Chapter 3
Frances
That evening, Frances stood in front of the mirror, looking at a whole different woman. Her reflection bore no resemblance to her former self.
Her hair had been arranged in an updo, not the way she usually wore it, but far more intricate. There were pins and gems and all manner of accessories in her hair, a white bandeau with silver gemstones that sparkled as she moved.
Her dress was off-white, with small puffy sleeves that made her feel like a doll. Long satin gloves that went past her elbows felt smooth against her skin. The gown flowed down her frame in a way she could only describe as enticing. One could see hints of her curves.
A layer of crushed white pearl powder had been fixed on her face, giving her an unusual pale appearance, as was fashionable among the ton. According to her aunt, her sun-kissed complexion, which she had acquired walking in the sun in Bedfordshire, was not considered attractive in high society.
Rouge had been applied to her lips and a charcoal stain to her eyes.
Her shoes, however, already pinched her feet.
They were new and, while beautiful, were so uncomfortable.
They were dancing slippers made for a gently bred lady, which had been explained to her, even though she had no intention of dancing.
What if her parents could see her now? Her mother would be happy. She would smile down on her.
Her father? She wasn’t sure what he would think. He would like the idea of her marrying rich; that was for sure. Would he be proud? Probably not. He had never been.
A knock sounded, and then the door flew open. Aunt Eugenia entered with a bright smile.
“Don’t you look splendid!” she gushed. “You turned out very fine, indeed. A revelation, I dare say. Now, come, come. Your cousins are here.”
Frances swallowed hard. She hadn’t seen her cousins since she was a small child and could barely even remember their names. She followed her aunt, unsure what to expect.
Most of the highborn ladies she knew were quite haughty, considering themselves better than her. These girls were her cousins, of course, and therefore her relations, but that didn’t mean they were not going to be unkind or arrogant.
After all, they were all titled ladies, none below a countess, and ladies such as this usually did not spend their time entertaining their commoner cousin.
She wasn’t even really their cousin. They were distantly related. What if they thought her hopelessly provincial and underbred?
What if they disliked her?
What if they were cold toward her?
Her nerves were quite shot, but before she could be consumed by anxiety, they reached the bottom of the steps, and she was instantly embraced from three directions with great enthusiasm.
A cacophony of voices and smells overwhelmed her. Vanilla, orange, lavender, and lemon mingled in her nose as she was embraced tightly by her cousins.
“Now, now, do not crush her to death.” Aunt Eugenia came to her rescue.
Frances stepped back and looked from one sister to the other. She had seen portraits of them hanging in the house, and they looked very much like them.
The girl to her right placed a hand on her arm. “It is so good to see you. I know we barely remember each other, but I already feel like we will be great friends. I am Marianne.”
The girl in the middle nodded. “I’m Charlotte.”
“And I’m Evelyn. I do remember you, but I am a little bit older than you, so I have more of a memory than the others do. You look so pretty.”
“Thank you,” Frances said.
All three of them looked refined, like princesses.
“Now, girls, you’d better leave now so you do not arrive late.
Tardiness is not attractive,” Aunt Eugenia urged, before turning to Evelyn.
“Now, remember what I said. She does not know how to dance, so only show her the dances that are easy to follow. Practice a few steps with her if you can, but do it where nobody can see you. I don’t want the whole ton to know that Frances doesn’t know how to dance.
I cannot have her making a cake of herself.
Introduce her to a few gentlemen, the ones who are kind and tender-hearted. ”
“Do not fret, Aunt Eugenia.” Evelyn placed her hand on the old woman’s arm. “All will be well.”
Aunt Eugenia gave Frances a kiss. “You will do so well. I’m so proud of you.”
Frances nodded and followed her cousins out to the fine carriage waiting outside. The carriage had a coat of arms on the side that she didn’t recognize.
Noticing her interest, Marianne, who had linked their arms, said, “The carriage belongs to my husband. He is out of town with his friends. They are having a hunting party at the country seat.”
“I see,” Frances said, and followed them into the carriage.
The vehicle swayed slightly as they entered, and then it lurched into motion.
For the next fifteen minutes, her cousins chattered away, telling her about their lives, where they lived, their children, and many other things. She sat quietly and listened, overwhelmed by the attention, the noise.
