At her fingertips, p.8
At Her Fingertips, page 8
Presentation at court was, in Alice’s opinion, far too complicated to be bothered with, but her mother had insisted that since they had the option, they ought to take it.
At last, Mother tired of Geoffrey and Posy, or at least to the point where she could think of something else, and turned her attention to Alice and Aunt Lois. “How strange is it, Lois—I feel as if the entire world has changed in all of twenty years. To think that simply being the daughter of a country squire allows you to be presented at court.”
Aunt Lois raised her eyebrows. “With the proper name and financial backing, yes. The Eltons were peerage so recently that I was able to be presented twenty years ago, and now, it’s not surprising for girls like Alice. I’m not at all shocked we secured the appointment.”
Mother chuckled. “I am. I’m glad, though, as it’ll provide Alice with so many additional opportunities—and many of her schoolmates will be presented. But don’t remind me that it’s been almost twenty years since I was a debutante.”
Aunt Lois sighed. “Oh, don’t remind me, either!”
“Now, we’re not all going to start reminiscing about how old we are, especially since we aren’t.” Uncle Charlie stood with his son in his arms. Alice had to smother a smile—it was so strange to see Uncle Charlie with such a small child, not even holding him at an odd angle or with a sense of disgust. It was clear he loved Geoffrey.
“Oh, all right.” Aunt Lois tossed her hand in a dismissive gesture. “But we can’t leave quite yet. We’ve got to see Ivy and Philip first.”
“Uncle Charlie?” Ivy stood in the doorway, eyes wide.
“There she is. I don’t care about Philip.” Uncle Charlie transferred Geoffrey back to Posy and held his arms out for Ivy. “My girl.”
Chapter Eight
April 6, 1880
London, England
They had waited for hours, first in their carriage and later in the outer rooms, but at last it was almost time for Alice’s presentation at court. Aunt Lois passed her card and Alice’s as well as their official invitation to one of the stiff, uniformed attendants.
Anxiety wasn’t something Alice gave in to often. Or rather, she rarely termed any feeling she had as anxiety. Even when her stomach twisted and her breath came in short pants, she preferred to blame a worrisome menu item or an overly tight corset, regardless of the fact that her corset was never overly tight—her mother would never allow her to wear a poorly fitted clothing item. Not that she didn’t often worry about things, but that she didn’t want to say those worries gave her butterflies. She was far too serious to indulge in anything so frolicsome as that.
Yet today she was nervous. Nervous because this was the climax of her life up to this point, and if she stumbled, she would go down in history for it—or at least she imagined she would go down in history for it.
It had started early this morning with a bath, with her skin being rubbed until it practically glowed, with countless glances in the mirror for fear her face would break out or her eyes might have shadows under them from a near-sleepless night.
Or anything. Anything of the sort could go wrong. Alice was keenly aware of this fact—her mother even more so.
Mother had been absolutely manic this morning. A bit of a smile flickered across Alice’s face, serious though the moment was, at the memory. Of course, Alice didn’t blame her. She felt badly that her mother couldn’t be the one presenting her, honestly. She wished traditions weren’t as they were.
As it was, having not been presented at court herself, Mother wasn’t able to present Alice. Thank goodness for Aunt Lois or it might not have been possible, and Mother would have been so disappointed.
Though, Alice had a few connections. Her best friend, Cassie—also known as Lady Mary Cassidy O’Connell—was the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Auburn, and Alice imagined she might have been allowed to be presented alongside Cassie. Thankfully, though, that hadn’t been necessary.
Alice swallowed and adjusted her long train on her arm. It was a cumbersome thing, but six feet of white silk, satin, and tulle was a requirement, as was the elaborate headdress, topped with three large white feathers.
She felt a bit like a peacock, though with the color, a swan was more apt a description. Let me glide like a swan, not limp like a penguin, Lord. I only get to do this once.
Alice had practiced her walk, her bow, the sweeping movement that should be awkward but mustn’t be, which she would use to collect her long train in preparation to back out of the chamber. Practiced it until surely she couldn’t make a mistake. My family is already on the outskirts of society, at least in this crowd. What if …?
Aunt Lois turned to her, thankfully interrupting her anxious thoughts. “We’ve only a bit longer to wait, darling. Three girls ahead of you. Oh, don’t you look lovely!”
Her aunt had said that only three dozen times since she’d come to collect her in the early afternoon, but Alice still appreciated the reassurance. She ought to look lovely after all the effort her mother, her maid, and the dressmaker had put out. This was the loveliest Alice could be made to look. The gown was the height of fashion, made by the most popular modiste in Paris specifically for this occasion.
Likely the only time she’d ever wear it again would be for her wedding, though with a different bodice—probably one a bit higher. Strange how a lower neckline was acceptable for presentation at court but not in general. It almost made Alice wonder if the rules weren’t a bit arbitrary, without any real reason for their existence.
But thinking of dresses held not half the appeal of thinking of matrimony, and her thoughts quickly wandered away from that vein. Hopefully Alice’s wedding wouldn’t be too far away. Hopefully this appearance, combined with similar appearances that would surely follow, would allow her to secure a good match—soon.
