The Ugly Duckling Debutante (House of Renwick #1)(5)

She should have felt self-conscious, but she spent her life being stared at and told she was ugly, so why would she feel any different in this situation? The servants working in the great hall bowed to acknowledge her as Drake led her to the stairs where a petite lady’s maid about the same age as Sara offered a brief curtsy.

“Miss Ames, this is your maid. She will direct you to your room,” the old butler instructed her.

“This way, my lady.”

Sara had never been addressed as anything but her Christian name; it was odd being showed a sort of honor, as though she really was a lady and above the station she actually possessed. She silently followed the young girl up the stairs and gasped as her eyes rose to the huge chandelier hanging above the middle of the stairway. It appeared to be plated in gold and reflected light from the outside windows. The stairs seemed to extend indefinitely, until they finally reached the hallway, and Sara was led all the way to the back corner room.

“This room is yours, my lady. I will return later to help you get settled, but for now you will want to prepare for the great Madame Francois. The bath has been drawn for you.” She curtsied and turned to leave.

“Pardon me? Who is Madame Francois?” Sara asked hesitantly.

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, she cleared her throat and answered. “You don’t know? She is the most sought after modiste in the country, Miss.”

“Oh,” was all Sara could manage in reply before she was rendered otherwise speechless upon entering her room. She froze. It was blanketed in purple velvet. The luxurious bed sat nearly as high as her waist, something she had never seen before. The windows were large and opened onto a balcony overlooking a beautifully maintained garden. An ornate gold mirror faced the bed as if to taunt her. She stepped up to it hesitantly and sighed. God had not performed a miracle. She was still…unique, or as some people described her, wicked-looking. Though she didn’t know what was so wicked about black hair, except that it wasn’t considered as comely as golden tresses.

Her skin was dark, but she thought it complimented her hair quite nicely. She opened her mouth to examine her teeth as her aunt had done. They were white and straight, something out of the ordinary for anyone in London, especially young girls.

At least I have my teeth, she thought.

She pulled off her dusty morning dress and eased herself into the bath that Davina had prepared. The stress of the day seemed to melt away. Grabbing the soap, she washed her body slowly, methodically, and then allowed her eyes to close in relaxation. It wasn’t until she heard voices down the hall that she knew she had fallen asleep for the second time that day.

Sara put on the nearest robe when a tall French woman burst into the room. Her face was wrinkly like paper but her eyes had the brilliance of crystal blue water.

“Let us have a look then,” Madame Francois said in a thick French accent. “Oui, oui, I understand.” She pulled Sara’s shoulders back as she pushed her toward the mirror. “We shall cut here, and here.” She motioned at Sara’s hair then toward the bottom of her hem. “She will look, how do you say, foreign?”

She said it more as a question; it was then Sara realized she was speaking to her aunt. Her aunt sighed heavily. “Do you think it will help?”

“Bah!” Madame yelled. “Help? Who am I? Am I not Madame Fran?ois? She shall be exquisite, the talk of the ton.”

Aunt Tilda seemed unimpressed. “Well, get on with it then.”

“As you wish,” came the clipped answer.

Nausea swept over Sara, and she was ready to lose whatever measly food she had eaten that day. How could they cut her hair? Her long black hair? How could that possibly help?

Madame Fran?ois leaned in behind her in the mirror. “Your face is too thin to hold such weight. You need to be free.” And with that she took scissors to Sara’s hair and cut. Sara covered her gasps with a fist and cringed as she watched her once waist-length hair topple to the ground. What was left now hit just below her shoulders in dark waves.

“C’est magnifique,” Madame mused. “Some natural curl—the men will go wild, no?”

Sara closed her eyes sorrowfully as Madame continued to measure her. “How many gowns?”

Her aunt named an outrageous number, as well as a riding habit and some walking dresses. “That should be enough,” she finished with a nonchalant wave of her hand. Madame Fran?ois made some notes on the measurements, then kissed Sara’s aunt on both cheeks and left the room with a curt nod to Sara in the mirror. Sara watched the retreat of Madame’s reflection, then her gaze fell upon the bed behind her.

A dress with stockings, a chemise, and a beautiful ribbon lay there.

“Madame happened to have a few dresses she could spare until she finishes with yours. Your first ball is tonight. I need to assess your behavior and how much work must be done. You may as well know, I plan to ask a distant cousin of mine to undertake your training for presentation to the ton. He is the best, after all. I just hope he’s willing to take you on.”

Sara swallowed a sob. Of course he wouldn’t be willing. She was ugly, and who would willingly spend time with her?

“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, gel. You are not that ugly.” The pause in her voice sounded almost tender for a moment, but Aunt Tilda quickly recovered. “Listen—this distant cousin is, well, he used to be somewhat of a rake, but now he is reformed and sworn a life of celibacy. It’s like pulling teeth even to get him to speak to a woman, let alone teach her how to dance.”