Free Born of Persuasion by Jessica Dotta

the ball there was a great storm, which toppled trees and made roads impassable—therefore the gown never arrived.The girl, desperate to see her beloved, borrowed a second-rate dress.
    At the ball, she was forced to watch as the dignitary danced with only the most beautifully dressed ladies—one after the other. That night he became enraptured with a girl whose love for him was but a shadow compared to the heroine’s.
    Here, Mama would end the story, kiss my forehead, and then, wearing a hardened expression, lift the taper and leave.
    I used to lie awake long afterwards and imagine the unfinished part—the following morning when the gown finally arrived. How it must have felt to open the box and see golden layers of satin and tulle, knowing her plan might have worked. I used to wonder whether she could still admire the gown’s beauty, or did it crush her?
    I learned, that evening, it was neither.

DARK VELVET DRAPERIES muffled the sound of rain and absorbed the candlelight emitted by the ivory tapers. Polished woodwork stood out against settees and sofas upholstered in colors of ocher and scarlet, making their indoor autumn friendlier than the one outdoors, as three people turned to greet us.
    I hadn’t realized the hope I’d placed on seeing Edward until I noted his absence. Mrs. Windham marched to the center of the room, where she curtsied to our hosts in a great sweeping motion. Elizabeth, still holding my hand, followed.

    No one wishes to look upon his greatest loss—a burned-out cottage, a drowned team of oxen, one’s child in a coffin. Such scenes are approached with eyes averted, faces turned. I was no different. To stand inside Edward’s home and greet his parents, knowing I should have been their daughter, was as agonizing as it would have been for Mama’s fairy-tale girl to have explored every tuck and frill of lace on her gown.
    In desperation, my gaze travelled to the only object in the room not associated with Edward. I distinguished Lady Foxmore immediately.
    An old woman, a clinging remnant of the previous generation, she sat with her hands clasped over her walking stick. White powder caked her face and wrinkles. In stark contrast, streaks of rouge smeared her cheeks while a darkening element had been applied to her thin eyebrows. Even her hoary hair, styled in standing rolls, was powdered. Though she sat near the flame, a mantle of ermine covered her shoulders, over which heavy pearl necklaces drooped.
    She stared at me for an eternity, and then from deep within, raspy chuckles broke through, though she kept her lips pressed together. She rested her forehead on her hands as her shoulders shook with silent mirth.
    Mrs. Windham finished her greetings to Lord and Lady Auburn in a tremulous voice. Every time Lady Foxmore regarded me, she laughed anew. At length, Mrs. Windham led me to the grand dame.
    “No, Edith.” Lady Foxmore waved her back, and though she was tiny, her voice rang with authority. “I am in no mood to tolerate hysterics tonight. Take that seat there by the door, and for mercy’s sake, bite your tongue. Elizabeth, make our introductions.”
    Elizabeth’s brow furrowed but she dutifully took my side. “Miss Elliston, allow me to introduce you to Lady Foxmore.”
    “Tell me—” Lady Foxmore gripped her cane—“did she purposefully dress like that to annoy me, Beth?”
    Elizabeth’s eyes clouded, for she hated being called Beth. “No, ma’am. She’s in mourning.”
    “Humph. Is it now fashionable to wear rags as well as black?” Lady Foxmore’s eyes screwed as she peered through her lorgnette. “Child, why not parade about in sackcloth with ashes smeared over your face? If you’re going to be dramatic, you may as well do so fully.”
    There was a pause, a hollow expectation for me to fashion some manner of reply. I kept my face insolent.
    “If her dress seems thread-worn,” Elizabeth filled in for me, “it’s because she’s been in mourning for a very