Teaching the Earl Read Free

excited, or we shall be marked as Cits."
    "Heaven forbid." Elizabeth smiled indulgently at Mama. "Though I rather think it is you who must be calm."
    Yes, indeed. I think I shall have a glass of orgeat to settle my nerves. Come."
    They moved across the room with pretended serenity, though Elizabeth could feel delight bubbling up in her like a wellspring, pure and sweet. It was such a triumph, to enter these rooms. She was a part of Society, albeit a small, humble part. Papa's money had bought her acceptance and her own mannerly restraint and immaculate conduct would keep it. She was careful not to look about her, gape, point or stare. A swan on still water was she, gliding, gliding, head held high and steady, well enough to make Mrs Granson proud if that doughty lady had only been here to see.
    "They are so beautiful. All in drift s of white like snow, or clouds," she said quietly. There were clusters of young women through the room, all wearing delicate white muslin, or the softest pastels.
    "No more or less than at the Fitzwarton's ball. Or the Seton's ball, for that matter."
    "Much more beautiful, I swear it. Flowers. That's what they are like. Blossoms in spring."
    "None of them are prettier than you, my dear."
    "You are a partial audience, Mama, and I don't believe you."
    "Modesty is very becoming too, there's my good girl. I don't expect you to capture any gentleman's attention tonight. At least, make no effort to. We shall find our place among the women, and be retiring. Appear to have no expectations. But be dignified and gracious, of course."
    "Of course." Elizabeth received the glass of orgeat her mother handed her, and took a cautious sip. The scent of almonds and orange flowers filled her mouth and nose. "This is too sweet," she whispered.
    "Hold it and pretend to drink it. You may keep the same glass all evening if you like, and never drain it. It will give you something to do with your hands if you are not asked to dance."
    Dreadful thought. "I hope I will be asked. I'd like to dance."
    "I think you'll have at least one invitation, even though you're not generally known. See, there are the Setons, and Michael is here with them. He is sure to stand up with you. You must refuse anyone who has not been introduced to you."
    "I know."
    "Not that you will encounter such poor behavior here, I don't think. The patronesses are very strict."
    "I know."
    "Yes, of course you do. I'm sorry. I'm only nervous. So much rests on this. Don't let that frighten you, of course. You will do very well, I'm sure of it. If all goes as I hope for you then we can expect your sisters to be well-received also. It will mean great things for all the family."
    "I know, Mama. Let us go talk to the Setons, before you worry yourself to death."
    They stood by their friends, were joined by more acquaintances, and introduced to others. Elizabeth proved popular, and danced almost every dance, cautiously demure, unusually quiet, but simmering away inside with a froth of pleasure. How her sisters would gasp and sigh when she told them she had danced with a baron, no less. He had not been a very good dancer, nor very handsome, but he was extremely cordial.
    Michael danced better. He seemed to have developed a partiality for her company. He was so kind to her, and attentive, nineteen years to her eighteen. Yet he seemed callow next to the gentlemen who stood around talking amongst themselves or surveying the crowd, impeccably dressed and leisurely. Oh, how they swaggered and tilted their heads back and looked bored. More than one had lifted a quizzing glass to inspect her with dashing rudeness, so she did not know whether to glare or blush. She turned her head away and fluttered her fan in front of her face.
    In a lull in the dancing, there came a moment when she met the eyes of a middle-aged woman across the room. The woman looked directly at her as if measuring her carefully. She seemed the very definition of aristocracy, with a cool, haughty face, high