“A fan,” it said, “can be of most particular use in causing a young man to find you attractive. If you use it correctly, it can lead a gentleman’s gaze to all the correct places. To one’s mouth, to one’s eyes, to one’s bosom.”
She swallowed at the wordbosom.
She’d never wanted a young man to look at her bosom, and yet she understood that young gentlemen did generally find bosoms to be quite appealing. She couldn’t understand why. They were quite regular to her. She eyed the fan on her dresser. It was a very simple ivory affair.
She picked it up, snapped it open, and waved it. What the devil could be so very appealing about that? Still, she was unschooled in temptation and seduction, so she supposed she should take the word of the person instructing her from the pages of the book.
Surely, they had some authority on the subject. They wouldn’t just put it down for a silly reason.
And so she stood in front of her polished mirror and attempted to wave the fan again.
She frowned at her image. There was nothing appealing or seductive that she could see.
Frowning, she took up the book again and read.
“The fan can cause one’s hair to curl about one’s face in a most pleasurable manner.”
She wondered if that was true.
Well, there would really be only one way to find out. She’d have to try it. She swallowed. Trying new things was a rather frightening thing, but if she did try it with Darby, at least there wouldn’t be any loss. It wasn’t as if he was a serious suitor, but she could practice upon him, couldn’t she? It was a very good idea to at least try. She swallowed again.
All her sisters were finally going to be married. She was glad for them, that they had secure places and good men as husbands.
She turned about the small room that she had shared with her elder sister, who was now gone into her own house, and Ophelia wondered how long she would live in this room by herself.
Would she ever have a household of her own? Staff, a carriage, books of her own? Or would she eventually be placed in some small upstairs room in one of her sister’s houses in the future, grateful for whatever could be given to her?
Blast, she hoped not.
Still, she did not like the idea of having to have a lord and master who would tell her what to do and who arguably owned her. It seemed most unfair to her that was all ladies could aspire to, that there wasn’t more. But it was the truth of things. She could not run off and become a novelist, could she? Not a young lady. She supposed that there were ladies who could, but she far preferred reading to writing, in any case. If there was such a profession in which she could read her entire life, she would be well set.
With a shrug of acceptance, she picked up her shawl, and tucked it about her shoulders as flatteringly she could, then looked down at her bosom, which was unprepossessing. She attempted to plump her breasts into a better position, but even the belt on her gown could not plump something that was not there.
She’d always been a person without curves.
It was, well, one of the difficulties of her life.
She had not the voluptuous body that seductresses needed, but it was her body and she liked it. At least she was most excellent at walking and reading. They were skills that she approved of, even if gentlemen generally did not.
She approved and wasn’t that all that mattered? She scowled. Not if she was to find a husband. She’d have to amend herself. Well, what a nuisance that was. She snatched up her fan, grabbed her book, and tucked it into the deep pocket hidden in her gown.
After all, she went nowhere without a book, and she did not wish to leave this one lying about for anyone to find.
Quickly, she turned to the door and headed down the hallway.
Several guests had already arrived.
She was glad that she had not had to greet all of them.
Truthfully, Ophelia hated doing that. She hated finding little things to say to each guest. It was so dreadfully boring having to take the same phrase and recreate it in a million different little ways. Her mother was excellent at it, as were her sisters, but she’d never quite acquired the ability to sparkle at small conversation as the characters did in the books that she loved.
The characters in her books were all terribly witty and always knew exactly the right thing to say. She did not have such self-possession. She wished that she did, but alas.
Ophelia headed down the last of the steps and came out into the comfortable and elegant foyer. The sound of voices hummed from the salon next door. She turned through the doorway into a crush of people.
For a small family dinner, it was not so very small. There were at least twenty ladies and gentlemen inside the large room.
Candlelight spilled flatteringly over everyone, causing the silk and linen to shine.