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G oing down the stairs had been challenging.

Climbing into the coach had been only slightly better than getting out.

As Fiona maneuvered the massively wide skirts of her court gown into the antechamber outside the throne room of the Queen’s House, she prayed she wouldn’t lose her balance.

How she wished Prudence were here, and not just for her help, but for her calming and supportive presence.

After they’d returned home from the musicale the night before, Prudence had apologized profusely for revealing her presence in the card room to Overton.

In Fiona’s opinion, she’d had no choice—he’d encountered her when he’d gone in search of Fiona, and Prudence had, smartly, told him that Fiona was with Cassandra.

Fiona had thanked her for not jeopardizing her position and then admitted that her reasoning was self-serving, for she didn’t want to contemplate navigating London without her.

Which was precisely what Fiona was doing today, unfortunately.

The gown was a monstrosity and not just because of its size.

It combined the high waist of modern fashion with the wide, hooped skirts of thirty years before, and the effect was that Fiona looked ten times her size.

Or that her upper portion was a tiny bird sitting atop a massive rock. It was, in a word, unappealing.

White with a pale peach overskirt that exposed the center of the skirts of the gown, the garment was as heavy as it was unwieldy. Fiona was grateful for the support of Lord Overton’s arm.

“Careful there, Miss Wingate,” he murmured, his features creasing in a slight wince.

Fiona loosened her grip on his sleeve. “My apologies. This is a treacherous costume.”

Lady Pickering looked from the four pale yellow feathers in Fiona’s hair style to survey the room where perhaps a dozen other young ladies were already queued to see the queen.

“Yes, four feathers was just right. And the cameo was a brilliant touch, if I do say so.” Her gaze dipped to the several necklaces draped about Fiona’s neck, which also contributed to her sensation of feeling as though she were a human anchor.

Indeed, she’d wondered how she was going to leverage herself off the seat of the coach when they’d arrived.

Thankfully, the earl had provided a great deal of assistance.

“Pardon me for a moment,” Lady Pickering said. “I must speak with Lady Hargrove.”

Fiona glanced about, wondering if any of the other young ladies felt as ridiculous—or frightened—as she did. And where was Cassandra? She was also being presented today.

A lady in her early forties and, presumably, her daughter approached them. “Good afternoon, Lord Overton. May I present my daughter, Miss Judith Nethergate?”

The earl bowed most elegantly, extending his leg in a way Fiona had never seen him do before. “Lady Corby, Miss Nethergate, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He gestured to Fiona. “Allow me to introduce my ward, Miss Fiona Wingate.”

Fiona dipped into a rather shallow curtsey. She didn’t dare come close to the depth that would be required in the throne room.

Miss Nethergate was a very pretty and wholly proper English rose with pale blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.

Her blossom-pink lips perfectly matched the ribbons and ruffles on her ivory gown.

It was every bit as ostentatiously absurd as Fiona’s.

In fact, Fiona suspected it might have been slightly larger.

Miss Nethergate also had five feathers in her hair—four ivory and one pink.

Lady Corby’s gaze slid to Fiona. “I didn’t realize you had a ward. How charming.”

“Yes, I assumed responsibility for her after my father passed. Miss Wingate is enjoying her first Season so far.” He looked to Miss Nethergate. “And how is your Season?”

Miss Nethergate fluttered her lashes prettily. “This is my first outing, my lord. I am looking forward to the Basildon ball tomorrow evening. Will you be there?”

“Indeed we will.”

Fiona wondered if she could get her eyelashes to do what Miss Nethergate’s had done. She’d ask Cassandra to teach her. Surely she’d be able to do it.

“Your gown is lovely,” Miss Nethergate said, eyeing Fiona’s dress.

“Thank you. They’re quite large though, aren’t they?”

“That is the way of court dress,” Lady Corby said with a patient smile. “If you walk correctly and curtsy with grace, the gown will flow and sway beautifully. Like birds showing their plumage.”

Well, the feathers certainly brought birds to mind. Though they’d have to be particularly fat ones.

“Oh, it’s time,” Lady Corby said, her smile evaporating and her brow creasing as she pivoted toward the doors of the throne room, which had just opened.

“Good luck,” Miss Nethergate said before turning with an effortless poise that made Fiona want to weep.

“Don’t worry,” Overton whispered. “You’ve practiced plenty. You’ll comport yourself beautifully.”