After a while, she felt Marianne’s hand on hers. “I think we are overwhelming her.”
“Oh, I’m afraid we are,” Evelyn agreed. “Sometimes I forget that not everybody is used to the hustle and bustle of town. Bedfordshire must be very quiet.”
“It is,” Frances said. “Well, not in terms of noise, but nothing ever happens there. Most of the people who live on the estate are somehow connected to our family, so we all know each other, but it’s not like we are a big family.
There are lots of new people who live on the estate as well, and the town is small. ”
“So this must be very exciting for you. Making your bow in London during the Season,” Charlotte said. “Oh, I remember my debut. It was prodigiously exciting. I adored it so very much.”
“I never thought I was going to have a debut,” Frances admitted. “You see, my parents do not have enough money even for a dowry. The idea of finding a gentleman to marry me seemed ludicrous. It still does, to be honest.”
“It might, but trust Aunt Eugenia. She knows what she’s doing. She is a true marvel.” Charlotte smiled.
“And she’s very determined. When she wants to find you a husband, she will, whether you like it or not,” Marianne said with an eye roll.
“She found your husband?” Frances asked.
“Not really,” Marianne replied. “I had my heart set on staying in a convent. Aunt Eugenia thought me quite mad—said I’d end up on the shelf if I wasn’t careful.”
“A convent? Are you religious?”
“I would not say that I am religious, but I believe in God. What I liked about the convent was that it was quiet. I did not like the hustle and bustle. In fact, I do not often attend balls such as this. I am going because of you. I want you to feel comfortable. Back to what I said, Aunt Eugenia did not really find my husband for me. I found him myself, although it was mostly to get a respite from her schemes.” She laughed.
For the rest of the journey, the sisters told Frances how they had each found their husbands. Every story was more convoluted than the next.
Marianne had been whisked out of the convent that she so adored and entered a false marriage with a duke who needed a wife so he would not be matched up with the eager debutantes.
Evelyn had been forced to marry an elderly duke who had died hours after the wedding, only to find herself married to his heir.
And Charlotte’s tale was no less adventurous. Yet, in the end, all three of them seemed happy.
Could it be that such happiness lay in store for her also?
By the time they arrived at Farside House, Frances didn’t feel quite as uncertain about her future.
The carriage came to a stop, and they filed out. After being ushered into the house and being introduced to the hostess, Frances found herself in a large front room.
A chandelier hung above her with at least fifty beeswax candles. Sconces lined the walls, illuminating the space. Even the wealthiest among her acquaintances at Bedfordshire would never waste this many candles on a ball.
Chatter drifted out of one of the larger rooms—the ballroom, no doubt. The sound of music filtered through as well, a lively country dance from the sounds of it.
“Come,” Evelyn said, taking her hand. “Let us find you a place to sit where you can observe before we throw you into the fray. We’ll teach you a few steps as well.”
Frances nodded gratefully.
The three sisters led her into the ballroom, and her breath caught.
It was enormous, far larger than anything she had ever seen.
Ladies in beautiful gowns twirled around the dance floor with gentlemen in dark coats and pristine cravats.
The room sparkled with jewels and candlelight, and the air was thick with perfume and the heat of so many bodies.
“There,” Marianne said, pointing to a row of chairs along the wall. “We shall sit there for a moment.”
They sat down, and Frances tried to take it all in without appearing too overwhelmed.
The last thing she wanted was to look like a moonling, or worse, become a wallflower for the entire evening.
Her cousins pointed out various members of the ton, explaining who was who, which families were most influential, and which gentlemen were considered eligible.
“That one there,” Charlotte said, gesturing discreetly toward a handsome man with dark hair, “is Lord Chester. Very wealthy, but quite the rake—a true libertine. I would avoid him.”
“And the lady in the green gown,” Evelyn added, “is Lady Thornbury. She is known for her sharp tongue, so be careful around her.”
Marianne squeezed her hand. “Do not let them frighten you. Most people here are perfectly pleasant. And we will not leave your side.”
The reassurance helped, and Frances felt some of her tension ease. Perhaps this would not be so terrible, after all. Her cousins’ kindness was becoming an anchor through the evening, and Marianne’s gentle presence especially made her feel safe.