Two more girls to go. Aunt Lois squeezed Alice’s hand. Unlike Mother, Aunt Lois’s anxiety wasn’t quite so covered by bluster—she showed her fears, but never seemed to linger on them long. There was more excitement in Aunt Lois for Alice than there ever would be in Mother. Mother saw the possibilities of disaster—Aunt Lois saw a great deal more fun.
Alice didn’t find it fun, but her nerves were not quite as tightly strung as her mother’s, either. She felt it was important, but she also wasn’t particularly interested in the society parade that was the Season. Yet she would do it, because she had been raised to believe it was as vital as breathing—and just as natural, too.
Then it was time, and Alice glided forward with her train and veil trailing behind her. She turned her brain off and moved forward, one leg placed gently in front of the other, her eyes slightly downcast but not so downcast as to render her incapable of seeing where she was walking.
The throne room was practically a wide hall lined with various courtesans and noblemen and women here to observe the latest debutantes. Alice caught sight of banners and crests out of the corners of her eyes, but she just knew she’d fall flat on her face if she tried to observe everything, so she resisted.
When it came to her day-to-day opinions, Alice was as unimpressed by the queen as she had been by every hereditary monarch in every kingdom throughout every era of the world. However, today, awe filled Alice as she approached the throne placed in the grand receiving chamber.
‘Throne’ seemed so ancient a word for the modern-day world. Yet here Alice was in a throne room, and it all felt very strange and foreign.
As if living out a dream, she caught the eye of Queen Victoria, who looked both serious and bored at the same time. The queen wasn’t a particularly beautiful woman, nor particularly intimidating, nor dressed in the grandest fashion with her typical dark ensemble lending a sober air to her entire countenance.
A moment or so, and Alice looked down again, as if some invisible force compelled her. She approached, took the offered hand and kissed it, and bowed until her knee almost but not quite touched the floor.
Then she rose, every muscle in her body straining for that seamless, effortless motion, and gathered her train over her arm.
It was over. She backed up, eyes still lowered, knowing that if she dared to turn her back on the queen, she would risk the wrath of everyone who heard tell—and they would hear. Society always heard what one didn’t want to be heard. She’d learned that early in her life.
At last she was back with her aunt, and all the breath left her body. She just wanted to sit down, and yet, at the same time, a strange numbness continued.
She had prepared for those few minutes for months. The gown had cost a fortune. The time it had taken to learn the court bow, to collect her train, and to back out of the room … All for that.
Then, with a heavy weight on her shoulders, Alice realized the significance. For an earl’s daughter like Cassie, this was simply another small ritual that confirmed she was now available for matrimony. Cassie had always been a member of the peerage, and she always would be.
For Alice, however, it was a big step. It said she was more than the daughter of a middle-class dressmaker. It said she was more than the daughter of a wealthy man with a country home and a thousand other meaningless things, struggling to find a foothold in a society that catered only to the royalty of England.
Miss Alice Knight had appeared before the queen. She had been acknowledged on the same level as an earl’s daughter—in the same way a duchess would be honored. She had been given equal footing.
Miss Alice Knight was, therefore, someone of distinction. Someone worthy of being pursued. Someone who would and could find a match that would put her in a position of influence, of control.
Oh, how lovely to be in control! That was the epitome of womanhood, wasn’t it? It must be. So few women had control. Yet, in England today, there was a woman on the throne and likely would be for some time. In England today, ladies of status held power under their husbands—and sometimes without them—that many men failed to grasp.
Today, in England, Alice could be such a woman. She could have control. She would never be at anyone’s mercy—and, therefore, neither would anyone she loved. She would protect them as no one else did.
She followed Aunt Lois numbly back to the carriage as these thoughts flooded her brain, and she spoke little as her aunt prattled on about this and that. Now Aunt Lois was trying to think of a way to convince ‘Charlie’ to have another baby because, “If it’s a girl, I could go through it all again in twenty years or so.” She followed this with vivid descriptions of how much fun it would be to have a daughter like Alice.
Alice rolled her eyes. Good luck with that. Uncle Charlie was a man who Alice adored, but in that moment, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she saw that his influence over Aunt Lois’s life meant that she had few options.
However, Alice would never be like that. Her options would be numerous in every way. She would always make it be so. She’d find a way to make it so. The keys had been given to her—that life seemed to brush at the fingertips of her soul, and she reached, and she felt her fingers begin to grasp at the edges.
Alice would be in control, and no one would ever make her suffer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Alice!” Cassie rushed over and took her hands as soon as Alice entered the O’Connell’s ballroom. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”
Alice glanced about the grand area behind Cassie before returning her eyes to her friend. “Of course I came! My, you look lovely.” She’d thought it was impossible, but somehow Cassie’s simple debut gown looked more expensive than Alice’s. “I love your hair.”
Cassie touched it lightly with her fingertips and winced. “I feel like the way it’s arranged makes it stand out too much, but thank you. You look absolutely lovely, too! That dress is so flattering.”
“Thank you.” For once, Alice agreed with her. There was something ethereal about these white dresses with the long trains, all so carefully designed to meet court specifications. Every debutante she’d seen looked like an angel. That must be the intended effect.
