Living London (6 page)

"Here are your slippers, miss." The slippers were made of a golden silk. They didn't do anything to protect my feet, only adorned them, but they were beautiful. "All set. I'll tell Wains to get your carriage ready."

I turned to catch Libby's hand. She gasped at the contact. "Thank you, Libby. You did a wonderful job, and I feel beautiful."

"Of course, miss, a pleasure." She blushed to the roots of her hair, and I wondered if she had ever been thanked before. Taking one last look at myself, I prepared to meet my peers, praying I didn't make a fool of myself twice in one day.

Twilight covered the cobblestone streets in amber light as I made my way to the Steward's residence. London was beautiful, but I'd expected it to smell better, much better. The stench was almost enough to distract from the beauty — almost, but not quite. Taking a deep breath was risky with the executioner's corset and bad air, but my nerves craved any sort of comfort.

Buildings passed in slow motion as we neared our destination. The line to the front entrance was long, and I wondered just how "small" this ball was going to be. The horses all waited patiently as their owners waited for their turns. It reminded me of rush hour traffic, only much politer.

After a twenty-minute wait that didn't help my nerves, I arrived. Taking my driver's hand, I carefully stepped out of the carriage and onto the street, gasping at the amount of people just at the entrance. No, this was not a small gathering. If it was, half of London would be invited to a large one.

Just breathe.
My thoughts gave me a smile as I remembered the scene from
Ever After.
Right now I felt like that kind of Cinderella.

"Your coat, miss?" a footman asked, offering to help me remove my outer jacket. After thanking him, I moved on through the foyer and into a hallway. My jaw slackened at the opulence displayed. Hothouse roses poured over the furniture, set off by millions of candles that seemed to make the roses' scent thicker, more heady. Gilded mirrors hung, shimmering with reflections as I passed, and I could hear the faint song of a string quartet. The whole scene was surreal, beautiful, and distracting enough that I forgot to be nervous.

"Your name, miss?" a liveried footman asked as I entered the ballroom.

I turned his direction for only a second to give him my name, then went back to taking in the glittering display in front of me. I could easily be a wallflower and just find a corner and stare — at the people, the paintings, the decorations, and the grand stature of it all.

The women milled about like walking Grecian statues with their flowing dresses, similar to mine, but all unique. The men mostly wore black suit coats with stiff white collars that looked uncomfortable but really — well, dashing. As my name was announced, the room went still, and the eyes of each person fixed on me.

Never being the one who wanted the spotlight, I tried to hold my head high and pretend it didn't bother me, regardless of how I wanted to run and hide, anywhere. Remembering my crash course with Libby, I pulled up my ears, straightened my back, and smiled, hoping no one noticed how my mouth trembled. Walking over to a group of older women I decided to try and blend in.

"Miss Westin! How shocking to see you here!" a grandmotherly woman remarked. Her eyes squinted as if she couldn't see very clearly. Her face was made unnaturally white by some sort of powder.

"Yes, well, one can never let mishaps get the best of us," I remarked, hoping it was the right thing to say. Mrs. Trimbleton had given me a few pointers as she'd walked me to the carriage earlier.

"Now, lovey, listen carefully. The ton, they can smell fear. If you're uncertain about your position, they'll pounce quickly. When in doubt, act indifferent. You'll appear uninterested rather than confused. If you pretend you are confident, they'll believe it. And finally, this is the most important. Never, ever find yourself alone with any gentleman, even if he is older than Methuselah himself." She had spoken with strict authority.

I did my best to follow her wise advice. My attention was drawn back as the woman studied me. After a thorough perusal, she nodded her head in approval. "Glad to see the spirit in you. We'll see you soon at Almack's, I expect."

Trying to hide my shock at her implication, I decided to smile and pretend confidence. "Of course!"

Nodding, she turned her attention to another woman, dismissing me. Not wanting to appear rude or needy, I walked away toward a group of young women about my age.

"Miss Westin!" A girl walked up to me quickly, reaching out to grasp my gloved hand. "How are you? We heard about the park and were so concerned."

