rolled out to the pavement.
Tilde’s breath caught when she glimpsed the back of a gentleman wearing a similar hat to Jasper’s. When the figure turned to reveal himself a considerably younger man, relief swept through her.
As well as disappointment.
She’d known it would be possible he’d be in attendance, but assured herself that, as an earl, he’d mingle with other titled ladies and gentlemen. He’d have no cause to peruse the faces of ladies seated against the wall. After alighting from their own carriage, the three ladies waited in the long receiving line before entering the ball.
Barely seventeen, Lady Elaine, the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Marvelle, caused all other ladies to pale in comparison. And by the look in her eyes, she knew it. She was wearing an impressive tiara and a gown which might as well have been threaded together with golden strands. The girl for whom her mother hosted such a grand event, was lovely indeed.
Tilde and Betsy had glanced sideways at one another, in a knowing sisterly way, and then dropped into curtseys before the girl. After the very brief introduction, they, along with Aunt Nellie, moved along to be announced and then await the beginning of the music in an ornately decorated ballroom. Hundreds of candles flickered above in enormous chandeliers illuminating the ubiquitous gold ribbons and white flowers strategically placed within.
Tilde had difficulty imagining going to such great expense for a seventeen-year-old girl. It was the way of this world though. Likely, the young woman would go on to become a duchess herself. At the very least, a countess.
It felt like almost no time had passed since the brief period they’d mingled amongst the ton. Tilde and Betsy escorted their aunt to where a cluster of her cronies were seated, and then crept around the edge of the room to where a long line of chairs backed up against the wall.
“But we must remain standing,” Betsy insisted, “in order to show my gowns to their best advantage.”
Tilde laughed. She appreciated that they were to have a purpose for attending. They were not debutantes, nor married ladies. They were the least envied of all in attendance: spinsters.
Betsy’s gaze roved around the room and then grimaced. And then, as though she’d read Tilde’s mind, “We’re spinsters now, Tilde.”
“Indeed.” But Tilde smiled. “Why couldn’t the word for spinster be something a little less harsh sounding? Spin–ster. Like a Bannister. Or a Spectator.”
“Tincture.” Betsy added. And it soon became a game.
“Ladies who elect not to marry ought to be called something else… Like…”
“Satin. Or twilight. Or Destiny.” Betsy offered, a grin dancing on her mouth.
“Twilight implies aged. What about Amnesty?”
“Amnesty?”
“The implication that all is forgiven, and we chose to go forward as single ladies.”
Betsy nodded. “I like it. From this day forward we shall refer to ourselves as amnesties. Oh, yes. Much better.”
A hush fell on the room just then, as the guest of honor stepped through the raised entrance and paused at the top of the wide staircase. On one arm, an older man stood, the Duke her father. On the other, her mother.
The major domo announced them, and applause broke out in the room.
Upon witnessing such an outlandish spectacle, Tilde had to stifle the urge to giggle. When she covered her grin with her fan, Betsy narrowed her eyes at her in admonishment.
“I supposed I’ve been dwelling in the country too long.” She leaned forward and whispered.
“You’re incorrigible.” But then the musicians took up their instruments as the lady stepped onto the floor with––the man seemed vaguely familiar.
It was Jasper!
Her Jasper!
Well, not hers, really. But she was glad the fan covered her mouth because it likely was gaping in astonishment, most likely resembling a fish of some sort.
