“We cannot break our sacred vow,” the ghosts said together.
“Arrrgh! How do you expect me to follow both of you?”
“There’s only one of him,” Deirdre pointed out.
With that cryptic comment, they winked out of sight.
Eleanor hadn’t expected to sleep, but when Twilla entered with a tray of food, she woke from a dream. She had been Cinderella, Shermont her Prince Charming. The refrain from the musical stuck in her brain: Impossible things are happening every day. She tried reciting a poem and the multiplication tables to dislodge it, but until she hummed the Oscar Mayer jingle, that song wouldn’t budge. Then, of course, she was stuck with the commercial tune, but at least it didn’t make her think of her midnight deadline.
After eating the light dinner Twilla had brought, Eleanor dressed in a deep yellow silk dress she’d made to go with her amber cross necklace, which was back in place around her neck. Twilla insisted on helping with her hair. The maid attached a gold ribbon three times across the crown of her head for a diadem effect. Mina had lent a white feather rosette with a pearl center that Twilla pinned over Eleanor’s ear.
Since elbow-length gloves were not de rigueur as they would be in the Victorian Age, Eleanor chose the more comfortable short ones made from netted lace. With her turquoise tulle evening shawl, beaded reticule, and ivory fan, she was ready.
“Thank you for your help,” she said to Twilla.
“My pleasure. You look lovely.”
Eleanor knew guests usually left money for those who had provided for them, one reason why servants didn’t mind the extra work events such as house parties and balls caused. She would be leaving, but she had no money to give the maid. Instead, she pulled the string of blue glass beads from her case. “I want you to have these,” she said to Twilla.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t—”
“I insist.”
The maid reached out and took them as if they were precious jewels. “I ain’t never had anything so fine,” she whispered.
“Put them on.” Eleanor wanted the others to see Twilla wearing them before she left. Not so they would know she’d tipped the maid, but so no one would think the servant had stolen them.
They joined the others in their bedroom as the girls put the finishing touches to their own outfits.
Both wore the white appropriate for their ages. Deirdre’s dress was trimmed with embroidered edging and a sash of braided ribbons in several shades of green from mint to forest. Mina’s dress had pink satin trim and tiny ribbon roses scattered around the square neckline and along the three-inch hem.
Deirdre sat at the dressing table and rubbed a red-tinted paper on her cheeks.
“Lightly,” Mina cried. “We don’t want Teddy to know we bought rouge papers.”
“I look like a Punch and Judy puppet,” Deirdre said, leaning forward to peer closely in the mirror. She picked up a damp cloth and scrubbed her cheeks clean.
“Are you going to try again? Let me. It’s my turn.”
“If I can’t do it, you can’t do it either,” Deirdre said without relinquishing her seat.
Before they escalated into a full-blown argument, Eleanor noticed Mina’s paint case and had a brainstorm. “Wait a minute.”
She rummaged around until she found the largest brush in the case. Thankfully, Mina kept her watercolor brushes scrupulously clean.
Eleanor laid the rouge paper on the table, rubbed the brush over it in a circle, and then swirled it lightly over the girls’ cheeks. She wasn’t a makeup expert, but everyone agreed the effect was quite attractive and natural looking.
As Twilla helped the girls gather their accessories, Mina suddenly stopped. She turned from Twilla to Eleanor with a sharp look. “Are those your—”
“I think they look very nice on her,” Eleanor said.
Mina shrugged as if the gift was of no consequence, exactly as Eleanor had hoped.
She followed the girls down the hall, butterflies of anticipation tickling her stomach. Shermont waited below, and the look on his face told her all her trouble had been worthwhile. He made her feel beautiful and desirable with nothing more than his smile. She nearly had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Ordinary Eleanor Pottinger was going to the ball. She hoped she would have another chance to talk with Jane Austen and might even risk a dance with a handsome lord. She touched her necklace for luck and descended the stairs.
Even though the ball was scheduled to begin at eight o’clock, a number of guests had already arrived and more poured in as fast as the full carriages could unload them. Since country affairs were less formal and almost everyone already knew everyone else, the butler did not announce each arrival. Deirdre and Mina joined Teddy and Aunt Patience in the entrance hall to greet the guests. Shermont offered his arm and escorted Eleanor into the ballroom.
Armless gilt chairs had been placed around the perimeter of the room, and several chaperones had staked out their positions. Mrs. Holcum and Beatrix sat near the door, all the better to snag Teddy on his entrance. Mrs. Maxwell had chosen a spot halfway down the length of the room and sat with Fiona and Hazel on each elbow. Gentle music wafted through the air and Eleanor located the musicians in a loft at the far end.
“Shall we walk the circuit?” Shermont asked.
Those not seated promenaded around the room in couples or small groups of three or four. The glittering society was everything she could have imagined. The clothes. The jewels. Hard to credit the idea that this wasn’t everyone’s best and that a ball in London would have more of … everything. “Why aren’t they dancing?” she asked.
“The host will open the dancing shortly. Until then, we walk, perhaps stop to chat. See and be seen. Take those young bucks, for instance,” he said, indicating with a nod the group of four gentlemen sauntering along a dozen feet ahead. “They’re sizing up the new crop that will go on the marriage mart next season.”
“That’s a bit predatory.”
“Not the half of it. There’s not a full pocket among the lot. If they want to continue the life they’ve been accustomed to, they must marry well, an heiress preferably.”
“What about love?”
“Ah, a love match does seem to be the current ideal according to the doctrine of sensibility, but when a man must choose between a ladylove and his tailor …” He shrugged.
“Sounds as though you think of marriage as a business deal.”
“I don’t think of marriage at all,” Shermont lied. How could he ask someone to share his future when he didn’t remember his past? He rubbed the scar on his forehead with his free hand. “I take it your marriage was a love match.”
Eleanor hesitated. “I believed I was in love with the man I got engaged to. Unfortunately, I later found out he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”
“A testimonial for long engagements?”
“Not necessarily. It wasn’t his fault I bestowed qualities on him he didn’t possess.” And as she said it, she realized it was true. He couldn’t live up to her expectations because she had tried to make a Darcy out of a Wickham, which made her think of Jane Austen. She looked around the now crowded ballroom, but didn’t see her favorite author.
There were so many people in the room the temperature had risen several degrees, undoubtedly helped by hundreds of candles on two chandeliers. Eleanor opened her fan and plied it for a bit of breeze. One detail the glittering illustrations of the time period had not been able to show was the air tainted by so many perfumes. Even though liberally used, the fragrances did not conceal the underlying odor of unwashed bodies.
Teddy led a bejeweled Countess Lazislov to the front of the dance floor. As the highest-ranking female present, she had the honor of calling the first set. The Countess indicated her choice to Mr. Foucalt.
“May I have this dance?” Shermont asked.
Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t know the steps to most—”