Her eyes were cold and calculating, watching my every expression as if searching for a weakness to exploit.
Fantastic.
Just the type of person I wanted to converse with tonight.
Girls are girls, no matter what era you live in. Nothing new here.
"Thank you for your concern. I seem to be doing much better," I replied, keeping my voice cool.

The girl tilted her head, studying me again before turning to her sidekick. "Elaina, are you sure you heard correctly?" she challenged the girl, right in front of me no less.

"Of course, Arynna. My information came from the source." Her eyebrows punctuated her words, and I realized they were playing a game of cat and mouse.
I'm not up for
this.

Turning toward me again, Arynna and Elaina —
oh honestly, they even have rhyming names
— crossed their arms and mirrored a pose I'd seen far too many times in high school. "So, do you remember anything?" Arynna asked.

Straight to the point. Fantastic.
I was against lying, but I didn't want to give the sharks any blood in the water. Just as I took a breath to give a vague reply, a hand touched my shoulder.

"Jocelyn! I've been looking everywhere for you! There's someone you must meet. Please excuse us." Not waiting for a reply, the woman pulled me away from the sharks. "I got here just in time, I see. What were you thinking, talking with them? You must have addled your wits if you walked knowingly into that bee’s nest."

She stopped abruptly, turning to regard me. At my confused expression, she blanched. "Oh, no. It's true, isn't it?" she asked with a wince on her beautiful face. "Do you even know who I am?" Her eyes searched mine for a brief second.

She spoke before I could even take a breath and answer, not that I knew what I'd planned to say. "Never mind. Listen closely. I am Amelia, your best friend, and I am going to get you through this night. Do you understand?"

She spoke to me like I was a toddler. The shock of it all had worn off, so I found myself speaking before my mind could filter the words. "Excuse me. I might not remember my own best friend, but I certainly understand English and do not need you to treat me like a dimwit."

Her eyes lit up and she nodded. "Brilliant. You're going to be just fine. Let's take a turn about the room."

Through the next half hour, Amelia truly lived up to her title as my best friend. She showed me whom to avoid, whom to speak loudly to, who was blind, and whom I should never dance with, ever. Thankfully, it hadn't begun yet, and I felt a little anxious, like I was at my first prom wondering if anyone would ask me.

"Where are our dance cards?"

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?" she asked distractedly.

"You know! Where the guy, er, gentleman assigns himself a dance on a little card." Holding up my fingers, I made a little box shape. It sounded stupid to my own ears, but I knew my Regency books. All the girls had those kind of cards. I wanted mine.

"We don't have dance cards," she explained slowly, as if questioning my ability to understand once again.

"Why not?" I asked, feeling oddly disappointed.

"Well, why would we?" Looking heavenward, she sighed delicately and explained, "If a gentleman asks for a dance, you have to accept, but he may only dance with you twice. Therefore, dance cards are not needed, unless you cannot remember five minutes past." She gave me a pointed look that ended with a grin.

I gave her a small sarcastic laugh but grinned at the end.

"Thank you, but I actually remembered the only two dance rule."

"Shocking." She grinned as she spoke.

"But what if the gentleman asking has rotten teeth or something of the like, and I do not wish to dance with him?" I whispered.

"If you refuse, which you will
not
do, then you forfeit all activities for the rest of the evening."

Super.

"Do I get asked quite often?" I wondered, mostly to myself, but Amelia answered anyway.

"Of course! But don't be surprised if most of them are fortune hunters. You'll be complaining to me later about your sore feet before the evening ends." Her eyes were full of joy as she willed me to share in her memories — memories I would never remember.

I had been so busy beholding the scene in front of me that I hadn't taken a moment to study Amelia. She was beautiful, with ebony hair and long, sooty eyelashes. Her eyes were a gentle brown and her skin was creamy white. She reminded me of a fairy, shorter than me but with a large attitude. Her confidence was contagious, and I knew our friendship was authentic by her easy smile and her solid determination to help me.

"What?" she asked, sensing my perusal.

"Nothing, just…"
What was the word?
"Woolgathering, I guess."
Thank you, my many regency novels for the vocabulary you've provided.

