CHAPTER THREE
Emily couldn’t recall the last time she saw their townhouse so busy.
The persistent hum of activity echoed through every corridor in the Clifton townhouse.
Servants rushed in and out of rooms, attending to one task or the other.
The ballroom was festooned with a variety of fresh flowers, embellishing every mantelpiece and a few side stools.
The butler was stationed by the large double doors, scanning the room and observing the preparations being done with a scrutinizing gaze.
A small orchestra was setting up in one corner, chatting amongst themselves as they tuned their instruments.
The sound was barely audible with the activity going on around.
There were at least a hundred candles in the room, and one could already imagine how the ballroom would look when they were all lit.
A floor above the ballroom, in Charlotte’s bedchamber, her lady’s maid was lacing her stays.
Tonight was Charlotte’s come-out ball and also the first ball of the Season. Richard had instructed that everything be perfect for the high-society guests that would be in attendance.
A warm smile etched on Charlotte’s face as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Emily’s face mirrored hers. The pink gown she wore was perfect for her, its flower designs following an elegant pattern.
“Mary, might I have my gloves laid out for me?” Charlotte said to her lady’s maid, her voice smooth. “Oh—and do pass the silk ribbons for my hair.”
“Of course, my lady. As soon as I’m finished with your dress,” Mary replied, curtseying slightly.
Emily, seated on a comfortable chair, observed as Mary helped her cousin get ready for tonight’s memorable occasion.
Involuntarily, as she watched, her mind wandered back to six years ago, to a time when, just hours before her come-out ball, she was getting dressed.
She could never forget the hope that grew inside her with each moment that passed.
She had imagined all the dances she’d have with the fine gentlemen who asked her and had hounded her lady’s maid—bless her patient heart—with endless questions so she didn’t miss anything.
Her heart leapt every time she thought of her future and the love she and her husband would share.
They’d have a townhouse and a house in the country to escape all the pressures of being in high society from time to time.
She had dreamed of having kids, a home filled with laughter and stories to tell anyone who’d care to listen about how lucky she was.
“What do you think, Emily?”
Charlotte’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. Her focus returned to her cousin, who was now fully dressed. An excited squeal drew out of Charlotte, and she twirled around, showing off her finished ensemble.
Tears of mixed emotion threatened to fall from Emily’s eyes, but she fought them back.
Her cousin was truly beautiful—without a doubt.
She took pride in knowing Charlotte would do great on the marriage mart this Season.
But despite the pride she felt, a dull ache throbbed in her heart.
She wondered if she’d ever get a chance at love again or if she was really going to die a spinster, having lost the opportunities she had and now being stigmatized as ‘unlucky’.
A gentle smile spread across her lips.
“You look most charming, my dear,” she said. Rising to her feet, she walked over to where Charlotte stood with a beaming smile. Cupping one side of her face, she added, “Your beauty outshines us all tonight.”
“Thank you, Emily. Your words are most gracious and well appreciated,” Charlotte said, squeezing her hand. Words couldn’t express how grateful she was. Matter of fact, words couldn’t express how much she was looking forward to tonight’s festivities and possibilities.
Heaving a sigh, Emily took one more good look at her cousin. She resolved within her not to let her own disappointments in life affect her capacity to be a support for Charlotte. It was her night, and everything was going to be perfect.
“The ball starts in a few hours. Would you like to read something before then? Or perhaps some tea to calm any nerves?” Emily asked.
“Tea sounds great,” Charlotte replied. “Otherwise, I’m afraid my nerves would get the better of me.”
“Tea it is then.” Emily nodded curtly. She cast a look at Mary, who had been standing a few feet away, not needing to speak for her to get the message of what was required.
“I shall have some tea made for you, my lady,” Mary uttered, her gaze lowering as she curtsied, before excusing herself.
“You’ll be great tonight, my dear,” Emily said to Charlotte when they were alone. She had noticed how nervous she seemed and wanted to help in any way she could.
Not too long later, after going to get ready herself, Emily finally made her way down to the ballroom. The splendour and grandness of it left her in awe. The workers had done a phenomenal job indeed.
The spacious ballroom glowed under the dim light of the candles standing on tall candelabras.
Imposing windows draped in plush, velvet curtains surrounded the room.
The curtains were held back to allow guests behold the night sky and moonlit gardens.
