“Whatever is going on?” Miss Graves appeared on the scene.
“Caroline took my scarf,” Delia said petulantly. “I have a right to demand its immediate return.”
“So you do,” Sassy snapped. “But you have no right to shout and rant like a hoyden. It is most unbecoming.” She turned to the other girl. “Return Miss Standish’s property at once, and we shall drop this matter.”
The article in question was reluctantly handed over while Delia stood gloating. Sassy frowned over Delia’s expression. Something was off here. Why did Caroline look so frightened, and if she was frightened, why then had she refused to turn over the scarf?
She heard one of the younger girls say softly to her group of friends, “That Delia is awful,” but when Sassy started towards her, the little group ran off. She turned to see Delia staring after them. Just what was going on here? Why were they all so afraid of a fifteen-year-old girl?
Later, this trouble lingered in her mind as she took out her gown and began the business of airing it out and repairing a piece of lace that had torn away from the puff sleeves.
Before she knew it, the evening had arrived. Sassy donned her old cloak and floated down the stairs, under Miss Sallstone’s disapproving eye.
However, it was Saturday night, she was on her own time, and the perfectly respectable Delleson coach awaited her outside, she told herself. The headmistress could not possibly object. She handed the driver her overnight portmanteau and then with excitement climbed into the coach.
Some fifteen minutes later and feeling just a bit nervous as the coach pulled up to the brightly lit Delleson estate, Sassy rubbed her ring and was immediately calm. A whisper told her she could retire to her room if it all became too much. And so she could. The question remained: did she want to?
Honesty forced her to admit to herself that she did not want to leave. She wanted to see the marquis again. She wanted to face him and look into his eyes and ask her magic to tell her just who and what he was. For he was more than he seemed, so much more. She was sure of this, just as she was sure her magic, the magic that had come with her transition into a fully matured white witch, had not created last night’s love scene.
She heard her name announced by the butler and took a bracer of air as she could not help but notice many of Bristol’s society looking her over.
“Oh! How precious!” declared Sophy, rushing to grab hold of her white long-gloved hands and to stand away to gaze at her. Sophy was lovely in her creamy, clinging silk and her bubbling head of yellow curls. “Sassy,” she said approvingly, “that shade of aqua brings out the color of your green eyes perfectly.” Her finger went to the low curve of Sassy’s scooped neck, and she nodded. “Very nicely done with the lace—naughty and yet quite respectable.” She touched the white and silver silk flowers at her own cleavage and said, “It is precisely why these flowers are here.” She giggled and touched Sassy’s hair. “Your ringlets have such a shine. Yes, your black hair and my blonde curls. We shall stun them all.” She laughed merrily and led Sassy into the crowded room.
A bevy of young men immediately surrounded the two young women, but Sassy’s gaze darted about the room looking for the marquis. She felt sadly deflated to find that he was not present.
She was surprised, however, to find that in addition to the marquis, even Percy Lutterel was nowhere to be seen. She asked, “Sophy, does not Mr. Lutterel have the intention of attending this delightful rout of yours?”
When, predictably, Sophy pouted, Sassy smiled to herself. She was growing very fond of her new friend and all her extreme expressions.
“He is the most vexing man alive, Sassy. I have no notion whether he plans to show his face here tonight, and at this moment I don’t care!”
Ah, thought Sassy, Sophy cares very much. And it was at this moment that the butler reentered the room. In a booming voice that overrode the music coming from the violins, he advised all interested parties that the Marquis of Dartmour and Mr. Percival Lutterel had arrived.
Sassy had to admit that it was exciting to be with Sophy at the center of attention. But she did not feel as though her heart was about to beat out of her chest until she heard that the marquis had arrived!
Percy went directly towards Sophy, who immediately gave him a frosty glare and turned away from him. As the marquis was beside Percy, and was therefore incorporated into her snub, Mrs. Delleson put a hand to her heart at her daughter’s objectionable behavior. Seeking to repair the damage, Sophy’s mama went hastily towards the new arrivals, hands extended amicably towards the marquis, her cheek towards Mr. Lutterel.
Sassy felt a giggle coming on as she watched Sophy ignore Percy with careful intent as she flirted outrageous with the bucks at her side.
A country dance was struck up, and both girls found themselves on the floor. Sassy was very sure that her friend was not having half the fun she pretended she was having.
Percy attempted to approach Sophy at the end of the dance; however, she turned away from him and placed her hand in that of young Lord Grey. Sassy arched a look at Sophy, for this would be her f
riend’s second (albeit only country dance) time up with Lord Grey in a row. This would raise disapproving eyebrows.
When the dance was over, Percy was in a fit of a temper and marched in front of Sophy’s face to demand on a harsh whisper that she dance with him.
Sassy, who was standing at her shoulder, closed her eyes and thought the man most unwise.
Sophy’s chin went up, and she answered him curtly, “I am fatigued to death, Mr. Lutterel, for I have been dancing this half-hour and more.” She arched a look at him and continued, “Though I am sure you have not been here long enough to notice!”
“Sophy, my only love, do but let me explain,” Percy began, running a frenzied hand through his flaxen locks.
However, another country dance was struck up, and she turned from him to take Lord Grey’s hand and once again lead him onto the floor.
Sassy was led on the floor by some young buck, but her attention was for the scene unfolding. A third dance with Lord Grey was sure to be censured. Percy looked as though he was about to call Lord Grey out. Sophy’s mother was trying to catch her daughter’s eye and call a halt to her dance with Grey. Dowagers were leaning into one another and whispering, the frowns evident on their faces.
And then, even as she watched that scene unfold, she was suddenly diverted. The marquis came up behind the young man she was dancing with and said to him in an amused voice, “Begone, lad.”