The orchestra started to play, and I saw people clear the floor as they took their conversations to the edge of the ballroom.

"Miss Westin?"

Turning, I looked up, and up. "Yes?" I replied to the giant.

"Miss Westin, may I have the honor?"

My mouth said, "Of course," but my mind was wondering how I was going to dance with Goliath.

The first set was a reel and turned out to be manageable as the Viscount Mayerton, I discovered, was quite graceful. Winded, I was thankful he offered to fetch me some punch as soon as our set ended. All that movement in a corset was not for the faint of heart.

Staying by Amelia's side, I turned to ask her a question when I saw her glance behind me and widen her eyes. Stopping mid-breath, I turned around to see the proverbial rake heading my direction. Though never being one to fall for the bad boy vibe, I had to admit I was tempted to walk on the wild side with this one. His walk was more of a masculine strut that was highlighted by his form-fitting black pants. His jacket hugged his shoulders and the crispness of his white, high-collared shirt looked immaculate.

But his eyes…
Oh, have mercy.
His eyes were mesmerizing. An almost black gaze watched me with unreadable expression, and long black lashes highlighting the almond shape of his eyes. His skin was more olive than pale, and his cheekbones were as strong as his cleft chin. His hair was perfectly tousled, looking like a woman had just ran her hands through it. I wondered what it felt like. There was no five-o'clock shadow, but he looked like the type who would have one. His steps were full of purpose. His eyes were focused just beyond me. I turned to follow his gaze and noticed Amelia glaring at the gentlemen, her hostility towards him was like a frigid wind. Curious, I glanced back to the gentleman, and his gaze met mine. He offered me a charming grin, but his attention was immediately taken hostage by Amelia. I watched the interchanged with rapt attention, yet when he approached, it was me he spoke to.

"Miss Westin," the man crooned.

"Yes?"

"May I have honor of the next waltz?"

Glancing over toward Amelia, I waited for some sort of cue as to what I should do. Did I need permission to waltz? Did I already have permission?
Help!
But Amelia wasn't even looking at me anymore. She was studiously ignoring Lord Rake.
On my own, I guess. Ok, I'll wing it.

"Do you think that is a good idea, my lord?" I asked, trying to gauge his response hoping for a clue.

"Waltzing is always a good idea." His voice was like melted chocolate, and I wondered if he practiced speaking like that.

"If you insist," I replied, hoping it was the right answer.

"Believe me, I do," he whispered as he leaned forward slightly. His words were like a caress. He was everything I imagined the rakes in the books I’d read to be. The perfect combination of forbidden fruit with dark chocolate, yet as much as it was alluring to behold, it was clear he played the game. No doubt well. He strutted off with a lazy swagger, and I wondered why he had spoken with me, when his eyes had greedily devoured Amelia. And why did he ask
me
to dance? I wanted to kick Amelia for leaving me high and dry.

"So who is Lord Rake, and why the ice queen?" I asked in a hushed tone once we were alone.

"Who?" Amelia asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Lord Rake, with the melting chocolate voice and devastating looks. The one you could have frozen with your eyes?" I offered, wanting desperately to place my hand on my hip. But I resisted the temptation.

"Oh, him," she replied, unaffected by my sarcasm.

"Yes, and by the way you were
no
help! What was I supposed to do? Did I do the right thing? I was drowning a second ago!"

"I'm sorry, I forgot. You've always handled him fine in the past. I didn't see why you'd have an issue now. And yes, you handled him fine. Just don't." She gave me a stern stare. "Don't fall for the charm. He's a rake of the first order, and he is up to no good."

I felt scolded. Didn't she say I'd handled it correctly? At least the next dance was not a waltz, and so far no one had asked me to dance this one.

"She's right you know," said an unnatural falsetto voice behind me. Turning I saw a man — well, that might be a little strong. The term "metrosexual" would be a closer match. He was dressed in grape-colored trousers, high heels, and a bright green satin jacket accented with a yellow cravat. Lace gloves covered his hands, and he wore the oddest makeup I'd even seen short of a child getting into his mother's by accident. I openly stared, trying to remember if I'd read about this type of fashion statement in any of my books.