Read Online Belle of the ball by Donna Lea Simpson - Free Book Online Page A

are somehow lacking in morality if we choose to be alone?"
    "Well, setting aside that, women need a husband to take care of them financially."
    "And why is that? I will tell you; it is because society^ has dictated that a woman of quality cannot look after her own money, nor make her own way in the world except among the lowest paid and most looked-down-upon professions, like governessing or teaching, or as companion to other women. They think we are not capable of handling money, or government, or of succeeding in any of the paying arts beyond a little genteel piano playing or sketching. It is abominable, I tell you! We should be free to pursue our interests and make our living just as any man is." Her azure eyes blazed with fire.
    If Eveleen's vision of the perfect world—a world where women were on an equal footing with men— were only the reality, Arabella thought, allowing herself a glorious dream for just a moment. Then she could travel, like Westhaven, to the far-flung reaches of the empire. She would go west, to the Canadas, and explore those lofty peaks and cavernous gorges, she would traverse mountain passes, making her own way free and unfettered by societal disapproval.
    It sounded thrilling, but—ah, there was the rub. It was not and never would be the way of the world. She shook her head. "I do not understand half of what you say. Eve," she said, dismissing it all from her mind. She was too practical to regret what could never be. "To return to our original topic, though, I know that love is possible, but for someone like me, not probable. I do not have the luxury of time, you see, and I have never found anyone I could love. So why should I not benefit myself in marriage like everyone else does? It is the way of our world."
    "Perhaps you are right," Eveleen said, musing. "But," she finished, with an arch smile, "have you really never found anyone you could love? Honestly?" A gentleman in scarlet regimentals, a Captain Harris, came to claim Eveleen for a dance, and she drifted away with one long, lingering look at her friend.
    The evening progressed, and Arabella forgot—or at least, attempted to forget—her conversation with Eveleen. She danced most dances, trying to master the art of not looking too desperate when she felt like time was dwindling and she must make every second count. Her social education should have stood her in good stead, but she felt awkward and did not know why. She felt suddenly like she did not belong, as if her desperation were a leprous disease that made her unfit for good company. Bessemere, now that his mother was present, was tongue-tied and inarticulate in her company, and nothing Arabella could do would set him at ease. Had he heard of the Lord Conroy embarrassment? Just thinking of it made her feverish all over.
    Lord Pelimore was courted by many, now that it was known he definitely would be choosing a new bride this Season. All of the mothers were throwing their plain daughters at the baron in the hopes that his standards would not be too nice, so Arabella did not push too hard, relying on her looks—^which in all modesty she knew to be good—to attract his attention. He might be old, but he was still a man.
    And it was working. The modest looks she threw his way, the way she was always just on the periphery of the crowd around him, it was drawing his eye more and more to her, and she knew with a certainty borne of experience that he would soon single her out. Did she want that? She supposed she must. What other option did she have?
    Always in the past she had done such things, the flirtatious glances, the demure coquetry, to test her skills, to ensure that the allure was still there and working for her. Men had been drawn and then released; it was like fishing when she was a child. She didn't even like fish— at least, not to eat—but catching them had been fun. Faith, her cousin, the same age as her almost, had never understood why she wanted to let the fish go after