4. Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
A lice and Mrs. Montrose stepped through the second floor entrance to the grand ballroom, and immediately Alice’s stomach started the uncomfortable flips it had performed since their horrid carriage ride. She steadied herself for a moment against the gilt door frame as they waited in the queue to be announced.
The ballroom stretched out below them as though from a fairy story. A grand staircase swept down to a polished checkerboard floor, the marble gleaming in the light of a thousand candles. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the walls, the glass panes reflecting the party within. Though darkness had fallen outside, the room was alight with splendor.
Music from a small orchestra floated through the air, the noise combining with sights and smells to overwhelm Alice’s senses. Her breaths came faster as she gazed down toward the partygoers below. Feathers and diamonds—elaborate hair pieces and silk gowns—they moved about the floor like exotic birds. However, it was not the jewels that caught Alice’s eye, but the flowers. Not the usual arrangements that decorated such events, but the pins fastened to so many ladies’ collars. Each woman seemed to wear a different bloom, crafted with the same painstaking detail as her mother’s daylily. Alice had never seen so many people of quality and wealth in one place—her village assemblies now seemed foolhardy in comparison.
“Mrs. Regina Montrose and Miss Alice Montrose,” the servant announced, his voice carrying across the ballroom.
Alice’s stomach lurched once more. This was her moment. Everything they had trained for, every lesson—the blood, sweat and tears—it all came down to this precise moment.
Her mother leaned in, voice barely a whisper.
“Remember what we practiced, my dear. You were born for this.”
They began their descent, and Alice had to force herself to look out at the crowd rather than stare at her feet. She prayed she would not trip and fall on her face before God and all His creation.
Following her mother’s instruction, they paused four steps from the bottom to create an appealing tableau. Alice could feel the eyes on her now, the dozens of gazes turning toward the newcomers. Most were curious—others more calculating. But one set of eyes stood out from the rest, seeming to pierce her very being.
“The dowager,” her mother whispered, turning her head slightly toward a raised platform overlooking the room.
Alice could barely contain her shock. The dowager—seated on what could only be described as a throne hewn from flowers—looked nothing like the elderly woman she had imagined. Though her hair was startlingly white, it was thick and healthy, elaborately decorated with golden flowers woven through her updo. Her face, while lined, was sharp, aristocratic, and her bearing suggested a woman in her mid-forties rather than her sixties. She carried herself with such authority that Alice half-expected to find a crown on her head rather than mere flowers.
The dowager’s gaze met Alice’s for a brief moment, and she felt stripped bare, as though the woman could see every flaw, every imperfection, every dark thought that plagued her. She quickly lowered her eyes, remembering her mother’s countless lessons about making too much eye contact.
They completed their descent and Mrs. Montrose steered them toward the platform where a line of guests waited to greet their hostess. Alice’s stomach churned as they took their place, watching as each group approached the dowager.
Her mother’s grasp on her arm tightened as they waited. Alice ran through every lesson, every rule, but it only made her head spin and her stomach grip, so she instead counted her breaths as they waited. She clutched her mother back so she would not sway on her feet.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was their turn. They stepped onto the platform, and Alice felt as though she was approaching her moment of judgment.
“Lady Daylily,” the dowager said. “Or should I say Montrose now?”
Her mother dipped into a perfect curtsy.
“It is a pleasure to see you again after all these years, Henrietta,” said Mrs. Montrose.
Alice blinked at her mother. She had known her mother was acquaintances with the dowager, but she had not realized they were on a first name basis.
The dowager seemed caught off-guard by this as well, raising her eyebrows at the casual nature of the greeting, her air shifting ever so slightly.
“ Montrose . Hm. Perhaps I made an error in not crowning you Lady Rose, but I have been saving that flower for a special case.” She clicked her tongue, studying Mrs. Montrose with the same critical eye Alice had endured countless times from her own mother. “But perhaps I was right to name you Daylily. A flower that blooms and withers in but a day … do you not think that is appropriate?”
