Who is that woman? After a few minutes, Lord Harlow leaned in the woman’s direction and whispered…something. The woman pulled back, laughed and swatted his arm with her fan, but the scene seemed wrong—almost forced. The woman tapped his arm once again and nodded, almost imperceptibly, before she strolled towards a man standing by the refreshment table. Did she and Lord Harlow plan a later assignation? A strange feeling hit the pit of Lilian’s stomach and warmth shot up her neck. Was that jealousy? Impossible! She used the notebook in her reticule to fan her face before remembering her delicate white lace satin fan was hanging from her arm. She whipped open the folds, moving the object quickly to create a breeze across the sudden moistness on her face and neck. Scanning the room, Lilian spotted the open door to the terrace, wishing herself out there. Hundreds of beeswax candles had warmed the room miserably, and the dark pink colour of the walls added to a morbid fear of being closed into a small space.
Peering through the dancers, Lilian spotted her sister twirling about, now waltzing with Lord Richard Yarstone. Her soft, peach silk dress gently wrapped the sides of her legs as they twirled, her golden slippers protruding ever so subtly from beneath. Lord Yarstone was naught if not persistent where Lydia was concerned. Lilian thought they reciprocated each other’s feelings. And, if she counted correctly, that was the second dance for them—together. She smiled to herself. They might not be counting, however, it was a certainty Mama was doing so. She tallied everything, unfortunately.
Lord Yarstone would arrive promptly at ten of the clock. She expected the front parlour would be lined with white roses tomorrow, his usual choice. White roses signified new beginnings and everlasting love. It was everything that Lydia deserved.
A wistful sigh escaped Lilian, causing her to clap her hand to her mouth and look around, embarrassed. The surrounding girls were absorbed in conversation and had not seemed to notice her. That was part of the problem—she felt unworthy of notice. Lydia’s acquaintance with Lord Yarstone was becoming more serious. It was what she wanted, and Lilian was pleased for her sister. However, this only added to the lacklustre feeling which had crept over her of late about her own life, sitting here with naught except an oversized wheel-chair as her steady companion. Her sister, her best friend, would marry and leave home, separating them for the first time in their lives.
Suddenly feeling rather overwhelmed, Lilian was ready to leave. She had promised to come, and she had fulfilled her part of the bargain. She hung her head, as much for shame as despair at her thoughts. She was so lost in her thoughts she failed to see her sister and Lord Yarstone approaching.
“Are you ready to depart, Lilian?” Lydia’s eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth.
Already? “Truly?” Lydia is ready to leave? Unheard of. She subtly turned to the door in time to see Lord Harlow exit the ballroom, and a quiver ran up her arm. It was hard to be unaffected by his dashing presence, particularly so when he wore his crisp, red uniform. “Yes, Lydia, if you are prepared.” She smiled weakly, keeping her enthusiasm at bay on purpose. “It is a little warm on this side of the room, especially since there are no exits.” She gave a few more flaps of the fan, as if to emphasize her point, before putting it away.
“I agree, it is rather warm.”
“Lady Lilian, may I fetch your chair for you?” Lord Yarstone inquired.
Containing a sly smile, she nodded and watched him retrieve her chair from behind the small arch of potted plants. The plants were delicately intertwined to affect a small garden of greenery that curved to embellish the corner of the room. Besotted was the word Father had used when describing Lord Yarstone.
“You must tell me all,” Lydia whispered softly, grinning. “I saw him talking to you.” She emphasized the word him. “And do not pretend you do not know of whom I am speaking, sister.”
Pretending not to know what she was speaking of made little sense. Her sister would be sure to wheedle out the story in no time. Feeling impish, however, Lilian determined to make Lydia wriggle a little first. “It was naught save a momentary conversation,” she said at last. A curious feeling of satisfaction rippled through her. Yet, when she looked back at Lydia, she saw her sister’s smirk of satisfaction. Blood rushed from her neck to her temples; she felt its heat. I cannot hide anything from her.
“Surely, ’twas not just a conversation. It was deliberate, purposeful. I insist you tell me everything! That was Lord Harlow. Every debutante in the room had her eyes on you when he walked in your direction,” her sister whispered. “Your Prince Charming!” Her head bobbed slightly with happiness. “And you stalked him afterwards. Do not try to deny it; I saw you.”
“Do not be silly. How could I do such a thing when I am tied to a chair?” They caught me!
“You still have eyes, dearest.”
“Lydia, may we please discuss this in the carriage?” Lilian pleaded softly, her face beginning to burn. She heard rustling and turned her head to see all the wallflowers, heedless of good manners, were craning their necks in her direction.
Lord Yarstone cleared his throat. “My ladies, your mother has seen us and appears to be saying her goodbyes. Would it be permissible to escort you to the door?”
“Thank you, Lord Yarstone. We would appreciate that greatly.” Lydia smiled and moved in front
