Wafting a silk-gloved hand, she smiled and closed the door. “It was my own fault. I should have told Edmund of the blackmail but…” The lines were still about her eyes but a burden seemed to have eased from her, softening her pretty features. “I only wished to protect him, as he has always protected me. And…” A soft exhale. “I have hidden away for so long that it was second nature to continue hiding from everyone.”
“But no longer?”
“No, my dear. No longer,” she said huskily. “I shall always have this affliction but I shall no longer be bound by it and hide from society, for I adore company and balls and the theatre.”
Amelia smiled. “I am so glad, Lady Twyford.”
“And why are you yourself hiding in here?” She sat upon the sofa in the middle of the room and wiggled her feet.
“I wasn’t… Well, maybe…” Amelia hesitated and crossed to sit aside her. “It’s that… I have never attended a ball just as myself. I’ve been a wallflower and widow for the Foreign Office, you understand, but never just…Amelia Lambert.” She clasped hands in her lap. “You likely do not know this, my lady, but the truth is I’m… I am the daughter of the Duke of Swanford and…the Butterfly Courtesan.”
“Of course I know,” the lady declared. “Edmund told me.”
“Oh…” Amelia unclasped her hands. “And…that does not offend you?”
“Of course not, my dear. Malice to others offends me. But you worry what theTonwill say?”
Amelia nodded. “I am content with who I am, truly, yet upon introduction as Miss Lambert, will guests ask of my family? What should I say? Should I speak the truth or…fudge a bit? In the past, I have always had a false story to tell.” She straightened her shoulders. “But like you, I do not want to hide anymore.”
Lady Twyford patted her hand. “We have much in common, us two. We have both been made fearful of others, their judgements of us, made to feel shame for who we are.” She tutted. “But I say we should fear no more.” And rose to her feet. “Do not think me naïve, for I know some will seek to belittle me, perhaps even here tonight, but we will draw strength from each other and our friends and not let anyone make us feel…less. It is time we stopped feeling shame for who they perceive us to be, Amelia, and not who we are.” With a smile, Lady Twyford held out her gloved hand. “Shall we?”
“Yes.” Amelia returned her own wide smile and clutched the lady’s hand. “Yes, we shall.”
Arm in arm, they departed the retiring room to be faced with a hall crammed with guests, every room having been opened to accommodate.
Lady Twyford hugged Amelia’s arm tight. “I confess, we’ve more here than we anticipated and–”
“There you both are!” A purple turban joggled from side to side as Lady Kemble weaved her way towards them, a vision of plum perfection. “Letty, what a success, my dear!”
“Oh, Enid. It’s just like old times.”
“The Dashing Debutantes! And do you know, I…” She leaned in, a purple feather brushing Amelia’s nose. “I thought to see the Duke of Wellington. So gallant and handsome, is he not? I came over most peculiar, nigh had a fit of the vapours.”
“It was indeed the duke, Enid, and I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet you.” Lady Twyford reached out her hand to her dear friend. “I’m so grateful to have you both here for my…debut of sorts. It’s…it’s like being all of seventeen again.”
“Isn’t it just!” Lady Kemble firmly clasped her hand. “Though back then, I could eat apple fritters without fear of dyspepsia.”
Amelia hid a smile behind her hand but Lady Twyford chuckled. “I must return to Edmund or he’ll worry. But I will see you both soon. And, Miss Lambert, remember what we agreed.” Then with a squeeze of hands, she twisted away to be absorbed into the crowd.
“Now…” Lady Kemble smoothed a wrinkle in Amelia’s glove, yanked at her bodice and straightened a tassel. “You look delightful. How are you faring, my gal?”
“All is well, Lady Kemble.”
“Splendid. Now hold your chin high, your bosom out and I told you to call me Enid.”
Amelia did as requested – on all counts.
Her purple feather nodded. “Let us make for the ballroom. It’s as stuffed as a jar of asparagus but I thought to see Wellington stride that way. He cuts such a fine form in those shiny boots of his. Do you think he keeps them on when making… No, surely not, although it’s said…”
Amelia followed the chatter and plum-purple skirts as they pressed their way towards the open doors of the ballroom. The throng was a hotchpotch of finely dressed nobles and soberly dressed parliamentary bigwigs, peacock feathers wafting in ladies’ coiffures.
Sir Edmund was certainly well-connected.
The ballroom was not vast but the walls were pure white with gold-painted mouldings in elaborate swirls, vases of full-bloom roses within the plaster niches. A chandelier glittered over the dancers stood awaiting a quadrille to commence, and it all appeared like a magical dream – the gowns so vivid against the backdrop of white.
“Oh, what a superlative crush,” proclaimed Enid, “And, ah!” Her fan pointed into the midst of the ballroom. “There’s the champagne. Do come along.”
Amelia darted after Enid who seemed to have a unique ability to part the throng with merely a perilous stare whilst at the same time nodding her regal turban at acquaintances.