Alice’s eyes widened as she watched her mother inhale sharply, as if someone had struck her. In their village, Mrs. Montrose was known for her sharp tongue and cutting remarks, but here, faced with the dowager’s casual cruelty, she seemed to wilt like her namesake flower.
“P-perhaps so,” Mrs. Montrose bit out.
The dowager’s attention shifted, regarding Alice with an expression of boredom. With a lazy motion, she beckoned Alice closer.
“And who is this?”
“May I present my daughter, Miss Alice Montrose?” Her mother’s voice steadied slightly. “Perhaps you will find her more hardy and long-lasting than a meager daylily.”
The dowager let out a soft hum, then rose from her chair with a surprising grace. Alice dipped into her curtsy exactly as practiced, not one hair amiss, her gaze lowered demurely to the floor. As she rose, she found the dowager had moved closer than expected, being remarkably light-footed for a woman of sixty. The old woman folded her hands behind her back, tilting her head to examine Alice like a horse for auction.
“Well, she certainly is the perfect specimen, is she not?”
A sudden rush of hope filled Alice’s breast. This was what they had worked for so long—acknowledgement from the highest levels of the ton. If she could win the dowager’s favor, doors might open that could change her family’s fortunes.
“And perfect might have been enough … two decades ago,” the dowager continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I find young ladies of accomplishment to be rather dull. I’d prefer more of a project.” She flicked her fingers dismissively and turned on her heel, strutting back to her seat.
Alice felt as though she had been doused in ice water. The dowager dangled her approval before Alice, only to snatch it away.
“My lady—” Mrs. Montrose started, but the dowager raised a hand for silence, and Alice’s mother’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click.
“Please enjoy the festivities.”
But her mother, to Alice’s horror, did not move. Even when Alice touched her arm in warning, Mrs. Montrose remained rooted to the spot.
“If I may, my lady … Henrietta . We do not have many social connections here other than yourself. If it would please you, we would be in you debt if you could give us an introduction to?—”
“I have other guests to greet, Daylily.” The dowager’s voice was final. “I am sure you have the tenacity to puzzle it out for yourself. You never did require my assistance, did you?”
Alice tugged on her mother’s sleeve, alarmed by the way Mrs. Montrose swayed on her feet. Finally, after some prodding, she managed to break whatever spell held her mother in place, guiding her away to make room for the line of guests still waiting to greet their hostess.
They made their way to a collection of tall, round tables set off to the side of the ballroom, where people gathered to socialize and rest their drinks. After depositing her quivering mama at one table, Alice intercepted a passing servant, snagging two glasses of wine and pressing one into her mother’s trembling hands.
“I could have sworn …” Mrs. Montrose mumbled, staring into the glass.
“Take deep breaths, Mama. Everything will be alright,” Alice said, opening her fan to give her mother some air.
“Alright? Alright? Without an introduction to the duke …” Her mother’s voice quivered. “We’ll be doomed to poverty. Is that what you want, my dear? To watch your father drink away what little we have left while we sit in our crumbling little cottage until you are forced into the life of a governess?”
“Mama, please?—”
“No! I will not give up. I will do anything— anything —to see you married to a man of fortune. We cannot afford failure, my dear. Not when we’ve come so far.”
Alice wished to shush her mother, to point out how desperate—and loud—she sounded, but she bit her tongue. Mrs. Montrose had already endured enough humiliation for one evening—humiliation Alice did not think her mother deserved.
Scanning the ballroom as her mother became a ball of nerves, Alice’s gaze fell upon a familiar face. An admiring group of partygoers surrounded Lord and Lady Fairfax, the latter’s musical laughter carrying over the orchestra.
“What about Lady Fairfax?” Alice asked. “She was more than amiable earlier, and she might extend an introduction.”