She cast him a dubious stare. “Like a bird?”

He laughed softly. “Please don’t.”

Fiona smiled in spite of her nerves.

Lady Pickering rejoined them. “Ready? We’ll wait to be called.”

Scanning the room again, Fiona saw that Cassandra had finally arrived. And it was a good thing because her name was called next. Fiona met her gaze as she walked past, and Cassandra winked at her.

“Good luck!” Fiona mouthed.

How did Cassandra look spectacular in her overlarge gown? White with minimal gold and red accents, her dress was simply magnificent. It was the lack of fussiness, Fiona realized, that made it look less…garish.

No, she didn’t look garish at all, especially given the way she glided across the floor as if she regularly walked around in such a dreadfully uncomfortable state. For even though Cassandra’s gown might be the loveliest one here, it was still a death trap as far as Fiona was concerned.

Suddenly, Fiona heard her name. Every part of her turned to ice, and she feared she was too frozen solid to move. But then the earl nudged her, pulling her along into the throne room.

Rectangular, with people lining the sides as if they were spectators at a sport, the room seemed to grow longer with each step. At the opposite end was a dais upon which Queen Charlotte sat surrounded by her ladies in waiting.

Fiona’s breath caught. As ridiculous as she felt, this was a moment she had never imagined and would never forget. She was a nobody from nowhere and here she was about to meet the queen . Everything after this would be somehow less.

The weight of everyone’s stares pressed down on Fiona, joining the frightful burden of her gown and jewels and feathered headdress.

At last, the dais seemed to be close. She caught sight of Cassandra to her left but didn’t dare turn her head.

Keeping her gaze pinned to the floor of the dais, Fiona put one foot in front of the other until Lord Overton came to a stop.

“Lord Overton and Lady Pickering,” someone intoned.

The earl presented an even more elegant bow than he had in the antechamber. “May I present my ward, Miss Fiona Wingate.”

Lady Pickering sank into a curtsey. “I am pleased to be Miss Wingate’s sponsor, Your Majesty.”

Now it was Fiona’s turn. She’d practiced all this dozens of times—until her thighs and calves had ached. And while she’d done it wearing the hoops beneath her gown and a headdress with two feathers, she hadn’t been wearing the actual gown or this headdress or any of these jewels.

Fiona carefully moved her right leg behind her left and slowly lowered herself toward the floor. When she’d finally reached the appropriate depth, she felt a surge of giddiness. Almost there!

But her left leg went numb suddenly. She feared for her balance.

Panic rushed through her as she wobbled.

She took a deep breath and silently told herself that she could manage this—she had only to rise.

Only her legs were immovable, as if they were locked in place.

She didn’t dare look toward the earl or Lady Pickering.

She was to keep her head pointed forward, her gaze directed at the queen’s skirts.

Fiona heard a murmur to her right. She’d been down too long. She had to stand up!

Clenching her jaw, she squeezed her hands into fists and straightened her leg. The movement was too fast however, and the balance she’d fought so hard to maintain completely gave way.

Since she was closer to the floor than not, her body simply collapsed into a heap of ivory and yellow disaster. In that moment, she truly hoped the gown was large—and monstrous—enough to swallow her whole.

Alas, it was not. Nor did it prevent the sounds of people gasping from reaching Fiona’s ears. Almost instantly, Overton’s hands were on her, helping her, or more accurately, pulling her to her feet. He said nothing, but a quick glance toward his face said he was concerned.

Lady Pickering touched her arm. “We beg your pardon, Your Majesty. Miss Wingate was feeling a trifle overheated before she was summoned. Please accept our deepest apologies.”

A heavy silence fell over the throne room as the queen surveyed Fiona. She kept her gaze averted just enough so that she wasn’t looking directly at the queen. But the queen was definitely staring straight at her.

“Are you well, Miss Wingate?” the queen asked in faintly German-accented English.

Fiona clutched at Overton’s arm, grateful for his presence. Lady Pickering’s explanation, that Fiona was overheated, was certainly true at the moment. Still, she answered with a pleasant, “I am. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Come forward,” the queen said softly. Since she was only looking at Fiona, who was now returning her gaze, Fiona felt she should approach on her own.

She glanced toward the earl and gave him a determined look before taking her hand from his arm. Moving slowly, she approached the queen. “Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head and wondering if she should have attempted another curtsey. They hadn’t practiced for this!

“Where are you from, Miss Wingate?”