and movements. Everyone to the right, everyone to the left, as if they are being herded by a Chopin-loving collie. The waltz is different, but of course, the young ladies, the ones in whose honor the ball is thrown, cannot take part. They sit and watch their older sisters and widowed aunts snabble the most dashing bachelors while they are left with sputtering striplings.
I am intrigued to see the elite at play. Are they having fun yet?
Lady Atterbury was pleased. Not even Sally Jersey or those other rattlepates from Almack's could find fault tonight. Every surface of Atterbury House gleamed, the staff was superbly and unobtrusively efficient, the refreshments extravagant. The dowager had expected no less.
At first she was annoyed with the floral arrangements, banks of daisies and ferns in the ballroom, baskets of violets on each table in the supper room. Common, the dowager decided, wrinkling her patrician nose. And just like her goosecap of a granddaughter, flaunting her humble country origins. Lady Almeria sent upstairs for another diamond brooch to join the three she already wore, next to the ruby and diamond parure, the blinding tiara, and the eight rings. Heaven
forefend anyone mistake the household of Her Grace, the Duchess of Atterbury, for a woodland meadow. Then various matrons came to compliment the dowager on how cleverly the decorations reflected her granddaughter's fresh charm. Just the right touch, Princess Lieven enthused, for a miss not yet jaded by the Season. A joy to see a gel bright as a daisy, Emily Cowper congratulated, so sweetly friendly and lively, not like one of London's delicate hothouse blooms. Lady Atterbury commended herself on her excellent taste and grasp of the social niceties. She also graciously accepted credit for her granddaughter's appearance. Yes, the chit did the Harkness name proud tonight.
Madame Celeste had done the impossible: created a white gown that wasn't white. The slip of a satin underdress was white, but the skirt, which began right under a minuscule bodice, was covered with three layers of tissue-thin net in three shades of blue. The gauzy mesh floated at Miss Randolph's feet, changing colors to reflect the dancing lights in her blue eyes. The white bodice was embroidered all over with forget-me-nots, the center of each flower a pearl. Sonia wore Lady Atterbury's gift of pearls and, in her fair curls, a sapphire butterfly sent by her father for the occasion. George had sent the matching earbobs, and her younger brother, Hugh, arriving barely in time for the dinner before the ball, brought her a gold filigree fan.
"Bang up to the nines, Sunny," he told her approvingly as he led her out for the first dance. "Never thought you'd hold a candle to Catherine, but demmed if I didn't have my blunt on the wrong filly. Your dance card is already filled, and you have the blades lined up two-deep to fetch you a lemonade. By George if you ain't a success. Little Sunny with her dirty face and skinned knees and mare's-nest hairdos. Who'd have thought it?"
Sonia chuckled. "Thank you, I think. I just wish Papa was here to see it."
Hugh looked quickly to make sure she wasn't getting weepy on him. No, Sunny was a Trojan. "He'd just grumble about the expense and disappear into the card room anyway. Then he'd brag to everyone for days how you looked fine as five-pence."
"In case I didn't mention it earlier, you are looking very fine yourself, Lieutenant, in your handsome new dress uniform. In fact, I can see the hopeful mamas ringing Grandmother now, waiting for their chances."
Hugh missed his step and nearly trod on Sonia's toes. "Sorry, but hang it, Sunny, I ain't going to dance with every fubsy-faced chit in the place. Just because Pa got himself leg-shackled and George is under the cat's-paw don't mean I have to do the pretty all night. I'm no hand at this blasted dancing anyway. Now, put me on the parade grounds…"
"Just one dance, Hugh, with one particular friend of mine,
I am intrigued to see the elite at play. Are they having fun yet?
Lady Atterbury was pleased. Not even Sally Jersey or those other rattlepates from Almack's could find fault tonight. Every surface of Atterbury House gleamed, the staff was superbly and unobtrusively efficient, the refreshments extravagant. The dowager had expected no less.
At first she was annoyed with the floral arrangements, banks of daisies and ferns in the ballroom, baskets of violets on each table in the supper room. Common, the dowager decided, wrinkling her patrician nose. And just like her goosecap of a granddaughter, flaunting her humble country origins. Lady Almeria sent upstairs for another diamond brooch to join the three she already wore, next to the ruby and diamond parure, the blinding tiara, and the eight rings. Heaven
forefend anyone mistake the household of Her Grace, the Duchess of Atterbury, for a woodland meadow. Then various matrons came to compliment the dowager on how cleverly the decorations reflected her granddaughter's fresh charm. Just the right touch, Princess Lieven enthused, for a miss not yet jaded by the Season. A joy to see a gel bright as a daisy, Emily Cowper congratulated, so sweetly friendly and lively, not like one of London's delicate hothouse blooms. Lady Atterbury commended herself on her excellent taste and grasp of the social niceties. She also graciously accepted credit for her granddaughter's appearance. Yes, the chit did the Harkness name proud tonight.
Madame Celeste had done the impossible: created a white gown that wasn't white. The slip of a satin underdress was white, but the skirt, which began right under a minuscule bodice, was covered with three layers of tissue-thin net in three shades of blue. The gauzy mesh floated at Miss Randolph's feet, changing colors to reflect the dancing lights in her blue eyes. The white bodice was embroidered all over with forget-me-nots, the center of each flower a pearl. Sonia wore Lady Atterbury's gift of pearls and, in her fair curls, a sapphire butterfly sent by her father for the occasion. George had sent the matching earbobs, and her younger brother, Hugh, arriving barely in time for the dinner before the ball, brought her a gold filigree fan.
"Bang up to the nines, Sunny," he told her approvingly as he led her out for the first dance. "Never thought you'd hold a candle to Catherine, but demmed if I didn't have my blunt on the wrong filly. Your dance card is already filled, and you have the blades lined up two-deep to fetch you a lemonade. By George if you ain't a success. Little Sunny with her dirty face and skinned knees and mare's-nest hairdos. Who'd have thought it?"
Sonia chuckled. "Thank you, I think. I just wish Papa was here to see it."
Hugh looked quickly to make sure she wasn't getting weepy on him. No, Sunny was a Trojan. "He'd just grumble about the expense and disappear into the card room anyway. Then he'd brag to everyone for days how you looked fine as five-pence."
"In case I didn't mention it earlier, you are looking very fine yourself, Lieutenant, in your handsome new dress uniform. In fact, I can see the hopeful mamas ringing Grandmother now, waiting for their chances."
Hugh missed his step and nearly trod on Sonia's toes. "Sorry, but hang it, Sunny, I ain't going to dance with every fubsy-faced chit in the place. Just because Pa got himself leg-shackled and George is under the cat's-paw don't mean I have to do the pretty all night. I'm no hand at this blasted dancing anyway. Now, put me on the parade grounds…"
"Just one dance, Hugh, with one particular friend of mine,
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