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“P lease, Mama, may I wear the ice-blue evening gown trimmed with lace and seed pearls and the matching pelisse? It will bring out the color of my eyes. It’s so close to white that no one will notice the difference.

” Miss Emmeline Connolly, the only child of Baron and Baroness Connolly, was making her come out at the Duke and Duchess of Westport’s ball—the first event of the Season.

Baroness Vivian Connolly was foraging through the wardrobe, discarding one gown after another. “I cannot find the white gown with the gold trim. Emmeline, did not Madam Serena deliver it yesterday with the rest of your wardrobe?”

Emmeline and her maid, Clark, whom she preferred to call Amanda, locked eyes in the mirror over the dressing table with secretive smiles.

“I don’t recall seeing it.” It was a lie.

She hated that gown and knew it would be her mother’s choice for her first ball.

All her other gowns were perfect except for the snow-white one with its high neckline and long sleeves.

It was so far out of fashion that she would be gossiped about and find herself a wallflower.

Once a wallflower, always a wallflower. And she refused to become one—she had dreamed about her first Season for years.

To be honest, at times they were less dreams and more nightmares.

The thought of attending soirees, Almack’s, and house parties excited and terrified her simultaneously.

But she had not waited all these years to become an unfashionable debutante no young gentleman would want to court.

So, with Amanda’s help, they’d hidden the gown in the bottom of a trunk in the attic, where it would never be found.

It could wither away and mold for all she cared.

“I will send a letter to Madam Serena demanding credit for a beautiful gown she never delivered.” The baroness sighed and brought the ice-blue gown to Amanda. “I suppose this will have to do.”

“It will be perfect,” Emmeline said with a smile to her mother.

The dress made her look mature and alluring for eighteen.

She had heard from her close friend, Lady Catherine Featherstone’s older sister, who had married a handsome and wealthy marquess after her first Season, that standing out during the first ball was essential.

All the eligible bachelors looking for wives would discreetly inspect each debutante and come up with a mental list of ladies to pursue based on looks, dowries, family lineage, and how merging the two families would benefit them.

Emmeline wanted to be on all the gentlemen’s lists.

Even the Debrett’s guide listed her family as prominent.

She could not allow her mother to spoil her chances of making a good marriage.

“I admit,” Mother said, “you look lovely in this gown. The white one was matronly if I’m being honest. The paleness of this blue brings out the color of your eyes, and with your contrasting dark hair piled high on your head with white pearl pins, you are stunning, my dear.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Truthfully, Emmeline’s insides trembled with nerves, but her mother’s words helped her swallow her panic.

She may appear put together on the outside, but inside, she was a quivering mess.

Crowds and loud noises bothered her—not loud noises as in screams or gunshots, but it was deafening when hundreds of people gathered together in one place and talked amongst themselves.

A vibration surrounded her, making it difficult to understand what anyone was saying, making her anxious and panicky, making her want to run away to the sanctity of a private, soothing place.

As a child, she had snuck into their ballroom and hid beneath a cloth-draped table during a ball her parents had hosted.

Even at eight, she was angry that her parents had not let her attend.

Sneaking peeks beneath the cloth and watching the beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen dance and socialize in gorgeous clothing was exciting, but after a time, she had curled up and fallen asleep to the cadence of loud voices, orchestra music, and laughter.

Until she woke up suddenly, her hands covering her ears, wishing the sounds would end.

But there was no way she could leave her hiding spot without being seen.

She was stuck until the wee hours of the morning with her hands over her ears and tears streaming down her face.

The beautiful people of earlier turned into ugly monsters as the hour grew later and later.

Because of her anxiousness and having drunk a full glass of milk at dinner, she had wet herself and had to stay sitting in it until the last of the horrible people had left her home.

The next day, she had wished she would never have to grow up or attend a ball. She confided in her governess what she had done, and the kind woman had kept her secret.

Fortunately for Emmeline, she’d recovered from the ordeal of that night—well, almost. She still hated crowds and noise and sometimes saw monsters when her eyes were tired.

Tonight would be a test of her maturity.

She had worked hard fighting down her demons and believed she was ready for the night ahead.

She would use the breathing exercises her governess had taught her if an attack of nerves started to overtake her.

And if that didn’t work, she had a list of things to picture in her mind to distract her.

Hopefully, all would go well, and she would have no phobias tonight.

*

Their carriage stopped in front of the Duke and Duchess of Westport’s prominent London mansion. Lanterns illuminated the home, making it glow in the dark eerily. Wide-eyed, Emmeline stared out the coach window, her trembling, white-gloved hands gripping her reticule.

“Are you excited, my dear?” her papa asked in a deep, gravelly voice.

Papa was a true gentleman. He was older than her mother and tired easily these days as his health declined, which worried Emmeline.

Losing her dear papa would crush her. She loved him with all her heart, as did her mother.

No kinder, gentler, more patient man existed as far as she was concerned.

As his health had waned this past month, she feared her parents were keeping secrets from her.

On occasion, she witnessed her mother staring vacantly into the family drawing room with tears in her eyes.

Hoping she was wrong about her papa’s health, she would try to enjoy the ball and confront her parents on her fears soon.

“Yes, Papa,” she replied. “I am excited but terrified I’ll trip when introduced and land at the duke’s feet.”

His large, bony hand covered hers. “Nonsense. You have the grace of a butterfly.” Butterfly. Her papa’s nickname for her.

His words soothed her as her heartbeat slowed to almost normal.

Once she entered the ballroom and found Catherine, all would be well.

Her dance card would fill up, and she would fly across the floor with butterfly wings on.

Every handsome young man would want to dance with her.

She would become a diamond of the Season.

Bouquets would arrive in the dozens tomorrow, and their drawing room would have standing room only with all the possible suitors vying for her attention.

Emmeline would reflect later that wishes and dreams were good to hope for, but reality was entirely different.