Kathryn Caskie Read Free

past Grace, she noticed a circlet of London’s first set watching them intently.
    Eliza lifted her chin. She didn’t care in the least what the ton thought of her. Though the season had only just begun, they’d already written her off as … what was it now? Oh, yes. A hopeless hoyden. After today’s sneezing incident, no doubt this snide assessment would make its way through the whole of fashionable London before nightfall. Yes, the entire incident was mortifying, but Eliza had to own that even this nightmare suited her purposes perfectly well.
    When Grace, too, realized the onlookers’ scrutiny, she drew closer to Eliza. A look of warning flashed plainly in her eyes.
    Eliza sighed. “Surely you do not think I sneezed on purpose.”
    Grace merely stared back at her, clearly waiting for an explanation.
    “It is not as though I
asked
to wear these vile plumes.” Pinching the frothy feathers between her thumb and index finger, she held them at arm’s length, as if they were crawling with vermin. “You know how feathers affect me. My eyes are watering so badly I can scarcely see.”
    Ignoring Eliza’s statement entirely, Grace snapped open her pierce-work fan and flapped it before her delicate face. “What must the queen think of us, or the ton for that matter? Word will travel, you know. We will be blocked from every respectable drawing room in London, I am quite sure of it.”
    “Oh, calm yourself, Grace. I’m certain the queen has all but forgotten the episode by now.” Eliza raised the offending plumes eye-level, turning them thoughtfully through her fingers. “Besides, since all debutantes wear these absurd white feathers during presentation, I truly doubt I am the first to
spew,
as you so daintily put it, on the queen.”
    "I fear, Lizzy, you are mistaken,” a plaintive voice said.
    Eliza turned to see the plump Lady Letitia and willowy Lady Viola, bearing down on them in identical gowns of lavender satin and blond lace.
    Aunt Letitia fretfully wrung her handkerchief as she wedged her turnip-shaped form between the two young women. “I have it on good authority that you
are
the very first.”
    “Really? The very first?” Eliza looked from one aunt to the other. As humiliating as her presentation had been, she was not about to take a simple sneeze, or three, so gravely. And neither, she decided, should they. “Then I must make it my solemn mission to ensure this tragedy never befalls another debutante. I shall petition the queen, at once, to ban all ostrich feathers from court.”
    “Oh, dear,” Aunt Viola gasped, frantically looking to Aunt Letitia for help. “We cannot allow her to do it, Sister.”
    “Now, now, Eliza will do nothing of the sort,” Aunt Letitia answered. “Will you, gel? You’ve caused quite enough stir for one day, don’t you agree?” She punctuated her statement by jabbing the point of her index finger into Eliza’s back and starting her down the staircase. “The queen has finally retired, so to the carriage, my loves. Quickly now.”
    While they waited in the noisy, bustling entry hall for their conveyance to draw up through the crowded line, Aunt Viola grasped Eliza’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Do not fret, Eliza. It’s all over now,” she said softly. “You have been presented. And, as you know, dear, presentation is the first step in making a good match.”
    Eliza cringed. “If that sort of thing matters to you,” she muttered.
    Aunt Letitia clucked her disapproval. “Did I hear you right? If that sort of thing matters?”
    Eliza withdrew her hand from Aunt Viola’s gentle grasp and faced Letitia’s formidable countenance. “Please do not misunderstand me, Auntie. I do appreciate your efforts, for Grace, that is. But I am not inclined to find a husband. You know that.”
    Aunt Letitia swatted down Eliza’s comment as though it were a winged insect headed for her nose. “Nonsense, child. Now that the season is under way, you will have the time of