Page 16 of The Earl's Demure Spinster
“Sylvia,” Aunt Grace hissed as soon as she spotted Sylvia sitting alone. “I need your assistance right now. Can you please mingle and talk to everyone for a moment? I must speak with the butler about something.”
Sylvia nervously agreed. This was the last thing she needed. “Yes, of course I will.”
She did not feel ready for this, but she also could not say no. Her aunt had done so much for her, she did not want to let her down.
Sylvia watched her aunt hurry away, leaving her feeling even more vulnerable. Her heart pounded as she rose from her seat and approached the nearest group of women, who were engrossed in a discussion about the latest fashion trends in London. A subject that Sylvia did not know much about. Not even to attempt joining in.
Unfortunately, Lady Arabella noticed Sylvia’s approach and seized the opportunity to find a way to make her feel small once more. “Ah, Lady Sylvia, do join us. We were just discussing the latest fashions that people have been wearing tonight, for the start of the Season. Tell me, do you have a favourite designer?”
Sylvia managed a polite smile, though she felt her nerves tightening. She would not even be able to feign knowledge for this. Sylvia was going to have to be embarrassingly honest. “I am afraid I am not very familiar with the latest designers. My tastes are rather simple.”
Arabella’s smile was predatory. “How quaint. Simplicity does have its charm, I suppose. What do you think, ladies?”
The other women tittered, their laughter grating on Sylvia’s already frayed nerves. She felt her cheeks burning, a clear signal that she was out of her depth. Lady Victoria, sitting nearby with a regal air, joined the conversation with a calculated comment to really drive the knife in.
“It is understandable, Lady Sylvia. London’s fashion scene can be quite overwhelming for someone not accustomed to it. But perhaps you will learn in time.”
Sylvia’s smile wavered, but she nodded graciously. She had to keep her grace with her, for her aunt’s sake. “Yes, I hope so.”
She could feel the patronizing attitudes and veiled stares burning through her. Sylvia knew that they were there purely to leave her feeling belittled and out of place, and it was working. All she wanted to do was run. But she had nowhere to go. This was her aunt’s home.
“Spending time with Lady Grace as her companion must be quite interesting,” Lady Arabella jumped in, seemingly bolstered by Lady Victoria’s attitude.
Sylvia managed a polite smile, her heart pounding as the nerves violently zig zagged through her. “Yes, Lady Grace has been very kind to me. She is a wonderful aunt.”
The other ladies exchanged knowing glances, their whispers just loud enough for Sylvia to catch snippets of gossip about her background. It was clear that her humble origins had been a topic of discussion long before this evening. This was the last thing that she wanted. She just wanted to survive this, she never wanted to be center of attention.
But it did not matter.
The spotlight was on her regardless.
Feeling increasingly isolated, Sylvia sought solace in the faces around her. To her relief, she found empathy in Clara’s eyes. But of course, that was a woman who likely understood where she was coming from. At least a little bit. She also saw that the woman who had been introduced as Wesley’s sister, Harriet, when the family first entered the ballroom, was frowning unimpressed by the behavior of the other people. That shocked her more. Did she not feel the same as her mother? Did she not have a hatred for Sylvia, just because of who she was?
Still Sylvia could feel the pressure mounting. The room around her and everyone in it gave her a breathless sensation, as if she was being stifled and trapped in a cage. She longed for an escape, a moment to breathe without the weight of judgmentbearing down on her, but she could not go anywhere. Not until her aunt was back.
Just then, Aunt Grace entered the room, her presence a beacon of hope. Sylvia seized the opportunity, her mind racing for a plausible excuse to escape this nightmare. “Aunt Grace,” she whispered, her voice laced with feigned distress, “I am feeling quite unwell. A sudden megrim, I fear.”
Aunt Grace’s eyes widened with concern. “Oh, my dear, you do look pale. Please, take yourself to bed, Sylvia. I want you to feel better.”
Sylvia nodded, grateful for the pretense that allowed her to leave. She bid the ladies a hasty good night, her voice trembling slightly as she excused herself. “I must retire for the evening. Please, forgive me.”
The scrutinizing eyes followed her as she made her exit, their whispers still haunting her hurried steps. Once outside the drawing room, Sylvia quickened her pace, desperate to reach the sanctuary of her bedchamber as soon as she could. The corridors of the house seemed to stretch endlessly, much further than usual, but finally, she reached her door and slipped inside, closing it firmly behind her.
Her first night with the ton had not gone well, which was not great for the rest of her Season here.
Sylvia did not feel ready for this at all.
