Page 28 of An Amiable Foe
She walked forward to the mirror, careful not to trip on the excess fabric, and turned one way, then another. The gown also had long, tight sleeves that were different from the puffier sleeves she had noticed on the gowns other young ladies wore. This bodice, too, was gathered and loose rather than fitted and sewn with darts, and she hoped the fact that it was silk made it acceptable still. She supposed she should speak to Miss Fife about the ballgown, but she recoiled from the idea of asking her advice for anything. Miss Fife had never been the least bit helpful.
In the days that followed, Miss Fife made camp in whatever room Marianne was in, which meant she saw little of any of the gentlemen. It did not take them more than five minutes to discover they had pressing business elsewhere. Never before had Marianne been constrained in such a way—or forced to endure so much of Miss Fife’s presence—so it was with great relief that she welcomed the day of the ball, making good her escape hours before she actually needed to dress.
The first order of business was to style her hair, which she performed with practiced efficiency. When that was completed, she examined the effect for so long in the mirror her brows lowered into a grimace, suddenly filled with doubt that it was good enough. Her hair was plaited in the usual way she wore it, which was heavy around the face and not very interesting. She knew better than to ask any of the maids in the household for assistance, because it had already been established that they were not skilled at dressing hair. Such a thing had never before been a requirement.
She pulled on her gown, excited to be wearing a pretty silk dress of her mother’s. In her concern over the length of the gown, she had missed the fact that it perhaps did not fit quite the way it should. The bodice sagged in the chest area such that it left room for pockets of air. Despite that, she admired the color on her, a break from the faded shades of blue and gray she often wore.
Now determined to improve her hairstyle, Marianne returned to the wardrobe and sifted through everything to see if she could find some way of dressing up the braids. After tugging out various accessories, she found a piece of gold lace that was nearly the color of the dress and that must surely be an improvement if she could find a way to work it in. Immediately she went to work, pinning it to the plaits in her hair. When she had finished, one of the ends of the lace poked up and refused to stay attached. But it was more elegant than she’d ever worn it, and it would have to do.
Upon exiting her room at the appointed hour, Marianne heard the sound of men’s voices at the bottom of the stairs. She approached the stairwell and descended it, wrapped in her cloak for fear of revealing everything at once. She had the pleasure of seeing the gentlemen’s eyes widen as she reached the ground floor.
Embarrassed by their attention, she hurried away, murmuring, “I must see Miss Fife before I go.”
The spinster looked up from her favorite chair in the yellow sitting room and smiled, more gracious now that she was in her familiar surroundings.
“Am I presentable?” Marianne asked, although what she really wanted to know was whether she was beautiful. It was rare of her to ask Miss Fife for anything. Experience had taught her she would receive little consideration in return. However, she was so nervous to step into the unknown world of polite society and formal balls she could not help but crave the reassurance.
“Very nice. Is that Mrs. Vernon still to accompany you?”
It was faint praise, but she would take what she could get. “Yes. The carriage is waiting for me. Enjoy your evening.”
Marianne stood for another moment, pausing for anything Miss Fife might add to send her off with a glimmer of hope, but her companion only turned back to the picture book on her lap.
Heart beating, Marianne hurried out of the sitting room into the main hall, smiling as she passed the gentleman, and exited through the door that Charlie held open for her. She hadn’t dared to wait for their compliments—or worse, for their reproaches.
Charlie then opened the door to the carriage for her, and she entered and took the rear-facing seat across from Mr. and Mrs. Vernon. Robert was to go separately on horseback.
“Heavens, child. What have you done here? You must allow me to…”
Mrs. Vernon leaned forward and pulled at the lace in Marianne’s hair to try to adjust it, but she had woven and pinned it so tightly into the plaits of hair it was impossible to remove. “I suppose…it is acceptable like that. It’s original, I daresay, but that need not matter.” She turned worried eyes to Mr. Vernon. “Does it now, Mr. Vernon?”
“Hum.What?” Mr. Vernon turned his gaze to Marianne. “You look very nice, my dear.”
A vague sense of foreboding filled Marianne’s breast as they rode toward Cliff’s End. Perhaps the gentlemen had dropped their jaws because she looked like such an odd duck. Perhaps it was not from admiration as she had hoped. She was beginning to suspect the style she had thought would become her was not achieving its desired effect.
The feeling did not entirely disappear as they rode but was replaced with a nervous excitement as they pulled up to the oast house at last. This was a rectangular brick structure with parallel series of conical kiln roofs, and it was the only one in the villages nearby. Marianne had never been inside, but there must be plenty of room for a crowd of no small size to gather.
The door to the carriage was opened, and they exited amidst a large gathering of people in the near darkness. Conversation mingled with the stamping and snorting of horses, and people streamed into the door of the hall, stopping to sign the subscription book or hand in their vouchers for those who were not members.
“You have your voucher?” Mrs. Vernon asked her.
Marianne responded by pulling hers out of her reticule and holding it up. Too nervous to speak, she followed the Vernons into the brightly lit ballroom that had not settled into formal dances yet, but echoed with mingled sounds of conversation, laughter, and music.
So this was what a ball was like.
Marianne removed her cloak and handed it to a servant near the entrance, following the Vernons to a small receiving line that held the Belford family. Sir John was a hereditary knight, and they were the most distinguished family of the area. Mrs. Vernon had explained to her that when they hosted the public ball, which they did once a year, it elevated the event to something of a more refined nature that anyone might attend without fear of rubbing elbows with the lower order.
Mrs. Vernon turned to speak to Marianne and when her gaze lit on what Marianne was wearing, now without the cloak, the good woman could not help her reaction. Her eyes widened, and she breathed in suddenly.
“Your gown—” She managed to get the words out before the line moved forward. They would be presented to the Belfords next.
“It was my mother’s. It’s silk,” Marianne added, as if that would justify what she was now coming to fear had been a ghastly mistake.
Mrs. Vernon whispered something into her husband’s ear and then turned to smile and curtsy before Sir John and Lady Belford. Their daughter, Miss Amelia Belford, who Marianne recognized from church but with whom she’d never exchanged any words, stood on their far side.
She smiled and greeted Mr. and Mrs. Vernon, then caught sight of Marianne and choked back a laugh. She covered her lips with her gloved hands, then cleared her throat and looked away. When Miss Belford turned back to face her, her color was heightened but her expression had returned to something neutral.
“How do you do, Miss Edgewood?” Amelia was tall and thin, and looked down at her from this vantage point.
