Page 55 of The Maid's Secret

“It chafes like the dickens,” she said, “but if I pass as presentable, I’m pleased.”

“Presentable. That’s the word,” said Mama.

Mrs.Mead turned to John, staring up at him adoringly with her one blue eye and one green one. “Don’t just stand there gawking at the young lady. Say something, lad.”

Only then did I notice how quiet John had become, how his glassy brown eyes were fixed on me.

“You…you look…”

“Beautiful. Charming. Elegant,” Uncle Willy offered. “Any of those will do, son.”

“You look…ravishing, Flora,” John said.

“Goodness,” said Papa. “He’s found his tongue.”

“And then some,” said Mama.

“How very kind, John,” I replied. He took my hand then, and for the second time in my life, he kissed it, lingering before letting go.

I could feel my knees weaken. I looked to Mama, her mouth a tight grimace.

“William,” she said, addressing the father rather than the son. “It seems your boy doesn’t know better than to kiss my daughter’s hand. We’ll overlook him taking such liberties.”

Uncle Willy flinched, but he didn’t say a word as he bowed, then led his family into the ballroom.

“What did you say that for?” I hissed the moment they were out of earshot.

“Oh, Flora,” Mama hissed back. “Don’t lead the poor boy on. He hasn’t a hope in hell of ever claiming you.”

“Claiming me? No one owns me, Mama.”

“Here she goes,” said Papa sotto voce.

“Not tonight, Flora. Behave,” said Mama.

I left them, going into the ballroom to find Uncle Willy, John, and Mrs.Mead standing awkwardly in a corner.

“Apologies,” I said, looking from John to his father and aunt. “Welcome to the ball. My family is grateful to you and yours, today and every day of the year, even if it doesn’t always appear that way,” I said.

John’s brow furrowed, but he responded with an elegant bow.

Before I could say anything else, Mama was at my side once more.

“Excuse me,” she said as she drew me away. “The dance is starting, and they’re not here yet.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The Brauns,” Papa said as he walked into our conversation.

“Reginald, what if they don’t come?” Mama asked, her hands clutching the cameo at her neck. “You know what that will mean.”

“Audrey, everyone’s watching,” Papa said through a stiff grin as he met the eyes of the many guests glancing our way.

“Flora, entertain the young ladies,” Mama ordered as she pasted on a smile. “When the band starts, dance with the boys from your class.”

For a moment, I wondered what she meant by “class”—the boys from school or the wealthy young heirs gathered in the ballroom.

Just then, the band changed measure, from jazz preludes to a slow ballad—“I’ve Got You Under My Skin”—sung by a dulcet-voiced crooner.

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