her down.
Not all evenings could be as certain to appeal to Cassie as the one with Horace. Certainly she looked forward to her first appearance at Almack's with a notable lack of enthusiasm. "It is certainly less elegant than any other gathering youH be asked to attend," Frances warned. "It makes up in the selectness of its elected guests what it lacks in amenities. Truly, the entire experience is a study in the pretensions of anyone with social aspirations. If the tastes of its patronesses were not so omnipotent, it would be a dead bore. But their social hegemony so governs the imagination of the ton that it becomes extraordinarily amusing to see how people allow themselves to be affected by entry to its hallowed portals and the whims of those who rule it. Those who dominate in the political or military arenas become putty in their hands and are properly subservient. The Iron Duke himself was sent home to change into proper attire before being allowed admittance and he submitted without a word of protest."
Cassie looked doubtful. "I don't see the slightest need to make a push for the approval of such people. After all, I don't intend to spend my life in the ton, so its opinion matters very little to me."
"That's as may be," Frances agreed. "But the patronesses' approval can do you no harm and their sanction allows you the opportunity to appear at any social function you should wish, thus giving you the liberty of selecting whomever you will as social companions. And besides, such acceptance becomes a social cachet to your own special activities and interests, which might otherwise not be found to be socially acceptable."
Begrudgingly Cassie acknowledged the wisdom of her elder sister's views. Personally, she would have preferred to do without such ceremony, but she was realistic enough to be aware that such social recognition could smooth her way in other areas more dear to her heart. So, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, she instructed Rose to select her the approved raiment of a young lady in her first Season—a white muslin gown with cerulean blue trimming— and allowed her to dress her hair in the simplest of styles with a matching wreath of blue flowers.
The rooms were already crowded when they arrived, and the Mainwarings were immediately hailed by several acquaintances as they made their way through the crush. Lord Mainwaring's political crony Lord Charlton, looking most uncomfortable and out of place, hovered awkwardly near a capable-looking woman conversing animatedly with Princess Esterhazy and a blushing young damsel who seemed on the verge of expiring at being recognized by such an august personage. Ah, Julian —he greeted Lord Mainwaring with the eagerness of a drowning man seizing a buoyant object— "have you seen Canning lately? I know you and Castlereagh were as thick as thieves in Vienna, but mark my words, George Canning is your man for the moment. With your views on our financial situation, I should think you and he should rub along happily together." He drew Julian aside, leaving Frances and Cassie to shift for themselves, a situation which was soon remedied by the appearance of the Streathams.
Nigel was the picture of discomfort as he towered over his vivacious mother. Cassie, correctly interpreting the emotions at war within him—a desire to please his mother by partnering Cassie and his loathing for the dance floor-burst out laughing. He reddened self-consciously. "Relax, Nigel," she reassured him. "I shall be more than happy if you procure me a glass of that dreadful lemonade and then share your latest adventures with me."
Relieved, Nigel practically stumbled over himself in his eagerness to cater to her wishes. They spent the next half hour exchanging reminiscences and ignoring the quizzical glances sent their way by the inveterate matchmakers who frequented the place.
Their tete-a-tete was brought to an end by Nigel's exasperated mother, who turned from observing the dance
Not all evenings could be as certain to appeal to Cassie as the one with Horace. Certainly she looked forward to her first appearance at Almack's with a notable lack of enthusiasm. "It is certainly less elegant than any other gathering youH be asked to attend," Frances warned. "It makes up in the selectness of its elected guests what it lacks in amenities. Truly, the entire experience is a study in the pretensions of anyone with social aspirations. If the tastes of its patronesses were not so omnipotent, it would be a dead bore. But their social hegemony so governs the imagination of the ton that it becomes extraordinarily amusing to see how people allow themselves to be affected by entry to its hallowed portals and the whims of those who rule it. Those who dominate in the political or military arenas become putty in their hands and are properly subservient. The Iron Duke himself was sent home to change into proper attire before being allowed admittance and he submitted without a word of protest."
Cassie looked doubtful. "I don't see the slightest need to make a push for the approval of such people. After all, I don't intend to spend my life in the ton, so its opinion matters very little to me."
"That's as may be," Frances agreed. "But the patronesses' approval can do you no harm and their sanction allows you the opportunity to appear at any social function you should wish, thus giving you the liberty of selecting whomever you will as social companions. And besides, such acceptance becomes a social cachet to your own special activities and interests, which might otherwise not be found to be socially acceptable."
Begrudgingly Cassie acknowledged the wisdom of her elder sister's views. Personally, she would have preferred to do without such ceremony, but she was realistic enough to be aware that such social recognition could smooth her way in other areas more dear to her heart. So, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, she instructed Rose to select her the approved raiment of a young lady in her first Season—a white muslin gown with cerulean blue trimming— and allowed her to dress her hair in the simplest of styles with a matching wreath of blue flowers.
The rooms were already crowded when they arrived, and the Mainwarings were immediately hailed by several acquaintances as they made their way through the crush. Lord Mainwaring's political crony Lord Charlton, looking most uncomfortable and out of place, hovered awkwardly near a capable-looking woman conversing animatedly with Princess Esterhazy and a blushing young damsel who seemed on the verge of expiring at being recognized by such an august personage. Ah, Julian —he greeted Lord Mainwaring with the eagerness of a drowning man seizing a buoyant object— "have you seen Canning lately? I know you and Castlereagh were as thick as thieves in Vienna, but mark my words, George Canning is your man for the moment. With your views on our financial situation, I should think you and he should rub along happily together." He drew Julian aside, leaving Frances and Cassie to shift for themselves, a situation which was soon remedied by the appearance of the Streathams.
Nigel was the picture of discomfort as he towered over his vivacious mother. Cassie, correctly interpreting the emotions at war within him—a desire to please his mother by partnering Cassie and his loathing for the dance floor-burst out laughing. He reddened self-consciously. "Relax, Nigel," she reassured him. "I shall be more than happy if you procure me a glass of that dreadful lemonade and then share your latest adventures with me."
Relieved, Nigel practically stumbled over himself in his eagerness to cater to her wishes. They spent the next half hour exchanging reminiscences and ignoring the quizzical glances sent their way by the inveterate matchmakers who frequented the place.
Their tete-a-tete was brought to an end by Nigel's exasperated mother, who turned from observing the dance
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