“We both look astonishing enough to compete with the ladies of thebeau monde.” Julia turned suddenly with a familiar twinkle in her eyes. “Would you want to make a wager on how many admirers we will have eating out of our gloved hands tonight?”
Frederica smiled at her cousin’s inherent competitive nature, one she understood and equally shared. Before she could come up with a perfect rejoinder, a maid hurried into the dressing room.
“Miladies,” she curtseyed quickly. “Lady Gillingham requests both your presence immediately as the carriage is drawn and ready to depart.”
“All right, thank you, Mindy,” Frederica smiled at the maid as she slipped her stockinged feet into a pair of matching satin slippers before gathering her gold-fringed shawl, reticule and feathered fan from the dressing table.
“Milady, let me powder your cheeks before you leave,” Maeve, Julia’s abigail offered, rushing forward with a powder brush before Julia brushed her aside.
“We don’t have time for that now, Maeve. Get my reticule and shawl. Mother gets exasperated when we dilly-dally.”
Frederica secretly blinked her appreciation to the maid as she hurried after her cousin to join their mothers outside. Even though she was strictly Julia’s abigail and it wasn’t part of her duties to attend to her, Maeve had been nothing but helpful and kind ever since Frederica and her mother had moved into Cromwell House, following the death of her father two years ago.
Her uncle, who’d promptly assumed her father’s earldom along with his wife, hadn’t thought it necessary to hire a new abigail after dismissing their old ones, so she’d learned to attend to herself or seek the help of any random upstairs maid in the household. It had taken quite some getting used to, but now she knew how to handle her affairs in ways that didn’t require too much assistance or call extra attention to herself. Anything to avoid incurring the ire of Lady Madalene at all costs.
* * *
As the footmen pulled open the front door and they emerged outside into the cold chill of the evening, Lady Madalene Gillingham, the Countess of Powell hurried towards them with a beaming smile focused entirely on her daughter. “You look exceptionally beautiful, darling. The lavender brings out the sparkle in your eyes.”
“Thank you, Mother! This was a perfect choice after all.” Julia’s tone was breathless and excited as twirled around to her mother’s approving gaze.
“Come now. We are just in time to make a dramatic appearance before the ball begins.” Without as much as a glance at Frederica, Lady Gillingham took her daughter’s hand and they marched to the carriage.
Frederica draped her shawl across her shoulders and followed after them, unperturbed by the woman’s deliberate lack of acknowledgment which wasn’t strange or new. The Countess strongly resented her and her mother’s presence in their lives and never failed to remind them at every turn. If she could have her way, she’d have both of them shipped off to the Gillingham estate in Devonshire, except her husband had sold it off right after assuming the earldom.
After nearly two difficult years, she had matured and grown stronger, building necessary backbone that shielded her against feeling hurt from the constant jabs and vitriol that came from the woman.
Stepping into the carriage, Frederica settled beside her mother opposite Lord and Lady Gillingham and Julia who were both now engaged in a conversation about the outcome of the ball. Blinking rapidly as if pulling herself from the depth of a reverie, Frederica’s mother turned to bestow a warm smile on her. Even at forty-seven, Dorothea Gillingham still retained the ageless beauty of her youth. Her smile right then dispelled the gloom she constantly wore, momentarily reflecting a brief hint of vivacity that had once been there before the dark tragedy that had struck their close-knit family.
“You look very beautiful my dear,” she said in a soft, lilting voice that squeezed at Frederica’s heart. “I’m certain tonight will be absolutely perfect for you.”
“Thank you, Mother. I hope you have a wonderful time at the ball too,” she whispered back, leaving a trail of meaningful intent hanging in the air. Ever since the start of the Season, her mother had grown fond of condemning herself to a corner of any society function they attended, remaining there until it was time to depart. The evenings were usually spent moping endlessly as she stared off into space, ignorant of everything else going on around her.
“Nonsense. Seeing you having a wonderful time is all the excitement I need, dear girl.”
Frederica couldn’t hide the delight she felt from her mother’s words. Although the past two years had made her self-reliant and independent, hearing her mother’s praise made her feel like a child basking in her mother’s attention again.
It took less than a few minutes for Dorothea Gillingham to drift away in the clouds of her own thoughts once more, but Frederica savored the short moment they’d shared.
She constantly worried about her mother. Seeing the vivacity she’d just exuded felt like an omen of what good fortunes the evening could possibly hold.
Releasing a pent-up sigh, Frederica glanced outside the window into the night hoping against all odds that everything went accordingly at the ball, and she was finally lucky enough to secure a match at last.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one whose thought was centered on that matter at that very moment.
“I’m sure you’re aware that this ball is possibly the last social function we will be invited to this month, Frederica?”
Frederica’s attention snapped to the rigid outline of her uncle’s face in the soft dimness of the carriage’s interior. “Yes, sir. I’m well aware.”
“Good. I expect you to make the most of it or I’ll be choosing a suitable suitor for you myself before the season is officially over.” His tone was sharp and final, brooking no room for protest or argument.
Frederica’s heart suddenly began to race wildly as the implication of the statement dawned on her like a splash of cold creek water. “But, Uncle...Can’t...can’t I have till the end of the season?” she asked, almost fearfully as his gaze burned into her face.
“You have the effrontery to question my authority and decisions, you silly girl?”
“No…Uncle. I’m…only beseeching that I have till the end of the season to explore -” “Quiet!”
Frederica’s imploration died in her throat at the harsh bite of her uncle’s command. The feeling of her mother’s hand gripping hers in the semi-darkness offered little comfort from the anger burning in his eyes.