Page 148 of The Sisters of Sea View
Emily and Mr. Stanley went into the hotel together.
In the vestibule, Emily greeted his sister and was introduced to her friend, Miss Marchant, who was pretty and—judging by her elaborate gown—wealthy, and clearly aware of both.
“Are we ready?” Mr. Stanley asked.
His sister rested a hand on her abdomen and confided, “I hope I shall be able to dance. Our dinner is not agreeing with me. Rather greasy.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Emily said. “Perhaps you two might come to Sea View some evening and dine with us. Tomorrow we are having Mrs. Besley’s famous roast with Yorkshire pudding. It’s delicious.”
“Sounds lovely,” Miss Stanley agreed, giving her a warm smile.
Her friend wrinkled her nose. “I have already arranged to dine here in the hotel, but thank you all the same.”
“Oh well. More for me,” Mr. Stanley teased as he led them outside.
On this second meeting, Miss Stanley still seemed warm and winsome like her brother. A friendly, unaffected girl. Her friend, however, struck Emily as proud and aloof. She did not really care, though. She was not going to the ball to make friends with haughty incomers. She had come to dance and to forget her disappointments for a while.
Saying little more, the four of them walked the short distance up Fore Street to the assembly rooms at the London Inn.
Leaving their hats and cloaks with an attendant, they entered the spacious rooms lit by candelabra and filled with well-dressed people and lively music. Emily’s body hummed with anticipation, as well as nerves. She had once been the belle of the ball back home. But now? Here?
Mr. Stanley danced first with Miss Marchant, then with hissister, extracting a promise from Emily to dance the next set. While she waited, Emily stood in the candlelit background with a cup of punch and plastered a pleasant expression on her face, pretending not to feel self-conscious standing there alone.
Mrs. Elton swept in on her husband’s arm, as though making a grand entrance. No one took any notice. Seeing Emily, she walked over to greet her. “Ah, Miss Emily, you are here before us. I did not realize you had leisure to attend social gatherings.”
“On occasion.”
Mrs. Elton turned side to side, so that her skirt and flounced petticoat swirled to pretty effect. She glanced up expectantly, evidently waiting to be complimented.
Before Emily could oblige her, the woman asked, “How do you like my gown? Do you like my trimming? I fear my hair is not as I like, as I traveled without my maid. Your hair looks well, I must say. Perhaps I should have asked you to help with mine.”
Emily smiled politely. At least someone was speaking to her, even if it was Mrs. Elton.
The woman said, “Nobody can think less of dress in general than I do—but upon such an occasion as this, when everybody’s eyes are so much upon me, I would not wish to be inferior to others.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Elton. You look very well indeed.”
“Thank you. Well, ta-ta!” She and her husband went in search of more important people to meet.
Emily remained where she was, surreptitiously studying the assembled company. Most were strangers to her. Visitors. Incomers. But she recognized a few residents.
Among the musicians, she recognized Mr. Farrant, who had installed their locks. And Mr. and Mrs. Mason, local dancing masters, were serving as unofficial masters of ceremonies.
A party of four entered, and Emily’s idle gaze sharpened as she recognized Lord Bertram, a friend of Charles Parker’s. She had last seen the man at a house party hosted by the Parker family.Tonight, he was accompanied by the flower-wearing dandy from the cricket match and two striking young women in fine gowns, feathers sprouting from their curled coiffures.
Would this man know that Charles had broken things off with her? Know the reason why?
The old ache sliced through her chest, and she turned away, hoping he would not see her, or at least, not see the expression on her face.
Mr. Stanley appeared before her. “Are you ready for our dance, Miss Summers? My sister survived, so I have high hopes for you.”
“I...” Emily licked dry lips, heart beating hard. If she had to be seen by one of Charles’s friends, better to be dancing with a gentleman than standing alone like a wallflower.
“Yes, thank you.”
He held out his gloved hand, and she placed her white kid–gloved fingers in his.
The dancing master called for a country dance, men in one line facing the ladies in the other. The musicians played the introduction, bows and curtsies were exchanged, and then the couples began the first pattern.
