All twenty-five of us gathered behind the grand steps, each moving forward as the herald called our names. He was a short man with a monocled eye, a bald head, and the most piercing voice I ever heard, second only to Julianna’s.
“Miss Amara...Amaran...tee—”
“The ‘e’ is silent, sir,” I said, already halfway down.
The herald sniffed. “Very well. Er...Miss Rachel Estelle!”
A tall girl in a blue dress descended after me at his squeaky call. Her hands were shaking, though the ballroom below was empty aside from the servants setting the refreshments table.
“Posture, dear!” Lady Hortensia trilled from the bottom of the steps. “Remember Rachel, you are a swan gliding along a lake, not a pigeon pecking crumbs on the road. And speaking of pigeons, Mr. Packington,” she said, turning to the herald, “are you sure you cannot do anything about those awful birds? They’re nesting in the chandeliers.”
The herald peered up. A band of gray-blue pigeons perched on the golden arms of the chandelier above him. They stared back with round, unblinking eyes. Mr. Packington shuddered. “Like I told you milady, the servants have tried everything. They simply wouldn’t leave.”
“I don’t like it. It seems like some sort of...witchery.” Lady Hortensia shuddered, wiggling her plump, bejeweled fingers.
“Nonsense!” Mr. Packington puffed up his scrawny chest. “We do not speak of such things here, milady. I’m sure that much you know.”
The lady frowned a frown that rivaled Lord Gideon’s.
By the end of it, we were led into a sitting room near the ballroom to wait for the start of the ball. Many debutantes spent the time chattering. Genevieve, Tori, and I sat in our own corner. We asked Olivia to join us, but the girl shied away from any interaction and buried her nose in a book.
Perhaps she would disappear again, like she had at the welcome banquet. We decided to leave her be.
As dull minute after dull minute dragged on, Tori excused herself to the lavatory, Genevieve sketched aimlessly on a napkin, and I settled on eavesdropping.
“How did pigeons get into the ballroom anyway?” Samantha asked from the other side of the room.
“I heard from one of the servers they entered through the kitchens,” Tessa Donahue said, patting her coppery curls. “Someone must’ve left a window open.”
“How irresponsible.” Julianna scoffed. “Narcissa, why don’t you have your cat take them down?”
The duchess’s daughter was perched on an armchair. She narrowed her eyes. “Misty is above that,” she said. “It’s the servants’ job to take care of such things.”
Julianna looked cowed, but she masked it with a laugh. “You’re right. Work like that is reserved for clumsy waiters and girls who flirt with them.” She threw a glance at me. A few debutantes giggled.
“Ignore them,” Genevieve whispered, smoothing her napkin. Julianna’s laughter was still ringing in my ear.
“I can’t believe she’d do this,” I muttered, blood rushing to my face. It was true that I had grown used to Julianna’s antics. She spread all sorts of rumors about me as a child—that I had a beard I shaved off every morning, that I ate bird droppings, that I had freckles because I was cursed by a witch. At some point I’d learned to tolerate it by playing pranks and giving empty threats, but this was different.
How would Lydia react knowing my reputation had ruined Genevieve’s? What would Papa say if my first day at the Season was a disaster? How could I make him proud then?
“Amarante, whoever she gossips to is going to think worse of her than of you. No respectable lady would say such things about others,” Genevieve said, tucking her napkin away. She squeezed my shoulders. “It will be fine. I promise.”
I marveled at her calm, especially when her reputation was on the line too. A part of me wished I could be like Genevieve, but the sensible part knew that wasn’t possible.
I gave my stepsister a strained smile and stood from my seat. “You’re right,” I said. “I’m going to the lavatory.”
I was in more danger of pummeling Julianna with my bare fists than I had ever been before, but I had since learned to curb the violent tantrums of childhood. I satisfied myself by marching up and down the hall instead, imagining I was digging my heel into Julianna’s face with each step. I passed Tori my fifth time down the hall.
“Where you off to?” Tori said, nibbling on a pastry.
“The lavatory,” I said.
“It’s over there,” she said, pointing to the left. “The kitchen is to the right. They’ll let you sneak a little snack before the ball if you ask.”
“Great. Thanks.”
She went back into the sitting room and I made my way to the right. If there was anything I needed, it was Theodora’s signature raspberry tarts, but I would have to settle for the next best thing. The more I walked the angrier I got. What right did Julianna have to hold my reputation against me? That was crossing the line, even for her.
Servants bustled past me with arms laden with baked goods. A maid beat at a stray pigeon with a feather duster. A young man strolled by, polishing a green apple with his shirt.
I stopped in my tracks. It was him.
“You!” I whirled around, pointing a trembling finger at the waiter who had spilled water on me. This time, he was dressed in a plain shirt and breeches. Those in the hall stopped and stared, but I paid them no mind. My blood was boiling.
“Oh. You,” the waiter said. He raised his eyebrows, looking infuriatingly relaxed. “Hello.”
“Hello? Hello?” My voice raised an octave higher as I stomped up to him. “Do you have any idea what you caused?”
“Woah, easy there.” He stepped back, holding his apple away.
“Of all things you had to give me your jacket! And you...you winked at me!” I sputtered.
I wanted to say a million more things, but surely shouting at a palace employee
