Free Once in a Blue Moon by Penelope Williamson Page A

laugh or to die. She glanced down, hoping at least that some bosom might be spilling provocatively out of her modest tucker.
    The Trelawny man's face broke into that dimpled, boyish smile. "I say, cousin," he drawled, "you certainly have big larks here at Larkhaven."
    Jessalyn laughed... and felt her face crack.
     
    Downstairs the party had begun. The hum of distant music vibrated the floorboards beneath her feet. Laughing, Jessalyn spun around on her toes, making her skirt bell out.
    Her one and only good dress was, the mantua-maker had assured her, quite the latest thing. It had a waist so high it ended just beneath her breasts and tiny puffed sleeves. It was made of the palest green tulle over a slip of jade-colored satin and had lace-trimmed flounces going halfway up the skirt. She twisted her neck, trying to see all of herself in the dressing table's small looking glass. She only hoped so much green didn't make her look like a stalk of asparagus.
    The dress had been made for the occasion of her birthday four months ago, and already it was a little short. She sighed. If only she would stop growing. Or at least start growing in more appropriate places.
    With some of the saddle horse money Jessalyn had, at her grandmother's urging, purchased a pair of white satin slippers that fastened with ribbons around her ankles and evening gloves of soft limerick. In a chest in End Cottage's attic, she had found a fan made of white crepe and a silver beaded reticule. Gram had forbidden her to use carmine powder, so she had rouged her cheeks and lips with red tea leaves instead and had darkened her brows with a bit of burned cork. She brushed her hair until it had a gloss like japanned leather. Now, standing in the middle of her room, she felt almost breathless with anticipation and excitement.
    She went next door to fetch her grandmother, only to be told by Becka that Lady Letty had already gone down. Jessalyn took the narrow wooden stairs to the next landing, where the more important guests were sleeping. She glided along the Oriental runner that graced the wide hall, feeling like a countess.
    At a jog in the hall she came upon a looking glass above a pier table that supported a tulip-shaped pink and white Wedgwood vase. Caught by her own reflection, she paused.
    She unfurled her fan, covering half her face with the white crepe leaves. The effect, she thought, made her look exotic and mysterious.
    Lady Letty had told her that there was an etiquette, almost an art, to handling a fan. There was, for instance, the Refusal Look. Jessalyn narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, screwing her face into the way she imagined such a look would be. Then there was the Lingering Look—calculated to invite but not embolden. She wriggled her brows and blinked her lashes. No, that didn't seem quite right. She opened her eyes wide and tilted her head, first to the left, then to the right.
    A harsh face with dark, flaring brows appeared in the looking glass over her shoulder. She let out a tiny shriek and whirled, and her elbow sent the pink and white Wedgwood vase tumbling.
    He caught it within inches of its smashing on the floor. He straightened slowly and, his gaze locking with hers, set the vase back on its perch. He looked dashing in his regimentals—a cherry red coat with gold cuffs and collar and full, lacy cravat. Dull gold epaulets enhanced the broadness of his shoulders. His cream-colored pantaloons were so tight she wondered how he sat ahorse in them.
    "Are you ill, Miss Letty?"
    Jessalyn was still lost in staring at his splendid magnificence "Ill?"
    "You were making such horrid faces I thought you might be in pain."
    She sucked in a deep breath, recovering her wits. "It was quite rude of you to sneak up on me like that."
    He performed a mocking half bow. "I humbly beg your pardon. Next time I'll have a fife and drum announce me."
    He looked her over, not bothering to hide the fact that he was judging her as a man was wont to judge a woman.