“Shall we just agree that I will not badger you? I may ask, though.” Her sister grinned mischievously and darted to the door before turning back once more. “I will fetch our wraps and see how far on Mama is. She was close to being ready. You know she will expect us to set out the moment she comes down.” Her twin flashed another mischievous grin towards Lilian and quickly left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Lilian sighed in frustration and glanced at the door through which her sister had just exited. Her sister meant well, but she wished Lydia would just accept her situation, just as she had done. She hated being dragged to social events and having to watch everything that she could no longer do, such as dancing. She winced at the loss. Dancing at these assemblies had been something she had always loved. She had dreamed about dancing with that special gentleman. Her mind could even summon up that one, special gentleman, not that it mattered. They had never officially met…but that was before the accident—in the past.
Her sister was undeterred in her mission to help Lilian walk again—so much so that every day her sister spent time lifting and massaging Lilian’s lifeless legs. Lydia did not give a fig what others said. In her heart, she said, she knew her sister would walk again. Every day she worked Lilian’s legs back and forth, up and down, and in a circular motion, moving them in a routine, convinced this would allow the muscles to stay intact for when her sister finally walked. Lilian touched her leg, hoping she would feel something. It was true. Her legs had not withered as so many had cautioned, they would.
Perhaps Lydia was right about this, she mused. No. As much as she wanted to believe, she could not. She shook her head. Mayhap it is because we are twins and Lydia feels something will happen when I do not, but this is not guessing the colour of one’s dress. She needs to realize that my legs will never work again. Lilian dabbed away the quick tears from the corner of her eyes and smoothed her hands across her lap, freeing the wrinkles from her dress. She had accepted her circumstance and wished her twin could do the same. Life would be simpler.
A late burst of the evening sun shone through the window, rebounding off the cheval mirror and allowing Lilian to catch her reflection as she sat in the wheel-chair. It was ugly. The tall, hardwood slats of the back dwarfed her and made her look childlike in the centre. Clara had made her a pillow with goose down to help elevate her, but she still looked like a character in a fairy tale. Maybe she should be Thumbelina, she thought, unable to raise a smile. Even the carved edges of the black walnut made the vehicle look more imposing.
She sighed and touched the delicate Chantilly lace and pink satin bodice. At least she had a reason to wear one of her dresses from a year ago. Now she was crippled, she no longer belonged. What does it matter what my dress looks like, since I can only grace the wallflowers? This was her favourite dress and, secretly, she was glad to have occasion to wear it once more, although she would never tell Lydia that. Lilian loved the gown, which rested on her upper arms, revealing her shoulders. It boasted four layers of delicate lace and seed pearls over pale pink sarsnet and satin, which formed the bodice. A band of pale pink velvet hugged her upper waistline. The lace overdress hung past the bottom of the gown, giving it a flower-like appearance on the hem. She would never feel the lace flowing on the dance floor. With a huge sigh, she glanced at the Ormolu clock on the mantel, wishing she could move the hands and have this ball behind her.
“Lilian…” Lydia’s excited voice reverberated up the stairs ahead of her footsteps, giving Lilian cause to laugh. Their mother would have an apoplectic fit. As her laughter grew, an unladylike snort escaped her. She could imagine her mother’s reaction.
“We are ready to leave. Winston is here and will carry you downstairs to the coach. Your traveling chair is already attached.”
Lilian winced at her sister’s description of the traveling wheel-chair being tied to the back of the coach. The words rushed about her ears. I hate this, she thought bitterly. She heard nothing after the chair, and merely watched as Winston, the footman, stepped into the doorway. Lydia released the brake on Lilian’s upstairs chair and wheeled her to the hall, where Winston scooped her from the wheel-chair and carried her down the stairs.
“There you are! Oh, my dears, you both look lovely.” Her mother stood at the front entrance, already wearing her shawl and holding Lilian’s over her arm. She looked at her butler. “Chambers, please inform my son that we are waiting for him to join us in the carriage.”
“Certainly, your ladyship.”
The Countess fussed about as Winston settled Lilian in the carriage and handed Lydia in beside her. At last she joined them, having delivered a list of unnecessary instructions.
“Ah! This is going to be such a wonderful night. I have both of my lovely daughters with me.” She smiled in Lilian’s direction. “My dear, I have no notion what your sister has said to convince you, but I am delighted you are joining us.”
Lilian held her tongue. Her mother, like Lydia, completely ignored her useless legs and the wheel-chair that was now—embarrassingly—tied to the back of their carriage in full view. She wanted nothing more than to shrink beneath the seat she sat upon.
The whole night would be a test of stamina and courage. The thought that she would find her Prince Charming while sitting alongside the potted plants and wallflowers was preposterous. In fact, it was so ridiculous, she snorted out loud,
