“I still cannot get over that gown,” her grandmother said as they reached the carriage. The door was already open, and the driver stood there with a hand out to help them in. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”
“Any man… or the right man,” Octavia said, softly, to herself so that only she could hear it.
As a little girl, there were times when Octavia had dreamed of what it might be like to attend a Societal Ball. She had heard all about them, of course. She had been told what they were like, the grandeur and the opulence and the sense of belonging. She had spent many an hour picturing herself in a lavish gown, walking on the arm of a handsome lord, the world seeming to exist as if for her and her alone…
Oh, how wrong I was…
The ball she attended tonight was hosted at Highmere Estate, on the outskirts of London. The manor itself was impressive, the type that made her jaw drop open when she saw it sparkling through the darkness of night, a beacon that called to her. But the ballroom itself… that was something else entirely.
She did not even care how out of place she looked; the way that she gaped and gawked surely told all who saw her that this was an event unlike any other she had been to.
The ceilings of the ballroom were stained glass, the imagery colorful, the scenes they painted depicting religious iconography. The walls were made of white marble, and they had vines creeping up and wrapping the marble columns that stood at intervals. The floor was also marble, but they sparkledwith flecks of gold, shimmering bright from the dozens of crystal chandeliers.
If that was not impressive enough, then the guests themselves were enough to make Octavia stare awkwardly. It was the colors that took her breath away. The women wore gowns of every color imaginable, their jewelry was magnificent, their hair styled in ways that she did not know were possible. And while the men were nowhere near as colorful, their suits were pristine and tailored and suggested their wealth.
When Octavia walked into the ballroom, she came to a dead stop so that Dorethea walked away, then turned to see what the matter was.
“You will get used to it,” Dorethea chuckled as she took Octavia’s arm and started to lead her again.
“I am not so sure I want to.”
“Remember, dear, you belong here. This is your world now, so it is time you act like it.”
“But how?” Octavia asked, her skin prickling with nervous energy. As she and her grandmother walked, she saw a few people look their way, and she was certain that they knew who she was… what she was.
“Just remember who you are,” Dorethea said as she pointed her chin high. “And let no man or woman look down at you.”
Easy to say, hard to do…
The evening started slowly, and Dorethea was sure not to rush Octavia into anything that made her uncomfortable. First, she introduced Octavia to some of her friends, most of whom were also elderly, all of whom were so eager to meet her.
“So, this is the famous granddaughter,” a soft-bodied lord with sagging skin said as he took Octavia’s hand and kissed it. “Dorethea has said so much about you.”
“What a marvelous story,” a large woman with red cheeks and shock-white hair agreed. “Truly, I cannot even imagine what your life must have been like.”
“Is it true that you once worked in a tavern?” another lord asked.
“I was told you have slept on the street?” asked a voice from somewhere.
“This must be rather intimidating,” a third voice joined in. “Oh yes, I see it in your eyes.”
Octavia felt surrounded, like prey being eyed off by predators. They swarmed her, and although their voices were friendly enough, she sensed that this was the opposite of what they intended. They were judging her, searching for weaknesses, while reminding her of who she truly was.
“Come, dear,” her grandmother pulled her away. “Let us roam.” She was sure to keep a hold of Octavia’s arm as they went. “Do not let them get to you, Octavia.”
“I wasn’t –”
“Truly…” She scoffed. “Lord Harrington’s idea of suffering is his boots not being buffed of a morning. As it stands, you are new and interesting, and they will try to disarm you, make you feel small because it makes them feel big.”
Octavia looked over her shoulder, seeing right away that the small group she had just left still watched her go. “What should I do?”
“Exactly what we are here to do,” her grandmother said. “Show them that you are as good as any of them. Better, even. Also…” She made sure to smile. “A sure way to quiet wagging tongues is to find oneself courted by a lord whose reputation is unquestionable.”
Octavia’s stomach twisted because she knew exactly who such a lord might be… and who it never would be. “Who…” she dared to ask.
Her grandmother smirked. “Let us find out.”
So began the next stage of the evening and, as Octavia might have expected, it was even worse than the first.