She’d become quite accustomed to the array of scents as she negotiated her way one step behind her father into the thick mass of the most powerful people in the world.
Yes, this house, at this particular moment, did hold the most powerful people in the world. Those who ran the government, those who possessed the greatest funds in all of the land, and those who had land, coin, and political power.
Yes, here with these people, born to the same families, was where things were decided. It was baffling to know that so few could hold so much power over millions, and yet they did.
Elizabeth was no fool about it.
Without question, the elite members of the ton ultimately dictated her life as well, but she was determined that she would not be crushed by them.
No. Somehow, she would launch a secret revolt and survive. Under their upturned noses, she would not become like those who were so cold and uncaring to those they considered beneath them.
Her father’s title and her own name were announced with great aplomb at the entrance to the long room.
Elizabeth followed her father into the ballroom, placing a gloved hand gently atop his as they made their way into the crush.
Everyone’s gaze swung in their direction, for she was the jewel of the season. And jewels were to be obtained. They were coveted.
They were cold. They shone, sparkled, and tempted, but the fire within had nothing to do with warmth.
She knew that. It’s what she had been taught all her life.
She’d heard some of the other young ladies of the Season whisper that she was almost inhuman in her ability to appear perfect.
Perfect.
She was aware of it.
And it was almost an accusation from some, while a point of awe for others.
She did not like that one word seemed to follow her wherever she went, but her father demanded nothing less and that was all that mattered. His approval was imperative to her survival.
In the pursuit of perfection, she’d spent every waking moment sculpting her movement and speech like an artist working life from marble.
She was agile at dancing, quite skilled at playing music, and even more so at avoiding her father’s temper. The last was a skill she had developed upon the age of seven years old when she had quite realized that he was as volatile as a cannon, as gun powder beneath a flame.
They negotiated the room easily, for with her father’s arrogant and entitled stride, all stepped back before him.
She let her gaze swing gently, her head high. Her lips parted ever so slightly. The barest of smiles tilted her lips for one could not look too eager. Her head, her shoulders were back. Her gown was perfection. It was a pale ivory affair with silver roses embroidered throughout the gown. She knew that she shone like a diamond did.
And she did her best to be that diamond as she negotiated her way through the crowded, be-feathered, and be-jeweled company, awaiting the first gentleman to approach and ask her to dance.
It was not long, barely moments, before a gentleman rushed up to her. Her father looked him up and down slowly then gave a quick nod of his head. She inclined her head then placed her gloved hand atop his outstretched, palm down one.
He escorted her out onto the floor, chest puffed out like a peacock which caused his ruby cravat pin to glimmer in the candle glow.
She did her best to appear positively rapt by the man’s banal conversation about dogs, hunting, and the season ahead.
Like the cravat pin, his russet locks shone from the effects of too much pomade in his artfully curled hair.
He threw his head back and laughed at some on dit he thought terribly amusing.
She smiled in turn. Her father insisted laughing was common.
The gentleman rabbited on how he could not wait for fall to come.
She, on the other hand, could wait.
She did not wish to go to her father’s estate for hunting season. It was so cold and lonely. The idea of having to go away again one more year to the great estate that had been miserable for most of her life? Surely, it could not be borne?