1. The First Ballroom
One
The First Ballroom
T he bedchamber at the Sullivan estate breathed femininity in every detail.
Rose-colored silk adorned the walls while ivory lace curtains filtered the day’s last rays of sun.
A delicate Aubusson carpet in shades of cream and blush covered the polished oak floors, and porcelain figurines, shepherdesses and dancing ladies, graced the mantelpiece.
Crystal perfume bottles adorned a dressing table inlaid with mother-of-pearl, their contents releasing the scent of lavender and bergamot into the air.
Yet for all its feminine beauty, the room bore the unmistakable marks of its occupant’s true nature.
Business ledgers sat stacked beside powder boxes, shipping manifests lay scattered among silk ribbons, and a well-worn atlas of Eastern trade routes occupied the place of honor on the writing desk where most ladies would display their correspondence.
Kate Sullivan, twenty-nine years old and striking rather than conventionally beautiful, sat at her vanity with intelligent dark eyes focused not on her reflection but on the documents spread before her.
Her long black hair hung loose about her shoulders while Jane Harper, her lady-maid, worked to arrange it into an elaborate coiffure, suitable for an evening in society.
The first official ball of the new season.
“The blue silk tonight?” Jane suggested, her fingers deftly pinning a curl into place. “It complements your dark eyes, miss.”
“Whatever you think best,” Kate replied absently. “These shipping manifests are more concerning than my appearance.”
In the mirror, Kate caught herself watching Jane’s fingers as they worked. She looked down quickly, clearing her throat and focusing on the papers with renewed determination.
“It’s your first ball this season,” Jane observed, securing the last pin. “Mrs. Henley says all the eligible men in London will attend.”
“Then I shall disappoint all the eligible men in London,” Kate said with grim satisfaction as she placed the documents aside for a moment and stood up.
Jane moved to help her with the corset, beginning to tighten the laces.
“Not so tight,” Kate protested. “I need to breathe to argue effectively when some man inevitably explains my family’s business to me.”
Jane loosened the laces slightly. “Lord Ramsay came to see your father today. He’s been asking after you.”
Kate picked up the document again and continued reading. “He’ll ask after my dowry, like the rest.”
“He did say you have the most striking dark eyes in London.”
“What a dull compliment. Eyes are just eyes.” Kate glanced up at Jane in the mirror. “Yours, at least, are clever—they actually see things.”
Jane blinked.
Kate felt heat rise in her cheeks and quickly changed the subject.
“Father has doubled the insurance on the Ceylon shipment,” she announced, shuffling through the papers.
“A prudent decision with French privateers about,” Jane agreed, now holding in her hands the evening gown Kate would wear—a creation of midnight-blue silk that would transform her from a businesswoman into a lady of high society.
“My decision,” Kate said firmly, putting aside the documents another time and letting Jane dress her. “Though Father would never admit it to his partners.”
The dress slid gently down her shoulders, molding perfectly to her figure as Jane’s fingers fastened the small buttons down the back. “Perhaps one day you’ll find a husband who values your business acumen.”
“I’ve yet to meet a man who doesn’t see it as a flaw to be corrected.”
As Jane placed a modest necklace around Kate’s neck, pearls that gleamed like moonlight against her skin, Kate felt the familiar weight of expectation settling upon her shoulders along with the jewelry.
She sighed, finally recognizing her reflection in the full-length mirror as she turned sideways to get a good look at herself.
Then she lifted her chin, turned around, and walked away without another word.
She was, after all, the heiress to Sullivan Shipping, a young lady of society, still unmarried, with a destiny to fulfill.
As such, impeccable conduct was required of her at all times.
The Sullivan carriage waited outside the imposing mansion. Mrs. Henley, Kate’s father’s cousin and appointed social chaperone, fussed with Kate’s shawl as they prepared to depart.
“Do try to smile tonight, dear,” Mrs. Henley urged, adjusting the silk wrap for the third time. “Lord Pembroke will be there—his estate borders yours in Thornfield.”
“And his conversation borders on criminal dullness,” Kate replied dryly. She paused at the carriage door, looking back at the warm glow of home. “I don’t quite see the point of attending this ballroom tonight. I have several serious matters to attend to.”
Mrs. Henley approached the carriage hurriedly, clearly inducing Kate to climb into it. “Kate, dear, at your age, you cannot afford to be quite so selective. Your father won’t live forever.”
