Chapter 27
The day of the ball finally arrived. Despite her head still feeling fuzzy, Lavinia knew she would need to attend. There would be questions she needed to answer. Both from the public and, as it would appear, from the duke and Lord Casterleigh.
Cecily was busy adjusting Lavinia’s hair, making sure the pearl pins in were not tugging too hard. Lady Harcourt sat with them, adjusting Lavinia’s gloves.
“There, that should hold them up for the night,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you,” Lavinia replied.
“Of course,” the lady said, nodding. “Are you nervous for tonight?”
Lavinia froze, suddenly realizing that she knew more than Lavinia did.
“I… I am, and I do not know why,” Lavinia sighed.
“That is good,” Lady Harcourt replied. “If you were not nervous, then you would not care about the outcome.”
Lavinia nodded.
Choices. I do not understand what it is I could be asked tonight, but…
Her hands tightened in her lap.
I need to make them my own.
Cecily and Lady Harcourt exited the room after a few minutes to make their own preparations for the night. Lavinia took the moment alone in her room, trying to understand why her hands were shaking and why her mind was screaming at her to run.
I am still recovering… Perhaps a ball is not the best idea…
Even as she thought that, though, she understood refraining from the ball was not an option.
She knew that if she did not attend, the ton would find something to say about it.
It would discredit all the work Mr. Thornbury had done to spread the word of her innocence, and she would be back where she started.
That would not be fair to anyone. Especially herself.
Lavinia looked at her dress again. Her father had told her to wear it; a pale yellow silk.
Snd although it fit well, she did not care for the color.
He had then hidden her blue dresses so she could not choose another gown.
Perhaps it was because yellow was a certain lord’s favorite color.
The outer skirt was made of a soft netting, with large spangles in it.
Leaves adorned the lace around her cuffs.
Nothing about the dress was her taste. But, with her head still wavering, she felt she had no other choice.
At least he had chosen a good silk and a fashionable silhouette.
She would have had words with her father if he had chosen anything less than that.
She sighed and adjusted her gloves one last time, looking at her reflection in the mirror.
I will change when I return.***
The carriage rattled over the road toward Wycliffe Manor.
The roads were covered in dead, decaying leaves.
Lanterns lined the paths, attracting moths as they headed up the drive.
The duke sat next to Lavinia’s father, his eyes distant as he looked out the window, his fingers tapping against his knee.
He had worn his dark blue waistcoat and a crisp white shirt, with dark pants.
A part of her knew that if she had been allowed to wear her blue dress, they would have matched. She suspected that was why her father did not allow her to wear it. Lavinia sat very still, her gloved hands folded in her lap. Cecily was fidgeting nervously next to her.
“A fine evening for a ball,” their father said, breaking the silence. He glanced out the window at the darkening sky, where the first stars had begun to shine. “Lord Casterleigh will be glad to see you looking so well. I daresay he has been waiting rather patiently.”
“I suppose so,” Lavinia replied, looking away from her father.
She looked up and caught the duke tensing across from her.
His behavior had her feeling confused but it was not the time to ask him about it.
Instead, she watched the hedgerows slide past the carriage; black shapes against a deepening violet horizon, occasionally illuminated by lanterns or glow-worms.
Cecily reached over and gripped her sister’s hand. Lavinia could see she was nervous in the tightness of her expression; the careful way she kept her eyes on the window rather than on their father.
Their father, apparently taking the silence as agreement, continued in the same satisfied tone.
“A respectable match; and swiftly made. It will be wonderful when it is all finalized. Especially after everything…” he paused, looking pointedly at Lavinia. “It will put all that business behind us for good. People forget quickly enough once there is a wedding to gossip about instead.”
“I have not been proposed to yet,” Lavinia said firmly. “And even if I had been, you seem to believe you already know what my answer would be.”
“What can I say? I know my daughter well,” he smirked.
“I would appreciate it if you did not speak for me,” Lavinia said firmly. Her father rolled his eyes and turned back to the window.
Lavinia sighed and glanced over at the duke. He gave her a reassuring nod. Her heart rate spiked, but she did not understand why.***
Wycliffe Manor was ablaze with light, every window glowing gold, the drive lined with carriages, the sounds of laughter and music floating into the crisp autumn air.