The walls, adorned with exquisite plasterwork and delicate gilded accents, complemented the high ceiling painted with swirling clouds.
Ornate chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors.
Emily could almost see her reflection in it.
“Oh my!” she gushed, reaching the end of the stairs where Richard stood with his hand out to her and a proud smile etched on his face.
“Can you believe it, Richard? Look at this place!”
“The staff have done a fine job in preparing for this ball,” Richard said.
“Indeed, they have.”
She reached the end of the stairs and took Richard’s hand, muttering a ‘thank you’.
“You look exquisite tonight, my lady,” he told her, his smile reaching his eyes.
Emily curtsied. “Thank you, my lord. You look quite handsome tonight, yourself.”
Richard bowed slightly. “Thank you.” Gesturing in the direction of the large doors, he added, “The guests are arriving now. The ball is about to begin. Shall we?”
“We shall.” Emily smiled.
They made their way towards the entrance, and the footmen standing on both sides pulled back the doors open for them.
Here we go, Emily thought, plastering a polite smile on her face.
Soon, the guests began to arrive, in singles, pairs and groups, each one wearing an elaborate outfit for tonight. The air was thick with excitement, and the ballroom started to fill gradually.
Emily stood beside her brother, Richard, as they received their esteemed guests of London society. The sound of the carriages pulling up to the house was constant at some point.
“Lord Wesley. Lady Wesley.” Richard bowed at the Viscount and his wife while Emily curtsied.
Viscount Wesley, a man in his sixties who looked anything but, was a bosom friend of the late Earl of Colenshire. Richard had kept the connection and relationship even after his father passed.
“Lord Clifton,” Lord Wesley began with a toothy smile. “Pleasure to see you this fine evening.”
“Likewise, my lord.”
“Lady Emily, you look very elegant tonight,” Lord Wesley said, offering Emily a wider smile.
Emily smiled politely. “Thank you, Lord Wesley. We do hope you have a wonderful time tonight. “
“Oh, I have no doubt that I will,” Lord Wesley replied, taking a bow before leading his wife away.
The polite smile on Emily’s and Richard’s faces remained as they continued to welcome the other guests, engaging in small talk about the weather and the social Season.
Soon, the ballroom swarmed with guests—ladies in jewel-adorned gowns of silk and satin, their fabrics rustling against the floors, and gentlemen in their artfully tailored coats moved about exchanging pleasantries.
Gentle laughter and the soft murmur of conversation entwined with the music played by the orchestra.
The air grew thicker with the fresh scents of blooms and delicate fragrances the guests wore. Elegance emanated from every corner.
The music calmed Emily’s nerves, but still, she couldn’t help but feel the judgmental looks and sniggers from a few ladies of the ton on her.
Even as the ball fully commenced, she and Richard took a turn about the room; the weight of the ton’s scrutiny and criticism rested on her. She avoided their gazes, only stopping to greet some.
“I wonder how she must feel,” one of the ladies, Lady Bennett, whispered to the trio of ladies standing beside her. Ladies Bennett and Worthington and their daughters were the bane of Emily’s existence.
Lady Worthington sniggered. “She’s clearly ambitious. I mean, with her unlucky streak, you’d think she’d give up and accept her fate as a spinster. Except if some widowed gentleman with greying hair and wrinkles running across his face decides to pity her and put her out of her misery.”
“Even that would be a miracle, would it not?” Miss Bennett muttered, scoffing.
“Oh, the poor thing,” Lady Bennett added, her tone drenched in pity. “Agatha, we must do our best to ensure that our daughters never suffer such fate.”
“My dear Celia shall never suffer such fate,” Lady Agatha boasted.
“Lord Clifton.” Lady Bennett acknowledged the Earl with such charm that one might not have ever thought she and Lady Agatha were just talking about his sister.
Richard was no simpleton. He understood that these matronly figures spoke of Emily in hushed tones to their daughters and to anyone willing to lend an ear, depicting her as a cautionary tale.
The society matrons, like most others in high society, spoke of her in her absence—and sometimes, presence—with disdain, their looks a poignant mix of pity and curiosity.
Such repulsive behaviour, Richard thought.
“Lady Bennett. Lady Worthington.” Richard bowed his head a slight, not even bothering to offer a polite smile. He inched closer to Emily, who silently curtsied next to him.