pumps, thanked her with a smile and went in search of her
sister.
Felicity,
petite and tiny-waisted, with her golden ringlets and peach-bloom complexion,
was dressed in light blue net laced with silver and looked like a beautiful
doll. There could not have been a greater contrast than the two sisters as they
went downstairs to join their aunt who waited impatiently in the drawing-room,
tapping her fan against her ample bosom. Both were striking in their way and
Harriet found herself more optimistic than she had been for days that she might
find a match for them both.
‘Come, my
dears,’ she said briskly. ‘The barouche is outside the door and we must be off
or we will be lost in the crush.’
Neither girl
understood what she meant until they found themselves at a standstill at least
a quarter of a mile from their destination. Little by little the carriage
inched forward as those in front deposited their passengers and drove away and
the next vehicle moved up in the line. It took half an hour to reach the door
of Lady Hereward’s town house in Bedford Square and another fifteen minutes
before the three ladies found themselves at the head of the stairs and being
greeted by their host and hostess and Juliette, for whom the ball was being
given.
‘He’s not here
yet,’ Lady Hereward whispered to Harriet after the girls had been presented to
her husband. ‘I do hope he means to come. You’ll find Melissa and John in the
alcove by the potted palm, endeavouring to keep seats for you. It is a fearful
crush; I am sure I did not invite all these people...’
‘Indeed you
did,’ her husband put in. He was a very small man with gingery whiskers and a
red face. His twinkling blue eyes, which showed a wry humour, were his saving
grave for he would otherwise have been nothing out of the ordinary. ‘You
invited the whole ton, you know you did.’
‘Not quite all,
Basil,’ she said, smiling fondly at him. ‘But I’ll allow I asked extra to
account for refusals.’
‘There haven’t
been any,’ he said.
‘I should hope
not!’ she retorted, making him roar with laughter.
A country dance
had just finished and the couples were strolling back to their places. Mrs
Bertram guided her charges across the floor to where Mrs Melford sat, with John
standing at her elbow. He bowed to Mrs Bertram and made an elegant leg to
Felicity before being presented to Georgie. ‘Miss Paget, your obedient,’ he
said, sweeping her a bow, but it was obvious that his eyes were only for her
sister as he arranged chairs for them all and offered to fetch cordial or
ratafia.
He hurried away
on his errand and the two girls sat looking about them at the glittering scene.
The myriad chandeliers alone would have been enough to make the eyes ache, but
added to that there was the sparkle of jewels and shimmer of silks and satins
and so many flowers and so much greenery that one could have been forgiven for
thinking the garden had been brought indoors, not to mention the hum of chatter
and the music of the orchestra; it was an assault on the senses which both
astonished and perplexed them. Surely their aunt was not proposing to equal
this extravaganza for them?
‘The Major has
not come?’ Harriet queried of Mrs Melford, settling herself in a chair beside
her friend and lifting her quizzing-glass to see who was present.
‘Not yet. John
thinks he may not.’
‘No matter. He
is not the only one; there is quite a gaggle of young blades in that corner. It
is a pity no one has instructed them how to go on. They must be winkled out.’
As soon as John
returned with a waiter carrying a tray of full glasses, she insisted that he go
over to the young men and suggest that some might like to be presented to the
Misses Paget.
Georgie watched
as he interrupted some uproarious joke that one was telling, saw him speak and
nod in their direction, saw them lift quizzing-glasses and then frowned as they
all came clamouring over demanding to mark the girls’
sister.
Felicity,
petite and tiny-waisted, with her golden ringlets and peach-bloom complexion,
was dressed in light blue net laced with silver and looked like a beautiful
doll. There could not have been a greater contrast than the two sisters as they
went downstairs to join their aunt who waited impatiently in the drawing-room,
tapping her fan against her ample bosom. Both were striking in their way and
Harriet found herself more optimistic than she had been for days that she might
find a match for them both.
‘Come, my
dears,’ she said briskly. ‘The barouche is outside the door and we must be off
or we will be lost in the crush.’
Neither girl
understood what she meant until they found themselves at a standstill at least
a quarter of a mile from their destination. Little by little the carriage
inched forward as those in front deposited their passengers and drove away and
the next vehicle moved up in the line. It took half an hour to reach the door
of Lady Hereward’s town house in Bedford Square and another fifteen minutes
before the three ladies found themselves at the head of the stairs and being
greeted by their host and hostess and Juliette, for whom the ball was being
given.
‘He’s not here
yet,’ Lady Hereward whispered to Harriet after the girls had been presented to
her husband. ‘I do hope he means to come. You’ll find Melissa and John in the
alcove by the potted palm, endeavouring to keep seats for you. It is a fearful
crush; I am sure I did not invite all these people...’
‘Indeed you
did,’ her husband put in. He was a very small man with gingery whiskers and a
red face. His twinkling blue eyes, which showed a wry humour, were his saving
grave for he would otherwise have been nothing out of the ordinary. ‘You
invited the whole ton, you know you did.’
‘Not quite all,
Basil,’ she said, smiling fondly at him. ‘But I’ll allow I asked extra to
account for refusals.’
‘There haven’t
been any,’ he said.
‘I should hope
not!’ she retorted, making him roar with laughter.
A country dance
had just finished and the couples were strolling back to their places. Mrs
Bertram guided her charges across the floor to where Mrs Melford sat, with John
standing at her elbow. He bowed to Mrs Bertram and made an elegant leg to
Felicity before being presented to Georgie. ‘Miss Paget, your obedient,’ he
said, sweeping her a bow, but it was obvious that his eyes were only for her
sister as he arranged chairs for them all and offered to fetch cordial or
ratafia.
He hurried away
on his errand and the two girls sat looking about them at the glittering scene.
The myriad chandeliers alone would have been enough to make the eyes ache, but
added to that there was the sparkle of jewels and shimmer of silks and satins
and so many flowers and so much greenery that one could have been forgiven for
thinking the garden had been brought indoors, not to mention the hum of chatter
and the music of the orchestra; it was an assault on the senses which both
astonished and perplexed them. Surely their aunt was not proposing to equal
this extravaganza for them?
‘The Major has
not come?’ Harriet queried of Mrs Melford, settling herself in a chair beside
her friend and lifting her quizzing-glass to see who was present.
‘Not yet. John
thinks he may not.’
‘No matter. He
is not the only one; there is quite a gaggle of young blades in that corner. It
is a pity no one has instructed them how to go on. They must be winkled out.’
As soon as John
returned with a waiter carrying a tray of full glasses, she insisted that he go
over to the young men and suggest that some might like to be presented to the
Misses Paget.
Georgie watched
as he interrupted some uproarious joke that one was telling, saw him speak and
nod in their direction, saw them lift quizzing-glasses and then frowned as they
all came clamouring over demanding to mark the girls’
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