Her mother considered her words for a moment, then downed her wine in the most unladylike fashion, as if it would lend her strength.
“Stay here,” Mrs. Montrose said, straightening her spine and pushing a stray hair away from her face. “And remember?—”
“Only three sips,” Alice finished, reciting one of her mother’s strict rules for ball conduct. “Yes, Mama.”
She watched her mother enter the crowd, hoping against hope that Lady Fairfax’s earlier kindness might extend to the introduction they needed. Lost in her thoughts, she barely registered the figure that appeared at her side until a sardonic voice cut through her reverie.
“Three sips? Do you not think that is overdoing it? Perhaps you should pace yourself, you lush.”
Alice turned in shock, and without his bright red coat, she almost didn’t recognize Captain Lacey until she set her gaze upon his face. She now realized that his arched eyebrows were not, in fact, due to a sour mood, but rather an unfortunate aspect of his countenance. Not that it made his presence any more welcome.
She turned away from the man, desperately trying to recall if her mother’s lessons had covered how to handle a wayward gentleman. They had never considered such a situation—they always assumed her mother would be at her side as a chaperone. Alice now realized that not accompanying her mother to beg at Lady Fairfax’s feet had been a mistake.
“Do I know you, sir?” she asked, settling on feigning ignorance in the face of his blatantly rude behavior.
But he did not miss a beat, flashing a vulpine smile, unperturbed by her social slight.
“You injure me, Miss Montrose. So you do not recall our introduction earlier today?”
“I would not consider that a proper introduction.”
“Even if my introduction at the entrance was improper, we had come into contact even earlier today. I recall seeing a blonde head sticking out of a carriage whilst it forced me off the road, nearly leading to my death.” He bent over to place an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand as though he were a child eagerly awaiting a bedtime story. “Whatever were you up to, Miss Montrose?”
Alice’s discomfort in the presence of this man grew with each passing moment. Captain Lacey was just as insufferable as he had been earlier, and his presence threatened to send her into a nervous spiral even worse than her mother’s.
“Sir,” she said, keeping her voice firm, “I find myself unable to continue this conversation without a chaperone present. If you will excuse me?—”
“I hear you seek an introduction to the Duke of Gainsbury.”
The words stopped her mid-turn. She whirled back to face him, her countenance cracking. This man was closely acquainted with the duke. Perhaps if she were to suffer through his terrible attitude, he might help her.
“H-how did you?—”
Captain Lacey leaned in, his mocking expression falling away to reveal something harder, more serious. Finally, there wasn’t an incongruence between his mood and his countenance, as though the man himself was made for ire.
“The next time you scheme to hunt a man’s fortune, perhaps do not speak so loudly. You never know who might be listening.”
Alice gaped at him, wishing the checkered floor beneath her feet would disappear so that the earth may swallow her whole. All of her mother’s careful instruction disappeared in the face of the direct attack, leaving her floundering for a response. But her mind was empty.
Before she could gather her wits, he plucked the wineglass from her fingers.
“Do not mind me.”
He drained her glass, leaving only what would amount to three sips, then placed it back in her hand with care.
She stood frozen in place as he swept past her, unable to watch him go. Her mind raced, wondering how many others had heard her mother’s desperate plans to hunt a man of fortune. Would such gossip spread around to other guests, making them pariahs for the fortnight? Would they have to leave after just one night at Fairfax Hall in shame?
Stupid.
Foolish.
You are better off dead.
“Alice? Alice! ”
It took several moments before she registered her mother’s voice. When she finally looked up, she found that Mrs. Montrose had returned, accompanied by Lady Fairfax, her smile holding a hint of worry, as if she had sensed Alice’s inner turmoil.
“Just look at my daughter, head always in the clouds.” Mrs. Montrose said, though Alice could hear the tension woven into her voice. “Are you ready, my dear?”
“F-for what?”
“Why, it is time for you to be introduced to the Duke of Gainsbury.”