PREVIEW OF JOY’S STORY
Joy felt like a fraud as she stood in the glittering ballroom at Grosvenor Square. It was a study in opulence—diamonds glinting under the light of countless chandeliers, silken gowns swishing in rainbows of colours, and the murmur of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter. None of it held the slightest appeal for her.
Standing near the refreshment table, she tugged absently at the too-tight sleeve of her lilac gown, a rare concession to fashion which left her feeling utterly unlike herself. Her wild locks had been subdued into an elegant coiffure with a thousand pins that dug into her scalp. She felt sure it would not survive the night, and her feet, garbed in delicate slippers, already pinched from the quadrille she had just suffered through.
“Cheer up, Joy,” Patience whispered from her side, her voice laced with both amusement and sympathy. “It is the day of your birth. Surely you can find a shred of enjoyment in all this?”
Joy shot her elder sister a glare that lacked any real venom. “I should much rather be mucking out the stables than mincing about pretending to care for this nonsense.”
Patience sighed, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “You might try smiling, at least. It’s not so very dreadful.”
Joy did not reply. The ballroom was a blur of indistinct shapes and shifting colours, and her head pounded from the effort of trying to distinguish one person from another. The Season would be one endless parade of such events, and her nerves were already wearing thin.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Cunningham, who approached with his usual air of easy confidence.
“Miss Whitford,” he said, bowing with exaggerated formality, his grin wide. “Suffering already?”
“Help me to escape, Freddy,” she begged. “I do not know how you can stand these confounded events.”
“It is all in how you look at them, my dear.”
“There is more than one way?” She wrinkled her face, which she knew her governess would have scolded her for.
“You enjoy dancing.”
“Yes, but not the stuffy ones where I must hold myself just so, and paste a false smile on.” She imitated said posture and flattened her face.
Freddy laughed, as she had known he would. “You could do that, of course, or you could just be yourself.”
“People already think I am outrageous.”
He did not deny it. “Do you really wish to ensnare someone with whom you will have to pretend to be someone you are not for the rest of your life?”
“No, of course not.” A feeling of panic threatened to make her flee the ballroom.
“Joy,” he said lightly, though his tone held a note of concern, “are you quite well?”
“I am perfectly well,” Joy said quickly. “My next partner approaches.”
Joy found herself dreading the dance she had promised Lord Abernathy, a rather foppish young man who fancied himself a wit. As they stepped onto the floor, the patterns blurred and swirled before her eyes, and she stumbled, catching herself just in time.
A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Joy’s cheeks burned. Abernathy, oblivious, chuckled and guided her clumsily through the steps, but her humiliation was complete. Now she had almost knocked down two Abernathys: mother and son. She could not endure an entire Season of this.
Freddy was waiting for her when Abernathy led her from the floor.
She looked down, avoiding his gaze. “The ballroom is crowded, and I was distracted.”
“Hmm,” was all he said, but his gaze lingered on her longer than she liked.
By the end of the evening, he sought her out, cornering her in a quiet alcove near the terrace. “Joy,” he said softly, his usual banter absent. “When will you tell me what is troubling you?”
She opened her mouth to protest but faltered, the weight of her secret pressing down on her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I am your best friend,” he said gently, his voice laced with a rare seriousness. “What is it? Your sight?”
She gasped and turned away. “’Tis nothing. Just…an inconvenience.”
“It’s not nothing,” Cunningham said firmly. “Why have you not told anyone?”
Joy glared at him, but the fight drained out of her as quickly as it had risen. “What do you suggest I do? Call off the entire Season? Let everyone know how useless I am?”
“You are the least useless person I know,” he said, his tone softening. “But you cannot face this alone. Let me help.”
“The doctor said there is nothing to be done. I might be permanently blind soon.”
As she looked up at him, his sincerity reflected in his steady gaze, something in Joy’s heart shifted. Perhaps confiding in someone wasn’t such a terrible idea.