“Yer parents have one like that, I’m thinkin’…and yer grandparents before them.” The maid moved to the bed and lifted the rich green ball gown, giving it one final shake to loosen the folds of satin fabric before holding it out for Alex.
“That’s different,” Alex replied, stepping into the dress and helping Eliza to pull it up over her arms to fit her now perfectly shaped torso. Holding the bodice straight while the maid fetched a buttonhook and began fastening the long row of buttons on the back of the gown, she continued, “My mother and grandmother were notorious beauties with brains to match. And my father and grandfather were men who were not afraid to take wives who equaled them in intellect. There aren’t men like that outside the Stafford family.”
Eliza snorted, “Of course, you would say that. Yer a Stafford. But truly, Alexandra, I just cannot imagine that in all of history there has only been one man in each generation willing to let his mate blossom.” Her fingers flew across the buttons, expertly closing them.
Alex then sighed, waving a long arm. “Fine. However, my point is that there aren’t many men like that. And I am simply not interested in taking the risk.”
“Look here.” Eliza waited for Alex to turn to face her, then smoothed out the lush green skirts of the gown. “Well, Alexandra, you’ll be taking a risk this evening, I daresay—because any young man who sees you in this dress shan’t know what to do with himself. Yer just as much of a beauty with brains to match as the Stafford women who came before you.” Eliza pointed to the dressing table nearby. “Sit.”
Alex sighed again, knowing that she was in for another long stretch while Eliza tamed her long, auburn curls, piling them just so on top of her head and applying the finishing touches prior to her presentation to the Prince. Before she could follow the maid’s instructions, however, Alex caught her reflection in the looking glass next to the wardrobe. She was unable to stop herself from gasping at what she saw.
There she stood, bathed in the golden sunlight that poured through the windows of her bedchamber, hair shining like silk, cheeks rosy from the heat of her bath and the exertion of dressing, in a dress that had been made for her in every way—the cut, the color, the fabric, all of it. For a brief moment, she couldn’t believe her eyes; she was the beauty in the looking glass.
Like it or not, this night was one she would not soon forget.
The Duchess of Worthington placed an elegantly gloved hand on her daughter’s knee and spoke quietly, “We have arrived.”
In the dim light of the large carriage that muffled the sounds of the street beyond, Alex took hold of her mother’s hand. She turned glittering green eyes on the older woman and offered an uncertain smile. “And so it begins.”
“Indeed. You will be wonderful.”
And, as if on cue, the door opened to reveal a livery-clad footman, and the duke climbed down from his seat across from them in the imposing black carriage emblazoned with the Worthington crest. Once on solid ground, he turned back to reach up and hand the duchess down from the transport; she gave Alex’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before accepting her husband’s assistance.
Then, it was Alex’s turn. She scooted across the velvetdraped seat, focused on her father’s smiling, pride-filled eyes, and took his hand. His grip was firm and steady as he helped her down to the street, and Alex was encouraged by it—no matter how she felt about this day, making her parents proud couldn’t be such an awful thing, could it? When her feet touched the ground, she found herself assaulted by all the sights and sounds of the legendary Almack’s.
The first thing that Alex registered was the noise. There was a cacophonous din of chatter, louder than anything she’d ever heard out of doors, which enveloped her immediately. She couldn’t make out much of the conversation for the sheer amount of it—punctuated with bursts of laughter and shrieks of recognition from ladies and gentlemen of the ton who were all enjoying this…the first major event of the 1815 season.
The building itself was unimpressive—a simple stone structure that, at most times, provided little indication of being one of the most important locations in the life of London’s high society. Alex had passed this place dozens of times before and had never given it a second thought. It appeared, however, that on Wednesday nights during the season, all that changed.
Looking back at the coach, Alex felt an intense desire to return to it, to clamber inside and swing the door shut behind her and simply wait there until her parents finished making their rounds. Instead, she stood tall, revealing none of her trepidation, and looked down the length of King Street, jammed with carriages and coaches all with a common goal—to deposit the most well-respected members of the ton on the steps of the Assembly Rooms, leaving them to an evening of seeing and being seen. Light from the scores of carriages flooded the sidewalks and steps to the building, lending a dazzling brightness to the moment, as if even the sun couldn’t stay away from the beautiful people who filled the street.
Alex drew a shaky breath, feeling a knot of apprehension twist in her stomach. She hadn’t fully realized until this moment how much she dreaded this, her first official night in society. That afternoon, she had been presented at Buckingham House to the Prince Regent, a charming older man with a reputed eye for the most beautiful women and the best parties in London. And, while the ceremony had been filled with all the pomp and circumstance befitting a visit to the Royal Court, it hadn’t made Alex nearly as uncertain as she felt right now, surrounded by throngs of London’s finest, all pushing madly toward the entrance to the assembly. After all, everyone knew it was really the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s whose opinions were most valued in matters relating to society.