herself under regulation until she spied a man silently laughing, his shoulders shaking, his smile hidden behind his hand. He caught her eye, gave her a broad smile, and winked.
The entire drawing room was silently staring at her with censure. The queen gave her a look that could blister paint. The more Genie tried to get herself under control, the more amusing the entire scene became. It could not be helped; her body started to shake.
Genie tried to take a deep breath and a giggle escaped. She tried to squelch it, but a laugh emerged, followed by an unladylike chortle and an unfortunate snort. The more she tried to stop, the worse it became, and with a burst, Genie was laughing out loud.
The queen waved a hand to dismiss her. Instead of dissipating Genie’s humor, it only made her laugh harder. Genie managed another deep bow and walked backward out of the queen’s presence, giggling as she went. By some miracle, she did not trip on her gown and fall to the floor. It hardly would have mattered if she had.
The Lord Chamberlain and the laughing gentleman had conspired against her. Her debut into society was a disaster. She would surely never be admitted into the haut ton . She was a failure. A social pariah.
Eugenia Talbot was ruined.
***
People stared as they passed her. Genie never felt more self-conscious, and feared her face was as bright as her skirt. She wanted nothing more than to hide away from the malicious looks and vicious whispers. Unfortunately, wearing courtly attire with feathers that soared at least two feet above her head, she was hardly inconspicuous among the steady throng of people in the outer chambers of the drawing rooms. So she plastered on a fake smile and waited for her aunt to summon her to the coach while the minutes dragged into lifetimes.
“Uncle! I am so glad you are here,” said a youthful voice. A young woman was being escorted into the royal drawing rooms. She struggled forward in a similar, unwieldy hoop skirt, dyed an unfortunate shade of bright pink.
“I could not forget your presentation to court,” said a male voice behind Genie.
“I shall be so much less nervous with you here,” gushed the young girl.
“Trust me,” said the man, “after what I just witnessed, you shall be brilliant by comparison.”
“What happened?” asked the girl, forgetting herself for a moment and cocking her head to one side, forcing her to use both hands to steady the plume of white feathers rising from her head.
“A debutante with a shocking lapse of propriety, who is no doubt being banished to the outer regions of the empire as we speak.”
Genie turned to face her accuser. It was none other than the laughing man.
With a flash of recognition, the man had the decency to look sheepish. He waved the young girl forward into the drawing room and stepped up to Genie. He gave Genie a bow and came up smiling, his blue eyes sparkling. He was a handsome man; there could be no denying his appeal, with sandy blond hair and laughing eyes. His features were pleasing, high cheekbones giving him an impish appearance. His attire was splendid in the required royal-purple silk coat and knee breeches. Unlike others who appeared foppish in the requisite colors of the English royal court, the man before her commanded his style. It was not every gentleman who could wear purple silk britches with confidence.
“Please forgive me if I have offended you,” said the man, with a disarming smile.
“Forgive you? Why, there is nothing to forgive. You only spoke the truth, did you not?” Genie presented the man with a smile, the kind she kept on a shelf to feign good humor when she had none to give.
“Not at all. Merely trying to encourage my niece—timid thing, needs encouragement. Do what I can to make her feel at ease.”
“You are charity itself.”
“No, no I…” The man paused and gave her a guilty grin. “I’m not going to redeem myself from my careless words, am I?”
“I can forgive your
The entire drawing room was silently staring at her with censure. The queen gave her a look that could blister paint. The more Genie tried to get herself under control, the more amusing the entire scene became. It could not be helped; her body started to shake.
Genie tried to take a deep breath and a giggle escaped. She tried to squelch it, but a laugh emerged, followed by an unladylike chortle and an unfortunate snort. The more she tried to stop, the worse it became, and with a burst, Genie was laughing out loud.
The queen waved a hand to dismiss her. Instead of dissipating Genie’s humor, it only made her laugh harder. Genie managed another deep bow and walked backward out of the queen’s presence, giggling as she went. By some miracle, she did not trip on her gown and fall to the floor. It hardly would have mattered if she had.
The Lord Chamberlain and the laughing gentleman had conspired against her. Her debut into society was a disaster. She would surely never be admitted into the haut ton . She was a failure. A social pariah.
Eugenia Talbot was ruined.
***
People stared as they passed her. Genie never felt more self-conscious, and feared her face was as bright as her skirt. She wanted nothing more than to hide away from the malicious looks and vicious whispers. Unfortunately, wearing courtly attire with feathers that soared at least two feet above her head, she was hardly inconspicuous among the steady throng of people in the outer chambers of the drawing rooms. So she plastered on a fake smile and waited for her aunt to summon her to the coach while the minutes dragged into lifetimes.
“Uncle! I am so glad you are here,” said a youthful voice. A young woman was being escorted into the royal drawing rooms. She struggled forward in a similar, unwieldy hoop skirt, dyed an unfortunate shade of bright pink.
“I could not forget your presentation to court,” said a male voice behind Genie.
“I shall be so much less nervous with you here,” gushed the young girl.
“Trust me,” said the man, “after what I just witnessed, you shall be brilliant by comparison.”
“What happened?” asked the girl, forgetting herself for a moment and cocking her head to one side, forcing her to use both hands to steady the plume of white feathers rising from her head.
“A debutante with a shocking lapse of propriety, who is no doubt being banished to the outer regions of the empire as we speak.”
Genie turned to face her accuser. It was none other than the laughing man.
With a flash of recognition, the man had the decency to look sheepish. He waved the young girl forward into the drawing room and stepped up to Genie. He gave Genie a bow and came up smiling, his blue eyes sparkling. He was a handsome man; there could be no denying his appeal, with sandy blond hair and laughing eyes. His features were pleasing, high cheekbones giving him an impish appearance. His attire was splendid in the required royal-purple silk coat and knee breeches. Unlike others who appeared foppish in the requisite colors of the English royal court, the man before her commanded his style. It was not every gentleman who could wear purple silk britches with confidence.
“Please forgive me if I have offended you,” said the man, with a disarming smile.
“Forgive you? Why, there is nothing to forgive. You only spoke the truth, did you not?” Genie presented the man with a smile, the kind she kept on a shelf to feign good humor when she had none to give.
“Not at all. Merely trying to encourage my niece—timid thing, needs encouragement. Do what I can to make her feel at ease.”
“You are charity itself.”
“No, no I…” The man paused and gave her a guilty grin. “I’m not going to redeem myself from my careless words, am I?”
“I can forgive your
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