She got back in line, trying not to fidget. While all the other girls and their mothers in the line seemed to know each other, Caris and Portia were the odd ones out that evening. Greetings had been polite if distant, their attendance judged by some weight they weren’t privy to. Caris was shrewd enough to know it probably had to do with the fact they didn’t call Amari home, and anyone of note didn’t live in the Eastern Basin.
Their wealth couldn’t be traced back through generations; it’d been built up in her parents’ lifetime through grit and determination. Caris was proud of where she came from and what it took to live on the border. It wasn’t easy some days, especially during the fiercer storms that swept poison and spores down from the Eastern Spine, but it was home.
She raised her chin high when it was finally time for her turn to walk through the double doors and make her entrance into Ashion high society. The young man chosen to escort her bowed to the appropriate degree for an heir to a barony title, and Caris placed her hand in his.
“The Honorable Mateo Garcea,” the matron in charge of send-offs said.
“A pleasure,” Mateo said with a polite smile.
“Likewise,” Caris replied.
Mateo was a few years older than her, heir to a barony title like herself. His accent placed him as hailing from one of the western provinces of Ashion. His hand was warm through her glove, but not uncomfortably so. Caris faced forward and curled her other hand over the crook of her mother’s elbow.
Portia remained by her side, standing tall and proud as the frazzled-looking matron in charge of the send-offs gestured at the doormen. The servants, dressed in matching uniforms with spotlessly shined shoes, pushed the doors open at the same time.
A rich, booming voice echoed through an amplifier, announcing, “The Honorable Caris Dhemlan, heiress to the Dhemlan barony and the Six Point Mechanics Company.”
Caris counted her steps as she swept forward across the gold-veined white marble ballroom floor. The gas lamps had all been turned up to their brightest settings, and the air in the ballroom was overly warm from so many people sequestered in the space. But she remembered her cues, remembered the spot where she was supposed to let go of her mother’s arm, take three steps forward, and curtsy to high society at large.
She kept her balance, remembered to dip her chin at the last second, and slowly rose to her full height. The sound of a string quartet was drowned out by the polite clapping of those in attendance.
Portia came to stand by Caris’ side after the formal introduction was finished. Caris was escorted by her mother and Mateo to the other side of the ballroom, where the debutantes had formed a receiving line with their escorts.
“I’m proud of you,” Portia murmured beneath the noise of the crowd before slipping away.
Caris blew out a breath, tacked on a smile, and endeavored to get through the rest of the evening without stepping on anyone’s toes, metaphorically or otherwise. Mateo was polite, and he answered Caris’ questions when she attempted conversation, but the moment it was time for the escorts to step back and allow the debutantes to accept new dance partners, he disappeared like fog in summer sunlight.
Caris drifted on the outskirts of the festivities, guided by her mother and father from one knot of people to the next. The polite conversations they found themselves in never resulted in any of the young men or women asking for her hand to dance. She was equal parts relieved and embarrassed as the dancing portion of the evening wore on, eyeing the golden clock above the double doors and wondering when dinner would be called.
“Lord Dhemlan, I understand your daughter is keen on engineering,” a rich, cultured voice said off to the left as Caris and her parents discreetly pulled away from a group of people who very clearly knew each other and didn’t care to know them.
Caris craned her neck around and stared at an older woman whose gown was by far the most expensive one she’d seen tonight. The rich green fabric was offset by a diamond-and-emerald choker necklace, emerald earrings, a diamond cuff on each wrist, and a single signet ring on her right hand.
Upon her pale, graying red hair sat an intricate diamond-and-emerald tiara that sparkled in the light from the chandeliers above. The tiara really should have been a hint of the woman’s station, but Caris couldn’t for the life of her figure out who she was, nor the two young ladies and younger man clustered around her. The only person she recognized in their small group was Nathaniel, which prompted Caris to smile.
“Your Grace,” her father said in greeting before bowing deeply.
Caris belatedly remembered to curtsy when her mother shot her a warning look, trying to remember the proper depth for greeting a duchess. To be on the safe side, she went as low as she could go before rising back to her height in the heeled shoes she wore.
“May I introduce our daughter?” Portia said, gently guiding Caris forward with a press of her fingers to Caris’ back.
“Caris Dhemlan, Your Grace,” Caris said.
Meleri Auclair, Duchess of Auclair, wasn’t a tall lady, but she carried herself with the air of a person well used to being recognized and acknowledged for her station. If she was aware of the glances thrown her way and the whispered conversations around their little group where she was the subject, the duchess gave no sign of caring.
The smile she offered Caris appeared genuine, though, but the veneer high society kept up in public was never the truth. Even as far away from the capital as her family lived, Caris knew that.
“A pleasure. Allow me to introduce my daughters, Lady Brielle and Lady Lore, and my son, Lord Dureau. I understand you have already made the acquaintance of Mr. Nathaniel Clementine,” Meleri said.
“Yes. He told me he wasn’t attending the ball tonight.”
“Caris,” her mother hissed, sounding vaguely horrified.
Nathaniel bowed deeper than was required, the morning tails and trousers he wore a far more comfortable attire than her corseted gown. “Her Grace was kind enough to invite me along. I was hoping we could continue our conversation about racing carriages. Perhaps while we dance?”
He was the only person, outside of her escort, to invite her to dance all evening, and Caris knew she couldn’t decline. That it was Nathaniel made it at least bearable. She nodded and extended her hand for him to take. The first notes of a waltz started up, and Caris found herself guided onto the ballroom floor and into the circle of Nathaniel’s arms for the dance.
“I’m terrible at dancing. I may step on you,” Caris warned.
