“Hello, Mother,” Georgiana said. “What brings you by? Unannounced?”
Lavinia dropped into a curtsy before James. “Good morning, my lord. Daughters.” Lavinia straightened, gave a regal nod, pausing just long enough for dramatic effect before continuing. “I am here to present the theme for the Ashford Manor Ball.”
Cecily and Georgiana, who were sitting together on the settee, designs between them, exchanged a wary glance. God only knew what they were about to see. She really hoped James held onto his purse strings.
James, across the room near the fire, leaned an elbow on the mantel and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve chosen already?”
“How could I not?” Lavinia asked. “Something of this import must not be delayed. Prepare to be amazed by my work. It’s clever, elegant, and perfectly in keeping with the tone I intend to set.”
I intend.Everything with her mother always started with her in the starring role.
Lavinia sat across from her daughters, motioning for James to sit beside her by patting the cushion as she set her notebook on the coffee table. She then flipped open the notebook with a flourish, revealing a hand-colored sketch of a ballroom adorned with draping vines, golden lanterns, and what appeared to be olive branches cascading from the chandeliers.
“The theme will be—Much Ado About Nothing. The Shakespearean comedy. Much like the unforgettable ball thrown by the Wentworths last year. I’m sure your brother and sister-in-law have told you about that night.”
“Go on,” James said, sounding impatient.
Lavinia seemed not to notice, smiling sweetly, like a cat just before the pounce. “I wasn’t invited, of course. A travesty of an oversight, I’m sure. But I heard it was absolutely breathtaking. And then, of course, chaos ensued. Luckily for you, am I right, my lord?”
James’s expression hardened, a shadow passing behind his eyes. The muscle along his jaw jumped once, twice, as his shoulders drew back with the rigid control of a man containing a storm. His knuckles whitened against the mantel. “I’m not certain that night is something to emulate.”
Georgiana glanced at him. His voice carried no particular inflection, but she knew the story. Everyone knew the story. The night Sebastian Ashford’s identity was exposed. The night Rose nearly died at the hands of her would-be fiancé. The night that had ended with two men in custody.
Lavinia, oblivious or choosing to be, continued. “Of course, we’ll avoid the melodrama. But I thought the literary homage was ratherinspired.”
Georgiana folded her arms. She felt James’s gaze shift to her, brief but intent. An unspoken alliance against Lavinia’s obliviousness that stirred something deeper than mere solidarity.
“And what does Much Ado entail, exactly?” James asked.
“Everything wonderful,” Lavinia said, clearly delighted with herself. “Wit, elegance, a touch of mystery. We’ll recreate the atmosphere of a Sicilian villa, with candlelit arches, garlands of lemon and olive, dark velvets. Evocative. Sensual, but tasteful.”
James cleared his throat softly. “Let’s aim to keep scandal to a minimum. My family’s had enough of that.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Lavinia’s dismissive wave of her hand belied by the calculating gleam in her eyes. “Nothing ruinous. Just enough romantic tension to be remembered. After all, what’s a ball without at least one broken heart?” She turned the next page to reveal a diagram of the ballroom divided into scenes: dancing, quiet corners for overheard dialogue, and a garden nook complete with seating and mock hedge walls.
“Guests will be instructed to dress in jewel tones. Sapphire, amethyst, garnet. Venetian masks for a brief interlude—enough to play with mistaken identity, but not a full masquerade. I wouldn’t dare copy your sister-in-law. Although, I’ve no doubt our ball will be spoken of for years to come. We will dazzle the guests. Leave them breathless. Just as they would be after a performance of a play, only they get to be participants. Isn’t it divine?”
Georgiana exchanged a glance with Cecily, who simply shook her head.
“And the guest list?” James asked, mostly because he had to. “Have you spoken with Mrs. Ellsworth about who should be invited?”
“Oh yes, between the two of us we know exactly who should attend.” Lavinia turned another page. “I’ve written our suggestions for your approval. You may add whomever we’ve missed. Your brotherand his wife will come, I hope?”
“We’ll see.” James wasn’t sure Rose and Sebastian would be excited to attend another Shakespearean themed ball, considering what memories it might bring up for them.
“Naturally, there will be dancing.” Lavinia turned yet another page to reveal a rough sketch of the ballroom. “But as I’ve mentioned, a proper ball is like a play. You need mood, rhythm, mystery, a climax.”
She tapped the diagram. “The ballroom shall be draped in midnight blue silk and gold garlands. Hanging lanterns, not chandeliers. Candles at every table. Between sets, there will be a masked interlude, brief, just enough for mistaken identity. The drawing room will be transformed into a garden at night. Think trellises, lemon trees, soft music from a hidden quartet. Low seating. Places for whispers.
“And the library—oh, the library will be my masterpiece. It shall be the Whispering Gallery. Curtained alcoves, candles, and little trays of note paper. Guests may pen secrets, compliments, mischief or whatever they fancy, then fold them and leave them where others might find them. It will be deliciously dangerous.”
“I’ve drafted the supper menu,” Lavinia declared. “It’s sweeping and ambitious, but if we do it right, no one will be able to stop talking about it long after the night’s complete.”
Georgiana braced herself as Lavinia cleared her throat and lifted a page with the gravity of a clergyman about to deliver a eulogy.
“To begin, we’ll offer guests a light selection of canapés: smoked salmon on rye with dill cream, quail egg tartlets with cress, and miniature beef wellingtons. Passed on silver trays by footmen.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
