Free The Sins of Lady Dacey by Marion Chesney

with her newfound tetchiness. “This is our first public appearance—the pantomime does not count—and we must make the best of it. Only see the number of invitations we have! What on earth can your aunt be thinking of to remain so long in Paris! Well, I am determined to ingratiate myself with as many notables as possible this evening, for I fear it is beginning to look as if I shall have to bring you out myself.”
    Honoria, as a debutante, was obliged to wear white and envied Pamela her rustling lilac silk gown, but Pamela thought Honoria looked enchanting in a simple Grecian robe of white muslin embroidered with a gold key pattern and worn over a white silk slip. She had little gold slippers on her feet and a headdress of gold leaves on her hair, that soft brown hair that now framed her face in delicate curls.
    Pamela sighed when she saw her, her anger and bad temper fading away. “You will break hearts,” she said. “Lady Dacey has the right of it. You could marry a duke.” Immediately the words were out, she regretted them, for a shadow clouded Honoria's eyes and Pamela thought she was thinking of Mr. Delaney when, in fact, Honoria had been reminded of the Duke of Ware.
    Both were, however, looking forward to the ball without much trepidation, for Lady Buchan had seemed such a comfortable, sensible lady and she had promised “not a very large affair. A few couples.”
    Their nervousness did not begin until the carriage set them down in the courtyard of an enormous mansion in Piccadilly, hard by the Marquis of Queensberry's and overlooking Green Park. Flambeaux blazed from sconces on the walls and the great house was lit from top to bottom. Dance music sounded out into the night. The very air seemed to crackle with that particular sort of excitement London held in the evening, an excitement generated by several thousand people, rich and poor alike, determined to make merry. In an age when death lurked around every corner, all took their pleasures as enthusiastically as they could.
    They went into a vast hall and were ushered to a side room to leave their cloaks. One of Lady Dacey's maids, who had accompanied them, helped them to make last-minute touches to their hair.
    “It's like preparing to go on stage,” said Honoria with a nervous giggle. “Or so I imagine an actress must feel. I thought this was supposed to be a quiet affair.”
    “Goodness,” remarked Pamela as they emerged back into the hall and looked up the long winding stair to the ballroom, “if this is a quiet affair, what is a grand London ball going to be like?”
    “Oh, my stars!” cried Mr. Delaney, a few moments later. “They are arrived!”
    The duke raised his quizzing glass. There was a luminosity about Honoria, he thought. She made every other woman in the room look shop-soiled, over-painted, fussy. Rose petal skin, huge blue eyes, and oh, that mouth, soft and delicate and pink and untouched. Faith, he reflected wryly. I am become a lecherous old man.
    “Do ask Miss Goodham for a dance,” urged Mr. Delaney. “It would establish her social credentials.”
    “I doubt if Miss Goodham needs my help,” said the duke, aware of the heightened interest of nearly every man in the ballroom. “Oh, very well. Don't tug at my sleeve in that irritating way.”
    He walked across the ballroom. Both ladies sank into low curtsies. The duke bowed. “Miss Goodham, may I humbly beg the favor of this dance?”
    A smile rose to Honoria's lips, only to disappear as the quadrille was announced. The quadrille was a new dance, and she had not yet learned the steps. Conscious of all eyes on them, she stammered out, “I must refuse, Your Grace.”
    With a look of frozen hauteur, he made another bow and stalked off. A chattering rose and fell about Pamela and Honoria.
    “Now you cannot dance at all!” exclaimed Pamela.
    “But just this dance,” protested Honoria. “Why did we not engage a dancing master to teach us the steps of the