Kate let out a deep sigh, her shoulders dropped and she didn’t bother anymore in finding excuses to stay home instead of attending such a boring society event.
She climbed onto the carriage without saying no more.
And her chaperone followed her, very easily despite her well-earn sixty something age.
The carriage lurched into motion, carrying them through the gaslit streets of London toward an evening Kate already dreaded.
* * *
The Pemberton ballroom blazed with the light of a thousand candles, illuminating young happy faces across the assembled company.
Ladies clad in silk, lace, and embroidery, and gentlemen in their finest wool suits, moved to the rhythm of the elaborate dance figures, their jewels a subtle hint of their wealth.
Kate entered with Mrs. Henley at her side, her trained eye immediately cataloging the room’s occupants.
She noted the political alliances formed in whispered conversations in the corners, the business deals disguised as social pleasantries, the complex web of marriages and money that bound London high society together.
Her gaze lingered on Lady Rutledge, whose quick wit was matched only by her always daringly low neckline. Kate absently touched her own fine pearls when her eyes drifted there, then caught herself and looked away.
“Eyes on the gentlemen, dear,” Mrs. Henley whispered, nudging Kate’s arm.
Kate scowled but obediently turned her attention to the eligible bachelors scattered throughout the room like well-dressed obstacles.
Lord Ramsay approached first, with the determination of a man who will never find an excuse to not court the wealthiest lady in society. Well-dressed, confident, and with that particular brand of arrogance that came from inherited wealth and unearned privilege.
“Miss Sullivan,” he said, executing an exaggerated and almost comical bow. “Might I claim this dance?”
“Kate was just saying how much she enjoys the waltz,” Mrs. Henley interjected before Kate could even think about one of her biting remarks.
“Was I?” she asked instead, stealing a glance at her chaperone, but she reluctantly accepted Ramsay’s offered arm.
As they moved through the first familiar steps of the dance, he wasted no time in demonstrating his petulant ignorance.
“Your father and I have been discussing Sullivan Shipping’s routes to India,” he began, as if conferring a great favor.
“Have you indeed?” Kate’s voice carried the first hint of ice.
“I’ve several connections in the East India Company who could be of service.”
“How fortunate. Though we’ve managed our Indian trade quite successfully for ten years.”
“The shipping business can be so complex for those not bred to it,” he continued, oblivious to the warning in her tone.
“Indeed. Which is why I’ve personally overseen our eastern routes since I was eighteen.”
This creased his brows. “Edward allows you to involve yourself in business matters?”
“My father values competence above convention.”
“A woman’s true beauty lies in docility,” Ramsay pronounced confidently, as a man who had never questioned his own assumptions. “Your father ought to spare you these tedious concerns.”
Kate stopped dancing at once. “How fortunate for you that my beauty must therefore be defective.”
Nearby, Lady Rutledge muffled a laugh into her wine glass. Kate flashed her a conspiratorial smirk.
“I only meant—” Lord Ramsay began, his face reddening.
“I know what you meant,” Kate said, and walked away graciously, leaving him sputtering on the dance floor, alone and ashamed.
The evening continued in much the same vein. At a corner, Viscount Perry—a long-time acquainted of the Sullivan family—presented Kate with an elaborate bouquet.
“For the most enchanting woman in London,” he declared with theatrical flourish.
“How kind,” Kate replied, accepting the flowers with reluctance. “Though flowers wither by evening—much like my interest in marriage.”
Perry’s smile faltered, his rehearsed charm crumbling at the edges.
He mumbled something about finding refreshment and retreated, leaving Kate holding the doomed bouquet awkwardly.
She handed it to a passing servant before Perry could look back and see his romantic gesture so unceremoniously discarded.
Across the ballroom, Baron Williams was already making his approach, his determined stride suggesting he’d been waiting for Perry’s departure. He settled down beside her without saying a word, and there he remained.
During a brief intermission between dances, he attempted to take Kate’s hand, which she withdrew smoothly, tucking it behind her back.
“Come now, even you must wish for companionship,” he pressed.
“I’ve companions enough. Miss Harper reads me the shipping reports, and Lady Rutledge trounces me at chess weekly. What more could I need?”
The Baron’s expression hardened. “You’ll regret this obstinacy when your father’s gone and you’re left with nothing but your pride.”