Milli threw up her hands. “Really, Emma, what would you do without me?” She got up from the bed and aimed a particularly withering glance at her sister. “Which brings me to my next point: I forbid you to wear those ghastly spectacles.” With that she flew out Emma’s chamber as hastily as she’d entered, but not before issuing another summons to the drawing room.
Emma sat a moment, stunned. “What theme?”
“La, don’t you look exquisite, Emma.” Milli paused in the drawing room doorway, her countenance wavering somewhere between surprise and delight.
She was already dressed for the evening, for her dress, unlike Emma’s, had not needed the hem let out or the bodice taken in. Milli’s evening gown was an ivory muslin confection, beneath which peeked a silver trimmed petticoat, and the whole was spangled with silver gems that caught every wink of candlelight. A large pearl drop hung from each ear and a matching necklace of silvery pearls lay resting across the fine bones of her chest. White kid gloves, an ivory fan, and silver slippers completed her ensemble.
“I wish I too could admire the dress,” said Emma with a teasing wink, “but you will not allow me to wear my eyes.” Emma glanced at her blurry self in the cheval mirror that had been brought down from Milli’s room. The seamstress was also examining her work, fluffing the train out and picking lint from the skirt wherever she imagined she saw it; her hirelings had already departed now that the gowns were both altered and pressed and fit to be worn.
Aunt Sophie lit up at the mention of Emma’s ‘eyes’ and rushed from the room with a backward grin, promising to be right back. She returned moments later with a beautiful silver neck chain from which an eyeglass was suspended, the glass framed round with elegant filigrees. “I believe my niece will not begrudge you this quizzing glass, Emma.” Aunt Sophie carefully placed the chain over Emma’s head and stood back to admire what she likely considered the pièce de résistance.
“No indeed,” said Milli, beaming. “You may wear it with my blessing, sister.”
Emma’s ballgown rustled gracefully as she turned in the mirror. It was a white satin slip over which was draped a gossamer overskirt of embroidered lace and delicate beading. Her ivory gloves were held in place by enameled armlets that matched the enameled ivory of her fan. Her curls, like her sister’s, had been powdered white for the occasion—or, rather, the mysterious theme—and embellished with petite, white rose buds. The eyeglass was resting against the folds of lace at Emma’s waist. The string of glass crystals draped at the base of her throat, along with the matching stones gleaming at her ears, were also on loan from her aunt.
Uncle Haywood hemmed loudly behind the door and inquired if he might be permitted to enter his drawing room. He was admitted directly, now that Emma’s toilette had been completed, and proceeded towards the sofa. The creases in his brow deepened as he neared it, for there was still scraps of fabric and the seamstress’s accouterments strewn about the carpet and furnishings. “I don’t see why these proceedings couldn’t be carried out in your own rooms,” he said, lifting a piece of lace out of the way before he seated himself on the sofa. He inspected the lace and then discarded it at his feet.
“The light is better here, Uncle,” said Milli, circling her sister like a school mistress. “Emma, I hope you’ve been practicing your dance steps. Did you read that book I gave you, Companion to the Ballroom by Mr. Thomas Wilson? He is quite fastidious about the correct method of French and German waltzing, you know, and I should hate to see you looking awkward.”
“Perversion of a dance,” said their uncle, grimacing. “Indecent lot of lewd grasping, if you ask me.”
“It is perfectly decent, Uncle,” Milli replied, “Countess Lieven herself dances the waltz.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, “the very same lady embroiled in that dalliance with Lord Palmerston, hmm?”
“A fudge!”
“No, no, Milli, waltzing leads to all manner of havey-cavey undertakings of which, evidently, not even foreign princesses are exempt.” This was punctuated with a disgusted grunt. “No, I am quite resolved, no niece of mine shall dance the waltz.”
Emma could not help smiling at her sister’s chagrined expression. “I’m sure I don’t even know how to dance the waltz, Uncle.” Little Snoring could vaunt very few assemblies and even then nothing but country dances were tolerated.
Milli threw up her hands. “I knew we should have hired a caper merchant!”
“Oh, stop raising a breeze, it’s only a ball, and I shan’t embarrass you because I don’t intend to dance.” Emma’s avowal was met with silent dubiety, but fortunately nothing more on the subject was said. It was time they were off.
In due course, they arrived at their destination on Regent Street, the equipage halting beside a very grand portico attached to a large stuccoed building with Grecian pillars and a domed roof. Inside, they doffed their mantles and handed the items, including their vouchers, to a supercilious footman with a ridiculous white wig. Thereafter, they were led past the crowded drawing room, richly furnished, to the ballroom.
The resplendence of the room was such that Emma faltered as she stepped over the threshold. The ballroom was sixty feet long and fifty feet wide, decorated with pilasters and gaslit lusters that sprayed the walls and ceiling with Celestine stars, all pulsing in time to the orchestra’s rhythm. The windows were dressed with black damask so that the room was devoid of any color save those that belonged to the moonlit heavens. A quadrille was currently in progress with a large number of dancers already enjoying the music. Everywhere the eye bent its course, gowns of tulle and silk and frills and feathers billowed like clouds of white and silver. Diamonds and crystals radiated from gowns and headdresses like moon dust beneath the chandeliers. The air itself glistened with ethereal light, the effect otherworldly. It was made more so by the powdered heads and pale countenances of each occupant, so like empyrean gods themselves. By comparison, Emma felt like a vulgar mushroom.
The thought was not long given free rein, for Milli, who had been on the qui vive for Victoria, soon discovered her quarry and moved thence with rapidity. The lady had been conversing with a handsome woman and a dashing young man in a black coat, but upon catching Milli’s eye she smiled. Victoria’s silver turban was festooned with diamonds and white feathers, the latter bobbing excitedly as she beckoned a footman over with his tray of glass flutes. Shortly after greeting Victoria, they were introduced to her companions, Mr. Norcroft and Miss Dubois. When the footman arrived with the champagne, Victoria placed a crystal stem into each of the sisters’ hands but took nothing for herself.
Emma thought it peculiar the way Victoria’s gaze lingered upon Milli as she took a delicate sip from her flute—a look of poignant ardency, if Emma was to define it. When Victoria noticed that she was being closely observed, she merely grinned and tapped her fan upon Mr. Norcroft’s shoulder with a suggestion that he bespeak a dance with each of the Roses before their dance cards filled up.
Mr. Norcroft excused himself as the music reached its denouement, for he had engaged Miss Dubois for the next set, but before leaving he secured Emma for the following dance and Milli for the one after that. With a bow, he withdrew to join the other dancers, Miss Dubois on his arm.