“she does have six of them.”
“Ah. Now Gail,” Romilla said, as she settled herself against the cushions of the carriage seat, closing her eyes, “if only you could speak as well to men or people your own age. And mind you, most of them don’t care at all for young ladies who read overmuch. Lady Charlbury is an oddity, and charming old ladies are not what will get you married.”
Gail looked down at her lap and twisted her fingers about nervously. “I know,” she whispered.
Evangeline took hold of her sister’s hand. “Gail, I didn’t know that cats were sometimes considered gods. Was that in India?”
“Egypt. The Hindu in India revere cows,” Gail answered.
“Cows?” Romilla opened an eye. “I wonder if they eat a great deal of beef?”
NOW that she had a moment to reflect, Romilla thought Gail was doing remarkably well at the ball that evening. Although she was not continually dancing, she had not tripped on or spilled anything; and she had not once said some wholly inappropriate remark that revealed her unusual upbringing. She even looked remarkably well in a gown of pale yellow silk. Romilla had even seen one gangly young gentleman eagerly fetch Gail a glass of punch. But nothing could compare to Evangeline’s success.
Radiant in a deceptively simple ivory silk and lace gown, Evangeline was completely surrounded by every eligible bachelor in attendance. From her position at the front of the ballroom, Romilla could see her beautiful stepdaughter quite clearly, and was immensely pleased.
Evangeline’s incomparable beauty, matched with her genuinely sweet and open personality, was a heady combination. Romilla had made certain that she was taken around to every society matron and made proper introductions. Aside from Lady Charlbury, who had already been introduced and so took the time to ask pointedly after Gail, every single one of the old biddies was absolutely charmed by Evangeline. After that, she was given carte blanche to be introduced to and dance with any man in attendance.
Needless to say, all of the gentlemen present were quite eager to make her acquaintance.
Romilla took her feathered fan and lightly tapped her husband on the arm.
“Well, my dear,” he said, offering his arm, “you seem to have pulled off the coup of the Season. I congratulate you.”
Romilla gave him a pretty smile. “Thank you, my husband. But I will give credit where it’s due. A great many of your political acquaintances are here tonight, and they lend a certain sparkle to the event.”
Sir Geoffrey grinned. “You and my daughters are all the sparkle I’ll ever need,” he said in hushed tones, causing a warm blush to flow over Romilla’s cheeks.
“I see Evangeline is making quite a few friends,” Sir Geoffrey remarked, turning his eyes back to the ballroom floor, nodding to a few parliamentary types as he did.
“She will make a great match,” Romilla whispered fervently, as if saying it enough would make it true.
“But where has Gail gotten off to?” Sir Geoffrey scanned the crowd. “Oh there she is, I see her. She is talking to young Ommersley.”
A sense of dread overcame Romilla. She turned and saw Gail on the far side of the ballroom, lecturing to the painfully thin young man with more Adam’s apple than head. “Ommersley? Who lives at Number Twenty? His family’s name is older than Moses! God spare us if she is speaking nonsense about ancient cultures or industrial technology or Wollstonecraft. His mother will make certain we’re never received in any house on the Square.”
Sir Geoffrey looked at his youngest daughter, took in her rapid speech, her companion’s rapt expression, and chuckled. “I doubt he’s even listening, my dear. Now come. We have greeted all our guests, the punch is absolutely delicious, and the musicians are playing a waltz. I request a dance with the best hostess in London.”
Romilla gave one last worried glance toward Gail and relaxed against her
“Ah. Now Gail,” Romilla said, as she settled herself against the cushions of the carriage seat, closing her eyes, “if only you could speak as well to men or people your own age. And mind you, most of them don’t care at all for young ladies who read overmuch. Lady Charlbury is an oddity, and charming old ladies are not what will get you married.”
Gail looked down at her lap and twisted her fingers about nervously. “I know,” she whispered.
Evangeline took hold of her sister’s hand. “Gail, I didn’t know that cats were sometimes considered gods. Was that in India?”
“Egypt. The Hindu in India revere cows,” Gail answered.
“Cows?” Romilla opened an eye. “I wonder if they eat a great deal of beef?”
NOW that she had a moment to reflect, Romilla thought Gail was doing remarkably well at the ball that evening. Although she was not continually dancing, she had not tripped on or spilled anything; and she had not once said some wholly inappropriate remark that revealed her unusual upbringing. She even looked remarkably well in a gown of pale yellow silk. Romilla had even seen one gangly young gentleman eagerly fetch Gail a glass of punch. But nothing could compare to Evangeline’s success.
Radiant in a deceptively simple ivory silk and lace gown, Evangeline was completely surrounded by every eligible bachelor in attendance. From her position at the front of the ballroom, Romilla could see her beautiful stepdaughter quite clearly, and was immensely pleased.
Evangeline’s incomparable beauty, matched with her genuinely sweet and open personality, was a heady combination. Romilla had made certain that she was taken around to every society matron and made proper introductions. Aside from Lady Charlbury, who had already been introduced and so took the time to ask pointedly after Gail, every single one of the old biddies was absolutely charmed by Evangeline. After that, she was given carte blanche to be introduced to and dance with any man in attendance.
Needless to say, all of the gentlemen present were quite eager to make her acquaintance.
Romilla took her feathered fan and lightly tapped her husband on the arm.
“Well, my dear,” he said, offering his arm, “you seem to have pulled off the coup of the Season. I congratulate you.”
Romilla gave him a pretty smile. “Thank you, my husband. But I will give credit where it’s due. A great many of your political acquaintances are here tonight, and they lend a certain sparkle to the event.”
Sir Geoffrey grinned. “You and my daughters are all the sparkle I’ll ever need,” he said in hushed tones, causing a warm blush to flow over Romilla’s cheeks.
“I see Evangeline is making quite a few friends,” Sir Geoffrey remarked, turning his eyes back to the ballroom floor, nodding to a few parliamentary types as he did.
“She will make a great match,” Romilla whispered fervently, as if saying it enough would make it true.
“But where has Gail gotten off to?” Sir Geoffrey scanned the crowd. “Oh there she is, I see her. She is talking to young Ommersley.”
A sense of dread overcame Romilla. She turned and saw Gail on the far side of the ballroom, lecturing to the painfully thin young man with more Adam’s apple than head. “Ommersley? Who lives at Number Twenty? His family’s name is older than Moses! God spare us if she is speaking nonsense about ancient cultures or industrial technology or Wollstonecraft. His mother will make certain we’re never received in any house on the Square.”
Sir Geoffrey looked at his youngest daughter, took in her rapid speech, her companion’s rapt expression, and chuckled. “I doubt he’s even listening, my dear. Now come. We have greeted all our guests, the punch is absolutely delicious, and the musicians are playing a waltz. I request a dance with the best hostess in London.”
Romilla gave one last worried glance toward Gail and relaxed against her
Similar Books
