Chapter 6
Grosvenor Square, London
Camilla and her sisters had arrived in their London house, along with Lady Poole and their old governess, Miss Cross, whose main duty was to Matilda now.
Without Dorothea there to urge them to enter the fray, they spent a week quietly at home, settling into their routines and leaving cards for those families they wished to see.
In return, invitations had begun to arrive, and that evening they would be attending their first ball of the season at Lord and Lady Wrexham’s.
Their mother returned from her morning visit to Lady Barkley’s to inform Camilla—the only one of the unmarried sisters to attend—that they would see Mr. Neville and his wife Anne, née Kensington, Dorothea’s friend.
Also in attendance would be Lord Pembroke, Lady Milton and her daughters, and some other names which held little interest for Camilla.
Lord Pembroke’s name held no interest for her either, other than to warn her to find some pressing occupation should he chance to speak to her.
The Harwoods, in London since Parliament opened, had also received an invitation, and Sophia promised to come to the party if for no other reason than to support Camilla.
After all, she could well remember what it was like to be forced to attend all the events the season had to offer and how terrifying it could sometimes be.
Camilla felt nothing close to terror, but she had to admit to some nervousness. Nerves, and a stubborn determination to abandon the foolish fancies of her past and win over one or two suitors for the sake of her pride. Lord Pembroke should not see her sitting against the wall even once!
The bedroom formerly occupied by Dorothea was now hers, and she sat in front of the mirror, dressed in a new ball gown, which she thought flattered her figure. She slipped on a veil of confidence and practiced the smile she would wear for those who sought an introduction.
A knock on the door preceded Tilly poking her head in before entering.
Not for the first time, Camilla noticed how much her youngest sister had grown in the last couple of months.
She was now fourteen but suffered none of the awkwardness Camilla had at her age.
She was slender, and although it did not appear she would be tall, her movements were graceful.
“I wanted to see your gown.” Tilly came to her, cocking her head to one side. “I knew this shade of orange would suit you. But the arrangement of your hair…” She reached for a strand of it next to Camilla’s face and wrapped it around her finger. “It needs more of a curl here.”
“You needn’t fuss,” she protested weakly, but Tilly went over to the fireplace where the rod was still heating.
Camilla fell silent and allowed her sister to train the front of her hair into a curl and arrange her coiffure, adjusting a pin here and a decorative pearl there.
Her sister had a talent for anything that required arranging, be they house decorations or dress.
“With hair as heavy as yours, you ought to cut the sides to allow for more of a curl,” she said, her fingers now deftly twisting the back of her coiffure and pinning it into place.
“You’ve said that, but I do not know that I’m ready to do so. I am not sure what it will look like if there’s no one available to curl it. Perhaps like one of those dogs whose fringe covers their eyes.”
Tilly laughed. “But you always have someone to curl your hair. Margery or Pen. Or me!”
“I suppose,” Camilla said. The truth was, she liked her long hair when it was brushed out and feared to cut even a portion of it. Tilly said no more on the topic as she put the last touches.
“There. You are perfect.”
Camilla acknowledged that it was an improvement.
Her sister had added volume to the top of her head and framed her forehead with curls.
Her thick hair was her only claim to beauty.
As for her figure, it might have improved some with her attempts at limiting what she ate, but she would always see herself as too big and ungainly.
She swallowed the words of criticism that rose up in her when she studied her image, deciding there was no good in uttering them or even thinking them.
There had been a time over the summer when she had felt almost pretty, but then she overheard Pembroke’s decision to propose to Miss Eubank.
After that, the positive, hopeful feeling she had begun to develop toward herself evaporated.
After all, if she could not secure him when she was looking her best, and they were spending every day together, she would not stand out in the midst of glittering Society ladies.
Now that she was about to begin her first season, she could scarcely imagine securing anyone.
Tilly flitted about the room, chatting and effecting subtle changes that somehow made everything more pleasant—a fold of the blanket here, the chair turned, clutter organized on the desk.
