Ella
MARCH, 1798 LONDON, ENGLAND
If she pulls them any tighter, I’m going to faint.
“Beatrice. Please, not so tight. I told you I have a terrible headache.” Turning to give her a stern look, I let out a huff. “I don’t even know why I have to go. It seems like nothing more than an event for military superiors and their wives. It’s sure to be dreadfully boring and will only exacerbate this terrible ache.” I take a deep breath and rub my temples as Beatrice loosens the ties of my stays.
“Yes, dearie. I’m sorry you are suffering, and I cannot say it is likely this evening will bring you any relief. But it is important for you to make appearances. You are at that age where you have to show society what a lovely lady you have become.” She turns me toward her so the rest of my ridiculous ensemble can be added to the layers already covering my body and shaping me into something that pleases everyonebutme.
With my hands on my hips, I wait for Beatrice to finish her lecture. This is routine, so I know she is not done yet.
“You never know when or where the perfect, handsome gentleman will be waiting to sweep you off your feet. It’s a very exciting time for someone so young and beautiful.” She’s starting to excite herself, like she always does when she dresses me up for a fancy evening. Her face lights up with a smile that warms my heart, and she’s doing her little dance where she sways back and forth, going up and down on her toes, head tipping from side to side, while humming a sweet melody as she completes my final touches.
Beatrice has been with me for as long as I can remember. She was my nanny, my governess, now my lady’s maid and everything in between. She is the one constant I cannot do without, and her love and loyalty anchor me. I laugh as she spins me around and giggles like a girl my age, rather than one of sixty-one years.
“Maybe you would like to go in my place, hmm?” I ask, tapping my chin in mock contemplation. “I know of a hundred other things I could do instead.”
The statement stops Beatrice mid-sway. “I’m certain you do! Like riding that horse of yours faster than what is proper for young ladies, and searching through the forest for God knows what.” Her eyes pinch with disapproval, and I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh.
“Oh, Beatrice! I do love you so. Your disapproval is so entertaining.” I pause and turn around, finding her exquisite work reflecting in the mirror. As always, the gown is magnificent, flowing with elegant cream layers and delicate leaves stitched with golden thread along the edges to match the gold sash around my waist. The dress is maidenly and innocent, if not angelic, which will make my mother happy, but it’s a bit too monochromatic with my light skin and blonde hair. “Could you do me a favor? Would you please fetch my mother’s aquamarine choker?”
“Yes, of course. The one with the pearls?” Beatrice asks as she walks toward the door.
“No, not that one. The one with the gold chain and the smaller gems dangling from the focal stone.”
“Now, Ella dear, that will only draw attention to your…”
I cut off her nervous rant before she can more. “To my ample bosom? Well, it’s going to be a little hardnotto draw attention to it, so I might as well make the best of it.”
The fullness of my breasts has been an issue since they started budding a little earlier than normal. Beatrice thinks they draw inappropriate attention from the opposite sex and consternation from the same sex, both of which I generally ignore. Beatrice, on the other hand, is occasionally more prudish than my mother, and she knows the pendant of my chosen necklace will fall perfectly down my cleavage. But I will sit back and laugh, converse with everyone as I am forced to witness their gazes fall upon the only color in my ensemble. They will then blush at my “unfortunate fullness,” as my mother would say. At least I’ll have some kind of entertainment for what is sure to be an otherwise boring evening.
Beatrice re-enters the room with my conversation piece in hand. “I still think it’s a bit much, dearie.” She comes up behind me as I stand facing the mirror. As she loops it around my neck and rests it against the bare skin of my throat, my smile beams back at me.
“It’s perfect!” I say, turning to face her, then perform a mock curtsy. “You don’t have to agree, but I can see in your eyes that youknowit is the perfect finishing touch to an otherwise colorless presentation.”
“Hmph. If you were married, I’d say it was perfect. But you’re not, so I don’t think it’s proper.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Little good my opinion will do.”
“I love your opinion, Beatrice, you know that. But I also know when you disapprove, I’m on the right path.” With a mischievous laugh, I come up from behind my dearest companion and give her a tight hug. “And I love you. Thank you for helping me prepare for this evening.”
“Go on, dear. Have fun and behave yourself. I’ll see you in the morning, and you can share all the details.” Smiling and shaking her head, she turns to tidy up my room.
The hallway is dim, only the occasional candle lit to highlight some of the framed artwork my mother loves to collect. Before I reach the staircase, I realize my headache has drastically diminished. I know it’s because Beatrice managed to distract me from my frustration. She knows me better than anyone, and although she is strict when it comes to etiquette and every rule and nuance that is to be followed by a proper lady, I can always count on her to be my true confidant. Beatrice, not my mother, has always given me the freedom to speak my mind without fear of judgment or punishment. Whether it goes against her prudish grain or not, I can be open and honest, and she will always help guide my way.
At the top of the staircase, I pause, staring down at its grand structure curving gracefully around ending on the shiny marble floor of the foyer. I see my parents patiently waiting for me by the front doors as the footmen stand by to be of service. Mother catches a glimpse of me and her face lights up with pride. “Ella, darling! You look absolutely stunning.” She leaves my father’s side and comes to me as I make my way down the stairs. Her gloved hands fall gently to my shoulders as she pauses to take in my glamour. Apparently, my ensemble meets her approval—I think I see a shimmer in her eyes. “Oh, my sweet little girl isn’t a little girl anymore. You’re so grown up all of a sudden.”
I tip my head to the side, giving her a questioning look. “Mother, my coming-out was over two years ago. I’m almost nineteen. That doesn’t quite seem so sudden.”
“Yes, well, I suppose that’s true.” She stops to contemplate the truth in my words. “But something is definitely different this evening. You seem more…” She stops and takes a step back to get a better look at what is baffling her.
That’s when my father comes up next to her and says, “Libby, it’s the necklace. How can you not see that? Clearly our daughter is rebelling against your insistence on making her look like she will walk into the room and start passing out blessings and answering prayers. By God, look at her! An archangel of the eighth order is a bit intimidating to most men. She’s just making herself more approachable, aren’t you, love?” He gives me a mischievous wink.
My father is always coming to my rescue when it comes to Mother. Likely because he knows I take after him in every way but our looks, and the rules of society—my mother’s bible—tend to make us both want to rebel. Although for him, as a man, it is much easier to get away with.
Acknowledging his wink with a raised brow, I answer, “Excellent observation, Father. More approachable—that’s what I had in mind.” Holding in the mirth that will undoubtedly send my mother into a fit about how a proper lady conducts herself, I turn to her and say, “Mother, you must agree the pop of color is fantastic! Look, it matches my eyes.” I bat my eyelashes at her.
She appears skeptical as her eyes fall to where the blue-green stone rests. When they shift down to follow the trail of smaller matching stones that disappear into my cleavage, her eyebrows come together, and her mouth turns down into a disapproving frown. “Ella, I don’t think you should draw attention…”
Before I must hear it again, I try to whisper while gritting my teeth, “Mother, there is nothing I can do about them. It’s not like I asked God to give them to me…”