“You will greet my guests with me?” Cassie linked her arm through Alice’s before she had a chance to protest. “Mother wanted me to invite Lord Dalbury’s daughter, but I wouldn’t have it.”
“Of course! I promised to, didn’t I?” Cassie was always a bundle of shy nerves, and this entire process of becoming a debutante had been hard on her. Her letters had shown increasing levels of stress, and her cheeks were bright red and her pupils slightly dilated even now.
It wasn’t all Cassie’s fault, either. Lady Auburn, Cassie’s mother, was a severe woman, who was never satisfied with her youngest. Alice had often threatened in her letters of late to give Lady Auburn a piece of her mind should they meet.
Would she really dare? Never. But it didn’t sit well with her to see her childhood friend abused. It never had, and Cassie was so easy to bully.
Soon it was time for the other guests to begin arriving, and Alice took her place beside her friend. Though Cassie seemed to think that Alice was doing her a great favor, really it was quite the opposite. Cassie’s friendship would go a long way toward Alice’s having a successful Season. Her favor would tell others that Alice was worth notice.
Yes, Cassie might be the youngest, smallest daughter of the Earl of Auburn. Yes, she might be a redheaded half-Irish girl with a smattering of freckles and a too-wide grin—in her own estimation, not in Alice’s, who knew her friend to be lovely.
And, yes, Cassie was prone to nervousness, with a trace of a country accent. Her mother had neglected Cassie’s education, more focused on her own pursuits, meaning that, until she’d been sent to the same boarding school Alice had gone to, Cassie had lived in the Irish countryside, doing much as she pleased.
However, now Cassie was a lady—more so than Alice, for she was a lady by title as well as manners. Everyone here referred to her as Lady Mary, her actual name, and offered her as much respect and admiration as she deserved, not knowing of her secret fears and overly-active humility.
That meant that Cassie’s influence was, therefore, immeasurable. Alice would insist upon thanking her, again and again, for these favors, even if Cassie didn’t realize what favors they were.
All the guests were greeted, and they proceeded into the ballroom. It was decorated with lanterns and lace and ribbons, almost to an excess. Certainly the various people there, all dressed in their greatest finery, made everything about themselves seem excessive, from their laughter to their chatter to their outfits.
The rest of the evening passed in a whirl, as Alice had been told debut balls often did. Cassie had planned hers the night of her debut, knowing that people would come despite the busyness. Alice’s was delayed for a few weeks, so she was given the opportunity to take mental notes for how to conduct herself at her own event.
Of course, Alice was now ‘out.’ She was now a debutante; she had now entered the marriage market. It might be that by the time her debutante ball came around, she’d have already met and become seriously involved with her future husband.
Cassie certainly was getting plenty of attention, and so was Alice, if only to please Cassie. The men were swarming, as were the other debutantes and the mothers. Poor Cassie looked slightly overwhelmed, if happy that she wasn’t being ignored. It had been one of her greatest fears, silly as it was.
For, no, Cassie would not be ignored. She was too rich, too titled, and too sweet to be ignored. Her fears only stemmed from what she’d experienced from her family, not from the reality of society’s opinion of her. Society would love Cassie, for she was the quiet, demure, lovely daughter of an earl that they expected.
Though, there was more to Cassie than that of course. She was a musician, with a wonderful voice, and she was a quick thinker and a kinder friend. Though easily flustered, she’d started to grow out of that. She would doubtless make one of these overly talkative men very happy.
Security for both her friend and herself hummed at the back of Alice’s conscious, a happy thought. They would both be all right.
Her mind harkened back to years ago, when they’d whispered long into the night at Miss Selle’s Boarding School for Girls, talking about and fearing for their futures.
Neither had imagined today. Neither had prepared themselves for the inevitable—or at least for Cassie, it had always been inevitable.
Now here they were. Now they would be safe.
Alice reached, and she grasped, and she climbed.
Chapter Nine
April 8, 1880
Alice arched her eyebrows and leaned back on her chair, her teacup cradled in her hands. “I really think that you’re making this a great deal more than it is, but, no, go on.”
Cassie laughed. “I won’t, if you’re going to be so negative about it.” She giggled. “But we’ve not much to talk about if we don’t discuss men. I’ve been led to believe that that’s what we’re supposed to think about, speak about, and live for.”
“Indeed.” Alice agreed, of course, that finding a man was their primary occupation, but that didn’t mean she intended to be silly about it. “You just have such an emotional way of seeing these things, Cass.”
“I know.” Cassie played with the sleeves of her gown. “Of course, you have such a strictly unemotional way of seeing these things, dear, that I worry you won’t be truly happy, because, from a logical perspective, there is no such thing as a perfect man, and—”
“We both know how we feel about romance, so let’s not argue about it.”
“I can’t help it.” Cassie stood and walked over to her vanity. “I feel like I need to warn you before you follow your head into a loveless marriage and end up miserable. I love you, Alice—if you are happy, I shall be happy. But you’re right; we won’t agree. We must both learn, I suppose, what paths should be taken. Someday, when we’re aged dowagers, we’ll look back and laugh and wish the young ones would take our sage advice.”
