After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(93)
Lucetta grinned. “Not really, but the fact my vision is a little skewed is helping me get into character. I’ve decided I’m a dotty old thing who is slightly related to Abigail. I’m one of those relatives who has to be invited but one whom no one actually acknowledges.” She smoothed a hand down the skirt of her hideous floral gown. “I found this gem in Abigail’s attic, along with the lovely wig I’m wearing.”
“But I’m the one who was given the daunting task of picking old moth carcasses out of that wig and getting it to fit Lucetta’s head,” Millie said as she stepped out of the broom closet dressed as a proper maid. “And, just to be clear, she didn’t suffer any ill effects from my efforts.”
A smile teased Harriet’s mouth. “I see you’re still miffed over the fact Abigail brought in another hairdresser to do my hair tonight.”
“I’ve been practicing hair styling with hot tongs for two days,” Millie grumbled.
“Why don’t you show everyone what that practice did,” Abigail said, moving up to rejoin them.
“I don’t think there’s any need for that.”
Everett grinned at Millie. “You burned your hair off, didn’t you.”
Millie lifted her nose in the air. “I don’t believe you and I are familiar enough with each other, Mr. Mulberry, for you to ask me such a question. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on the refreshments. Abigail has trusted me with making certain the punch bowl never runs dry.”
With that, Millie bobbed a perfect curtsy, turned on her heel, and marched into the ballroom. Partway across the room, she apparently realized that maids normally didn’t boldly walk through the middle of the dance floor, because she turned once again and practically ran to the side.
“She’s an unusual lady,” Everett said as he watched Millie’s retreating back.
“That she is,” Abigail agreed, taking his offered arm before she nodded to Oliver. “Are you ready to open the ball?”
Apprehension was immediate. “What do you mean . . . open the ball?”
“She means that you and Harriet,” Archibald began, stepping forward, “being the newly engaged couple, will be expected to open the ball with the first dance.” He looked at Abigail. “Did you forget to mention that to them?”
Abigail smiled. “I have been rather busy of late, pulling off this daunting feat of preparing a ball in two days, so, yes, I might have forgotten.”
Oliver felt Harriet’s fingers dig into his arm. Looking down at her, he frowned. “I probably should have asked this before, but do you know how to dance?”
“Of course, although I might be a bit rusty.”
It hit him then, how little he really knew about the lady standing beside him. But . . . he wanted to know more . . . everything about her—not just how she came to know how to dance but what she thought about every second of the day. Who’d taught her how to sew, and how was she able to imagine and assemble a bustle that could collapse and then recover? And . . . did she regret not ever being able to perform on a wire because her aunt had hustled her out of the circus?
Unfortunately, the reality was that he wasn’t going to get to learn more about her. Their time was almost over, and that realization caused something that felt remarkably like regret to settle deep in his soul.
“But . . . when did you learn?” he heard himself ask.
“Does it matter?” Harriet countered before she prodded him forward. The next thing he knew, he was standing with Harriet in the middle of Abigail’s ballroom. The room went silent as Abigail took up a position in front of the thirty-piece orchestra she’d somehow managed to procure on remarkably short notice.
“I would like to take a moment to welcome all of you to my, shall we say, spontaneous ball,” Abigail said as laughter filled the room. “The guests of honor will be arriving shortly, but their lovely daughter, Lady Victoria, is already here, as most of you know, since she was in the receiving line.” Abigail waved a hand in the direction of Victoria, who was stuffing what appeared to be a piece of cake into her mouth. Undaunted, Victoria swallowed and grinned, executing a beautiful curtsy before she waved to the guests and then gestured back to Abigail.
“Now then,” Abigail continued, “as most of you were made aware, Mr. Addleshaw has recently become engaged to the lovely Miss Peabody, and it is my wish that the couple open the ball with the first dance.”
Oliver saw the members of the orchestra pick up their instruments, and he turned to Harriet, who instead of looking nervous was beaming up at him.
“See, I did finally practice that adoring look you demanded, and I’m now going to suggest you try your hand at looking adoringly back at me,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth even as she kept her smile firmly in place. “The guests will get suspicious if I’m the only one doing the whole adoring business.”
His lips curved into a returning smile. She was so beautiful and so different from anyone he’d ever known that he decided there and then that, although this was to be the last night they were together, he was going to make the most of it.
“Ready?” he whispered as he pulled her into his arms.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far, but . . .”
The music began and he pulled her closer, breathing in the scent of her that smelled exactly like violets. He swept her across the floor, delighted when she matched his every step.