They would discuss this in the morning. However, first they had to live through this evening.
And then they were on the top step and in front of a butler who appeared more officious and grander than an admiral. He lifted a brow before asking quietly, “Your names?”
Gwendolyn offered the invitation. He read the names on the back and then raised his voice to announce, “Dame Eleanor Roberson, Miss Lanscarr, and her sisters, Miss Dara Lanscarr and Miss Elise Lanscarr.”
Few in the crowded foyer that appeared to spill into an even more densely packed ballroom looked up in response. They were all more interested in themselves.
The butler motioned them forward, across the threshold, to pay their respects to their host and hostess.
And Dara finally relaxed. No one had toldthem to leave. No one had ordered them out. Whether dressed properly or not, they had arrived. They’d done it.Finally.
The couple in front of them were babbling to Lady Royston about how wonderful it was to be back in the city. Apparently, the gentleman had been ill with a rash—and he wished to go into details.
“He should have you to tell him the rules of polite conversation,” Elise whispered in Dara’s ear.
“Lady Royston would probably appreciate it if I did,” Dara answered.
At last, it was their turn. Lady Royston was everything Dara had expected a true gentlewoman to be. She was of middling years and possessed extraordinary style. Her dress was a silver sheath over layers of finely patterned material. Pearls the size of Dara’s thumb were at her throat, and a band of them formed a coronet in her dark hair.
Next to her was Lord Royston, able diplomat and reputed man of the world. He was a disappointment.
He wore a velvet jacket in midnight blue over too-tight white evening dress, a style that emphasized his bowlegs. His thinning hair was brushed forward as if aping the Brutus style, which was not flattering on him. He had an extraordinary amount of forehead.
Nor was his expression of boredom a ruse. “Aren’t we done yet?” he complained to his wife.
“Momentarily,” Dara heard his wife say, although her lips did not move and her smile remained intact as she looked to Gwendolyn.
Another footman, standing close to her elbow, whispered what the butler had announced, “Dame Eleanor Roberson and her nieces, Miss Lanscarr, Miss Dara Lanscarr, and Miss Elise Lanscarr.”
Lady Royston did not act as if she had never clapped eyes on the Lanscarrs. Instead, she smiled benevolently—a smile Dara couldn’t wait to practice in front of her looking glass at home. “Thank you for coming, Dame Eleanor.”
Tweedie gave a quick bob. “Very nice, very nice.” It was all she could manage. Gwendolyn murmured something gracious about the invitation and glanced at Dara as if needing help over what to do next. So Dara tried to inch her family forward while being a bit intimidated herself.
And all would have been fine if Lord Royston’s gaze hadn’t settled on Elise. Beautiful, golden Elise. His ennui vanished. He almost elbowed his wife out of the way, a wolfish gleam in his eye. “And who is this?” he asked.
His wife’s smile tightened. It was not a pleasant expression, and then she said, “Lanscarr.” Suddenly her lips parted as if she’d been struck with a sudden realization. “Ah, yes, I remember.”
She remembers what?Dara didn’t dare ask.
“I hope you enjoy our company this evening,ladies.” Lady Royston then turned to her husband. “Come, my lord, let us open the dancing.” She grabbed his arm, her fingers pinching into the sleeve hard enough for her husband to give a start. He reluctantly tore his attention away from Elise and back toward his responsibilities.
Dara and her sisters discreetly trailed behind the couple, even while there was a host of other guests still waiting to enter the house.
“I would have preferred to not have to go through that,” Gwendolyn whispered, her own lips doing a wonderful copy of Lady Royston’s cool smile.
“Did I do something wrong?” Elise asked. “He acted quite rude.”
“He was. And you werenotat fault—” Dara began to assure her, until she caught sight of the ballroom in front of her.
This was what they meant by a “crush.” The room was teeming with people, colorful fabrics, jewels, and ostrich feathers. Heaven could not be more glorious.
Those who had predicted this would be one of the most important social events of the Season had not been wrong. Dara couldn’t believe her good fortune in being here.
Hundreds of candles lit the room. Huge swaths of white silk were draped from floor to ceiling like glorious, moving columns that served as a fitting backdrop to the dazzling company.
There was an air of excitement in the room, as ifanythingcould happen this evening.
As if thetonhad been waiting anxiously for Dara...
