shrugged, then started wringing her hands together.
“If Diana and Kate expect me to behave this season,” Mary huffed as she quickly pulled out her plait and got to her feet, “then they ought to wait until after I am fed before starting an inquisition.”
“Erm…” Mrs. Evansdale hummed anxiously, her fingers nearly clawing at each other.
Mary looked over with concern. “Are you all right, Mrs. Evansdale?”
The plump woman bit her lip, cheeks as red as her hair. “It is not Lady Beckham or Lady Whitlock, Miss.”
Mary folded her arms and peered at her. “Then who is it?”
Mrs. Evansdale stepped aside and waved behind her. Josephine entered, bobbing quickly, looking far more delighted than the housekeeper. Her bright eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Winston says it is gentlemen, Miss,” Josephine whispered gleefully.
Mary rolled her eyes and turned to the wardrobe. “Oh, bother, don’t tell me Geoffrey is calling for a ride this early. I won’t venture out of doors at all until I…”
“Pardon, Miss, but it is not Mr. Harris,” Mrs. Evansdale interrupted as she pushed Josephine over in Mary’s direction.
Mary froze and met her maid’s eyes. “Then…”
“He only said gentlemen, Miss,” she replied with a shrug.
“Wait. Men? As in… plural?” She clutched at her throat, which suddenly had constricted and become very dry.
“Indeed, Miss,” Josephine said with a happy nod as she began helping Mary out of her night things.
Mary took an unsteady breath and released it slowly. This was all part of being a true debutante. Callers would come, and they ought to be informed that she wouldn’t take calls before breakfast. Some things she would not bend on, and they needed to know it.
Josephine dropped a dress over her head and helped it on, and Mary looked at herself very calmly in the mirror. She caught sight of Mrs. Evansdale by the door, still looking uncomfortable.
“How many?” Mary asked slowly.
Mrs. Evansdale met her eyes in the mirror, suddenly terrified. “Wh… what, miss?”
“How many gentlemen?”
“Oh, we can’t say for certain,” Josephine said absently as she did up the buttons. “How many gentlemen do you think can fit in the sitting room?”
Three minutes later, Mary slipped carefully down the stairs, keeping her back to the wall the entire time. Thankfully, the sitting room happened to be situated directly off of the staircase, so she should be able to sneak a peak in without too much of a risk of being seen. But having never attempted to sneak anywhere in her own home before, she had no idea if it was even possible. Did her stairs creak? Were her slippers soft enough to avoid making noise? Would the door to the room hide her enough to allow her more than a cursory glance?
Her buttons scraped against the wall and she froze, hoping against hope that the sound, horrendously loud in her ears, would be indistinguishable to others amid the sounds of whomever was in her sitting room.
No sounds other than the low murmur of voices were heard, and she relaxed, ever so slightly and kept moving. Total relaxation was not possible at this point, not when there was a roomful of men downstairs.
At last, she reached the bottom stair and she drew in a long, silent breath. Then she very carefully leaned forward and peered into the room as surreptitiously as she could.
Josephine had not exaggerated.
Mary could see almost a third of the room, as well as the gaudy mirror her mother had put in that room years ago. She had never been so grateful for something she hated in her entire life. In her line of sight, there were at least six men. In the mirror, at least four others were visible. They all seemed preoccupied, whether with their own attire, hair, or teeth, or with discussing important topics, horses it seemed, and so she was unnoticed in her observations.
She felt her heart pick up its pace and her breathing followed suit. She couldn’t do this. She could
“If Diana and Kate expect me to behave this season,” Mary huffed as she quickly pulled out her plait and got to her feet, “then they ought to wait until after I am fed before starting an inquisition.”
“Erm…” Mrs. Evansdale hummed anxiously, her fingers nearly clawing at each other.
Mary looked over with concern. “Are you all right, Mrs. Evansdale?”
The plump woman bit her lip, cheeks as red as her hair. “It is not Lady Beckham or Lady Whitlock, Miss.”
Mary folded her arms and peered at her. “Then who is it?”
Mrs. Evansdale stepped aside and waved behind her. Josephine entered, bobbing quickly, looking far more delighted than the housekeeper. Her bright eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Winston says it is gentlemen, Miss,” Josephine whispered gleefully.
Mary rolled her eyes and turned to the wardrobe. “Oh, bother, don’t tell me Geoffrey is calling for a ride this early. I won’t venture out of doors at all until I…”
“Pardon, Miss, but it is not Mr. Harris,” Mrs. Evansdale interrupted as she pushed Josephine over in Mary’s direction.
Mary froze and met her maid’s eyes. “Then…”
“He only said gentlemen, Miss,” she replied with a shrug.
“Wait. Men? As in… plural?” She clutched at her throat, which suddenly had constricted and become very dry.
“Indeed, Miss,” Josephine said with a happy nod as she began helping Mary out of her night things.
Mary took an unsteady breath and released it slowly. This was all part of being a true debutante. Callers would come, and they ought to be informed that she wouldn’t take calls before breakfast. Some things she would not bend on, and they needed to know it.
Josephine dropped a dress over her head and helped it on, and Mary looked at herself very calmly in the mirror. She caught sight of Mrs. Evansdale by the door, still looking uncomfortable.
“How many?” Mary asked slowly.
Mrs. Evansdale met her eyes in the mirror, suddenly terrified. “Wh… what, miss?”
“How many gentlemen?”
“Oh, we can’t say for certain,” Josephine said absently as she did up the buttons. “How many gentlemen do you think can fit in the sitting room?”
Three minutes later, Mary slipped carefully down the stairs, keeping her back to the wall the entire time. Thankfully, the sitting room happened to be situated directly off of the staircase, so she should be able to sneak a peak in without too much of a risk of being seen. But having never attempted to sneak anywhere in her own home before, she had no idea if it was even possible. Did her stairs creak? Were her slippers soft enough to avoid making noise? Would the door to the room hide her enough to allow her more than a cursory glance?
Her buttons scraped against the wall and she froze, hoping against hope that the sound, horrendously loud in her ears, would be indistinguishable to others amid the sounds of whomever was in her sitting room.
No sounds other than the low murmur of voices were heard, and she relaxed, ever so slightly and kept moving. Total relaxation was not possible at this point, not when there was a roomful of men downstairs.
At last, she reached the bottom stair and she drew in a long, silent breath. Then she very carefully leaned forward and peered into the room as surreptitiously as she could.
Josephine had not exaggerated.
Mary could see almost a third of the room, as well as the gaudy mirror her mother had put in that room years ago. She had never been so grateful for something she hated in her entire life. In her line of sight, there were at least six men. In the mirror, at least four others were visible. They all seemed preoccupied, whether with their own attire, hair, or teeth, or with discussing important topics, horses it seemed, and so she was unnoticed in her observations.
She felt her heart pick up its pace and her breathing followed suit. She couldn’t do this. She could
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