Page 3

M iss Sarah Watson bundled up the letters from home, received by this morning’s post, with a sniff and a wipe of her cheeks—she missed them all so!

Mama’s letter was full of the doings of the four younger children and three letters from her sisters, Deb’s of the latest Assembly she had attended with Ruth.

Ruth’s letter told her all about her latest rescue, a starling fallen out if its nest. Mary’s letter begged her for all the details of her handsome beaux.

And dear Papa’s letter told her of the doings of the parishioners and his most recent reading of Tacitus, which he highly recommended to her.

The letters were a timely reminder of her duty to them all.

Glancing at the clock, she reached for the bell to ring for her maid.

If she didn’t bustle, she would be late.

Tonight was to be the first visit to Almack’s for this season, and her first social appearance since becoming an heiress.

Her chaperone Daphne, Lady Holbrook, would be up any moment to look her over, and she didn’t even have her hair done yet!

She had spent far too long reading Glenarvon this afternoon.

With only a few pages to go, she had hoped to finish it, but she had run out of time.

Then she had got distracted by Deb’s mention of Mr. Cheevly’s attentions to herself at the Assembly.

Mr. Cheevly was the younger son of the Squire and not the most stellar match for Deborah, who of all the Watson girls was by far the prettiest.

With a shiver of discomfort as she gathered up her family’s correspondence, she recalled her own experiences with Mr. Cheevly, including an ill-advised kiss behind the arras in the vestry.

No, he would not do for Deb. She must write to warn Deb against him.

All the more reason for her to make an impression tonight.

Her maid, Esme, opened the door. “You rang, miss?”

“Yes, will you dress my hair? I’m horribly late—Daphne will be wild as fire with me!”

“Of course, miss. Which dress was you going to wear?”

“The pink silk with the net overskirt, please, Esme,” she said, seating herself at the dressing table and removing the pins from her simple chignon and combing out her mahogany-colored hair.

It was thick and wavy and took a lot of pins to hold it in place.

Esme laid out her corset, petticoats, dress, stockings, reticule, gloves, slippers, and shawl before coming over and taking the comb from her hand and beginning to weave her magic on Sarah’s head.

She had just added the last comb when the door opened and Daphne sailed in.

“Sarah, you’re not dressed yet!” Daphne was a widow, short, plump, and forty, with blonde hair just beginning to silver a little.

“Sorry, Daphne, I got distracted,” she said, putting in her pearl ear bobs and passing the simple silver cross on a light chain to Esme to drape round her neck. “I shall be ready in a trice, I promise you!”

“Yes, well, you know the doors shut at ten!” scolded Daphne mildly. She inspected the pink silk gown. “I was in two minds about whether you should wear that one or the white muslin with silver trimming, but on the whole, I think the pink will do nicely. The color becomes you.”

Sarah rose and let Esme strip off her day gown.

She’d had a leisurely bath this morning, and could still just smell the traces of lavender from the water on her skin.

Really, London life was terribly indolent.

She felt so guilty having all this indulgence when her family was living in genteel poverty.

Changing her stockings, corset, and petticoats for ones more suitable to wear under a ball gown, Esme then helped her on with the gown itself, twitching the folds of silk into place and lacing it up the back.

Sarah viewed her décolletage with misgiving.

As a vicar’s daughter used to more modest neck lines, the latest fashion for positively indecent bodices made her blush.

Sliding her feet into her matching pink silk slippers, she presented herself for Daphne’s inspection.

“Very nice, my dear. I venture with the little extra touch of class, this year you will turn heads. The gown is delicately understated and just screams quality. I expect all the girls will be asking who your modiste is.” She frowned. “A pity you don’t have the jewels to match it.”

Sarah shook her head. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable in expensive jewels, Daphne.”

Daphne sighed. “I suppose not. Still, that cross placed just there is in exactly the right spot to draw a gentleman’s eye, so I daresay the effect is the same.”

Sarah blushed and looked back at herself in the mirror.

Sure enough, the cross was nestled just above her bust. Was there time to shorten the chain?

Not really. Then she thought about what her mission was: to snare a titled gentleman.

If it takes some slightly embarrassing tactics, is that so terrible?

I am doing this for my sisters. She straightened her shoulders and turned away from the glass.

“I will see you downstairs in five minutes, Sarah,” said Daphne, leaving the room.

“Will that be all, miss?” asked Esme who had gathered up her clothes and tidied everything away.

“Yes, thank you, Esme. And you needn’t wait up, I can manage when I get home.

” She smiled. She wasn’t accustomed to having a maid at home, but Daphne insisted she have one during her season, so Esme, who was the senior housemaid, had been pressed into service during her first season and had been serving in that capacity in Daphne’s house for her ever since.

As she needed to be up at the crack for her other duties, Sarah thought it cruel and unnecessary to ask her to stay up just so she could help Sarah undress.

With a small bob and a sunny “Thank you, miss. All the best!” Esme left her alone.

Sarah sprayed herself lightly with rose water, took one last look at herself in the mirror, and on impulse grabbed her spectacles and Glenarvon and stuffed them in her reticule.

She should get a few minutes to read that last few pages at some point.

Her experience of Almack’s was that it was mostly excruciatingly boring, punctuated with short stints of embarrassment.