Lavinia braced herself, as she was used to doing, for the whispers, the glances, the fluttering of fans hiding eyes focusing on her when they should not be.
She closed her eyes as she crossed the threshold inside.
There was no whispering. There was no laughing. A woman near the door who had once turned pointedly away from her at the assembly ball suddenly tilted her head in something like respect.
A gentleman she barely knew bowed as she passed and murmured that he was glad to see her looking well.
Mr. Thornbury's testimony seemed to have done its work alongside the magistrate's revelations.
The truth, dragged into daylight, had rewritten her story without her having to say a single word in her own defense.
She was aware, distantly, that it was supposed to be her triumphant moment. A lesser woman would have made them all pay for their cruelty toward her. Instead, her world felt unreal. Like she had stepped into something otherworldly. Like she was watching someone else's life unfold before her.
“Lavinia!” Honora's voice cut through the crowd. Temperance was right behind her, both women racing to her side.
“Oh you poor thing!” Temperance said, reaching up to hold Lavinia’s cheeks. “You went through hell at that man’s hands…”
“I know,” Lavinia said softly.
“I am so glad that we were there with you,” Honora said as she pulled Lavinia into a tight hug.
“So am I. I would not have had the bravery to go to Mr. Thornbury without you both,” Lavinia said gently.
“It is all over now, though,” Cecily said. “And I believe my sister deserves a night of some revelry after everything she has gone through.”
“Oh, I most definitely agree!” Temperance cried out. “Come, we should dance!”
“Oh, no, not yet, the orchestra has hardly had a chance to warm up,” Honora said. “They will sound dreadful if we dance now.”
“Speaking of dreadful,” Temperance said, pulling them all into a small alcove. “Have you seen Lady Whiscot’s dress?”
“Oh, that poor dear,” Honora sighed. “I can only imagine that she is wearing that because something horrific happened to the rest of her dresses…”
“Honora!” Cecily gasped, swatting her sister’s friend with her fan. “You are usually the kind one of us!”
“That should tell you how truly awful that dress is!” Honora gasped, laughing.
Lavinia laughed with them, allowing herself to fall into a sense of normalcy.
“Oh, you have not seen the most awful thing here,” Temperance whispered. “Have you seen Lady Pemberton’s bonnet? I am afraid to be left with her in case she asks me how it looks. I do not wish to be the one to inform her it looks like a rooster’s comb…”
“Oh, good heavens, be kind!” Cecily sighed. Temperance gently moved Cecily’s face so she could see the lady in question. “My word, it really is like a rooster!”
“That has to be intentional,” Honora offered.
“Why would anyone intentionally look like a rooster?” Temperance asked.
“Perhaps it is some French fashion we are unaware of,” Honora suggested.
“I do not believe even the French would debase themselves like that!” Temperance laughed. Lavinia laughed with her, opening her fan to hide her expression. For a few moments, the stress of the last few weeks melted off her shoulders, her mind finally relaxing.
Mr. Whitcombe approached, asking Honora to dance.. As she went, Temperance leaned to Lavinia’s side.
“I am so proud of you,” Temperance murmured.
“There is nothing I can be proud of,” Lavinia sighed.
“You do not give yourself enough credit. You have stood tall when others would fall short. You ran an estate while being bombarded by problems. I wish only that one day I can be nearly as talented as you are,” Temperance said. Lavinia shook her head.
“You do not need to say such things to keep my favor,” Lavinia teased.
“I am doing no such thing,” Temperance said with a huff. “This time…”
The women burst out laughing, and Lavinia could not help but tap her friend on the shoulder with her fan.
Then she saw him.
Lord Casterleigh was making his way across the ballroom floor with the unhurried confidence of a man who believed the outcome of the evening was already settled. Lavinia’s father appeared at her side and whispered to her.
“He looks ready to speak. Mind your smile, Lavinia.”
“You can kindly not speak about my smile,” she hissed at her father. “I shall look however I want to.”
“I imagine when you realize what is happening, you will wish to smile,” he replied curtly, before stepping away.
Lavinia shook her head, irritated. Lord Casterleigh arrived in front of her, smiling warmly.
“Miss Lavinia,” Lord Casterleigh bowed. “Might I trouble you for a moment?"
Lavinia’s stomach sank as, all at once, she realized exactly what was happening. The comments about questions and choices, her father’s words in the carriage...