Camilla was only required to give occasional responses, which allowed her to continue her train of thought.
She appreciated Tilly’s presence but was distracted at present.
Lord Pembroke had not proposed to Miss Eubank in the end, and from what Miles had let drop over Christmas, had also turned down Sir Arthur’s invitation to the house party.
Miles had gone on to say that everyone in London, even his own mother, despaired of him ever taking a wife.
The fact that he was still free afforded Camilla little satisfaction.
At first, she had been heartbroken. Then, after she had learned of his latest escape from the clutches of matrimony—as he must have viewed it—she finally decided she would not waste her time any longer on a man who raised false hopes in a woman’s breast, then ended his pursuit by doing nothing.
Or who could be so attentive and at ease with a lady and not even consider the possibility that she might suit him as a wife.
No. Camilla would enter her season with her heart open to other prospects.
Tilly had exhausted her flow of conversation and room improvements and went to the door. “Mother bid me to tell you that you should eat something before you leave for the ball tonight. Shall I inform her that you will come down?”
“I am coming.” Camilla took one last look in the mirror and nodded. “Thank you for arranging my hair. It always looks well when you do.”
Tilly smiled and waited for Camilla to take her cloak and accompany her downstairs. Lady Poole was already seated in the dining room with Joanna and Miss Cross, who dined with them when there were no guests. They ate a simple meal, then Camilla and her mother stood to leave for the party.
“Have a pleasant evening,” Joanna said.
Camilla, wishing she was not leaving without one of her sisters, could not resist expressing what she had been thinking.
“I would not have minded if you had come out this year. But I suppose you would not have wanted to do so. Or—at least that is what you’ve said in the past.” Lately, Joanna had begun showing more care in her dress, and even at times, consulted her mother on style.
With such signs of maturity, she might have changed her mind.
“I am not ready for my season this year. However”—she pursed her lips in contemplation—“I think I will be ready next year, or the year after that. We shall see.”
Tilly had been listening. “You will certainly be ready next year. And I will help. You have the prettiest cheekbones and a natural blush that needs only the right color gowns to set it off.”
Joanna stopped to regard her skeptically. “Have you truly become this sainted? It is not an act?”
Tilly giggled, and Camilla could not help but smile. It was true their youngest sister had transformed from a child prone to pouting and tantrums to a seeming fount of encouraging words and unending patience.
She pretended to glower at them. “Just cross me once. You will see how saintly I am.”
Sophia and Felix lived at a distance from Grosvenor Square, and it was arranged that they would meet at the ball.
Lady Poole had grown in confidence since the late earl’s death, and she no longer balked at going out for evening parties without a male escort.
However, she had made no advancements in punctuality, and by the time she and Camilla at last arrived at Lord Wrexham’s, it was not too soon.
The receiving line was still in place, but the ballroom was already packed, and the dancing had started.
They greeted their host and hostess, then Camilla followed her mother into the ballroom, where Sophia came quickly to their side.
“How glad I am that you are here. I have been talking to Anne, but I did not wish to talk her ear off while I waited for you.”
“I hardly think you could talk her ear off,” Lady Poole replied with an indulgent smile. Sophia no longer suffered from crippling shyness, but she was a long way from being loquacious.
“Is Marie Edwards coming?” Camilla asked. Marie was her closest friend from Surrey, and she had married a rising officer in the Admiralty only three weeks after Sophia and Felix’s wedding.
“She could not come.” Sophia then leaned in over the music to speak in confidence.
“It is not widely known, but she is in an interesting condition. She had intended to take full advantage of the season, but it will depend each night on how she is feeling. Unfortunately, her sickness has continued longer than is usually the case.”
Camilla could not imagine being in an “interesting condition,” but she hated more than anything the feeling of nausea. That alone seemed enough to deter any sensible woman from entering the state. Not that women had any choice, it appeared.
“Poor thing.” Lady Poole returned a nod of greeting from another matron. “Camilla, I know I can safely leave you in Sophia’s hands. There are some people I wish to see.”