Worry not,she told herself.It is not about you. Or if it is, they are simply discussing your gown.
“Beatrice!?” a feminine voice said from behind her.
Fear trembled down her spine as she heard her real name, and she whirled around. For a moment her heart stopped, then, as her eyes settled on a familiar face, she exhaled a breath of relief and opened her arms to the woman before her.
“Deborah!” she greeted excitedly. “You made it out!”
Deborah’s smile was wide and genuine as the two women rushed into another’s arms and embraced tightly.
“But do be careful,” Beatrice whispered in her ear. “I am not using my rightful name here.”
“Noted,” Deborah whispered back, and then two pulled apart, taking each other in.
Deborah had been clean and pretty at the auction, but now, at the ball, she was beautiful and radiant.
“You look remarkable,” Beatrice praised.
“As do you,” Deborah replied readily. “I had heard rumors of a mysterious “Lady of the Bloom” attending the party, but I never would have guessed it was you. Oh, and this discovery so makes me so very happy!”
Beatrice’s heart swelled with gratitude.
“It is because of your advice that I am so,” she confessed, low enough that only the two of them could hear. “I did as you said and won the bid of a gentleman. The situation is… interesting but not at all unseemly. Come, I shall introduce you.”
Beatrice began to tug on Deborah’s hand, urging her toward Henry, but her friend quickly let go.
“I wish I could,” Deborah said, taking a step back, “but my freedom is temporary. I was just leaving as I spotted you and had to say hello.”
The warmth in Beatrice’s chest faded to worry.
“What do you mean temporary?” she asked.
“Worry not. I shall be fine,” Deborah replied hastily, walking backward a little faster as if pulled by some invisible force. “As will you! Best of luck, my Lady in Bloom!”
Then Deborah was gone, disappeared behind a crowd of nobles as if she was never there in the first place.
“Have you made a friend?” Henry asked.
Beatrice glanced toward him as he held out a flute of something bright yellow. She gave him a small smile and took the drink.
“I suppose I have,” she murmured then lifted the glass to her lips.
She caught the scent of lemonade, but as she tipped the glass back, tiny bubbles burst on her tongue, and she tasted something stronger mixed in with the sweetened citrus. She swallowed and felt a delightful buzz alight in her head.
“What is this?” she asked, holding up the drink.
“Champagne and lemonade,” Henry stated, making quick work of draining his glass. “You do not recognize it? The combination comes from France.”
Beatrice felt her cheeks flame, but she did her best to cover it by following Henry and draining the glass quickly.
“I was more inclined to wine during my time there,” she mumbled the lie. “Though now I regret not being more adventurous with my taste in drinks. This is delicious.”
Henry beamed at her and sat their empty glasses down on the refreshment table. As he went to turn back to her though, a rather lithe, handsome gentleman with blonde hair, startling pale blue eyes, and wearing an ensemble that matched such eyes, tapped him on the shoulder, and the two began to whisper.
Beatrice did not miss the furtive, if not slightly panicked glance he flicked toward her, but she turned away, letting them have a private moment to talk. As she did so, Algernon came into view. As usual, when she saw him now, her stomach tightened, her skin tingled, and her heart fluttered.
He was like an onyx stone glittering among the colors the rest of the guests wore, standing out with a sharpness that took her breath away. If she did not know him, she wagered she’d be frightened of him. Instead, she found herself smiling as she took a step towards him.
“I see you have not quite finished with your brooding,” she teased.