Page 39 of The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess
“Captain Patrick Casper, Mother.”
“Yes… him.”
“Well, he has not. We had rather a disastrous discussion last we met.”
“What did you do?”
“What didIdo? Rather it was whathedid that is more to the point,” Ann said while angrily twisting her handkerchief.
“Oh, Ann…”
“He requested reassignment to some post inIndia!And he wants me to go with him. Can you imagine? Land of the wily python. And if you think for one moment, I am going to follow him as some memsahib… The heat. The filth. The uncouth…” She let out a deep sigh.
“I see,” was Judith’s reply. Thenshetoo let out a sigh. “I can certainly understand your reluctance. Good riddance is all I can say to that episode.”
“But that leaves me where?” Ann lamented. “There has not been a single other suitor in months.”
Judith held Isabell up and rubbed her nose against her pet’s, before putting her back in her lap. She gazed up at the ceiling and then had an idea.
“A ball. We need to have a ball. We shall scour the county for eligible young men, and with any luck, we can get all three of you engaged. But not just any ball. It shall be agalaball. We shall spare no expense, and it shall become the event of the season. We shall have it early October before the snow falls. And it shall be cool enough in the ballroom that the guests shall not swelter and have their gowns clinging to their backs.” Judith fanned herself as she imagined the discomfort of a ballroom too close and too hot.
Ann brightened up. “A ball. What a splendid idea. I shall tell the others, and we shall outfit ourselves with totally new gowns—no expense spared.”
“Well, I do not know about that,” her mother cautioned. “There must be some restraint.”
“But Mother, we are talking about my entire future here. This may be my very last opportunity for happiness.”
Judith nodded. “You are most correct. No expense spared.” She gave a laugh and clapped loudly, startling Isabell and causing her to jump down from her mistress’s lap.
Ann stood—the first smile on her face in weeks. “Yes, it shall be the legend of balls. A ball by which all others shall be measured!”
* * *
Lucy had to walk a great deal farther these days to see her friend Isabell—now Isabell Harris—her beau, Carter, finally having gotten up the nerve to ask her to marry him. Their cottage was in the other direction from Isabell’s old home. Isabell had a three-year-old daughter, Chrissy, who resembled her father more than her mother, but who scampered around the house so much they had nicknamed her Monkey.
The Harris cottage was down a dirt road from the main thoroughfare, hidden by a grove of trees. The thatched cottage had been newly whitewashed and looked welcoming in the morning light as Lucy approached.
“Hello Lucy,” Isabell called from the front door, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand, Chrissy standing at her feet clasping her skirt.
“Look what I brought you,” Lucy said, kneeling, and handing a basket of new apples to the little girl.
“Say, thank you, Chrissy,” her mother said, patting her child’s head.
“Thank you, Lucy,” the girl said shyly accepting the apples.
Lucy stood and offered Isabell a sheaf of papers. “And I brought you another chapter of my novel. I would greatly appreciate your thoughts after you read it.”
“Of course. You know I love reading your work. But Lucy, this must be the longest novel in recorded history. How long have you been working on it now?”
Lucy calculated and said, “Oh, dear, over six years now. But it is so difficult to find the time to write.”
“You are never going to make a career of your writing at that pace.”
Lucy laughed. “I think of it as a hobby now. I enjoy it but realize I shall never be very successful at it.”
“You never know. If you can get it published, you might become the new literary sensation in London and turn all of England on its head.”
“Who knows? And how have you been?” Lucy asked. “I have been so busy helping with the ball, I have not had a moment to come visit.”
