Meanwhile, Mrs Gedge was reaching forward to take a tendril of Faith’s golden hair. “You were blessed, child,” she murmured. “Blessed like few others of your squalid upbringing. I wish you to turn expectation on its head. That’s what I wish for you tonight.”
“And…who am I to play?”
The question lingered in the damp air, clearly a source of amusement to Mrs Gedge.
“Who are you to play?” Mrs Gedge laughed softly and turned to Lady Vernon. “Who is this shy beauty, Lady Vernon? Show me how well you know your part.”
Lady Vernon inclined her head and intoned in a dry, unemotional voice, “I’d like to introduce my impoverished goddaughter rescued from an untenable situation in the north of the country. Well connected by birth but penniless.” She looked at Faith almost with dislike. “A penniless beauty.”
Faith ran her hands down the princess-line gown and glanced again at her reflection. She had to admit that there was an elegant simplicity to the unadorned cream silk. A tiny row of pink bows down the front of her gown and one large pink bow at the back of the swathed bustle would make her stand out from the crowd, she knew. A simple cross on a chain at her throat completed the ensemble.
It was the society event Faith had imagined but certainly not the grand debut.
She and Lady Vernon stood out for the very fact that they stepped across the threshold into the dazzling ballroom and richly garbed crowd as, clearly, the poor relations.
“Welcome, Lady Vernon. And who is the young lady?”
Their hostess for the evening, Lady Griffin, seemed pleasant and welcoming. Even sympathetic when Lady Vernon explained she was taking her goddaughter to a few places during her first visit to the metropolis.
“I agreed to sponsor the girl to the extent my limited resources will allow.” Lady Vernon sighed as if Faith were the greatest cross to bear. But then Lady Vernon seemed to regard any effort on her part as an imposition. “She’s the eldest of ten.” She sniffed. “Daughters, mainly, so I’m doing what I can for the family. If Faith is not successful in the few weeks she has in the metropolis, I’ll be sending her to Yorkshire where she’s to take up a post as governess.” She sniffed again. “It does seem a shame to see her wasted. Such a biddable girl, too.” Her brow creased as she added, almost in wonder, “Not the slightest bit vain. She’d suit a young clerk with prospects, perhaps.” Lady Vernon smiled hopefully at her hostess.
On the other side of the room, Crispin Westaway was trying hard to attend to his aunt, who was waxing lyrical on the play she’d attended the previous night. However, his gaze kept straying to the unusual pair speaking to their hostess beneath the Goya painting. He’d barely been able to believe his eyes when they’d alighted on the vision from the restaurant the night before.
Now he couldn’t wait for an opportunity to address her in person.
“The Prince of Wales is causing his poor mother headaches again,” he heard his aunt confide in her nasal manner to her friend, Lady Braxsted. “Have you heard, Crispin? What a trial one’s children can be.”
Crispin didn’t care what the Prince of Wales was up to, but he was happy to corroborate his aunt, Lady Pymble’s mild outrage at the latest scandal while his gaze drifted to the humpbacked dowager in the far corner who seemed to be shielding her charge.
The girl’s hair was like a halo of sensuous golden light, cascading down her back in fashionable ringlets, her small fringe highlighting her elfin face. He’d never seen anyone so lovely, and his fingers itched to grasp his paintbrush. It would be a challenge to capture the wistful half smile the girl directed at the woman when her companion made some remark.
“Excuse me, who is that young woman over there?” he interrupted, causing his gossiping aunt and her friend to stop midsentence and look at him in surprise. They squinted in the direction in which he pointed and shook their heads.
“Never seen her in my life,” Lady Braxted said, “though it looks like Lady Vernon is sponsoring her tonight.” She gave a snide laugh. “Probably did it for money.”
Crispin narrowed his eyes. “Money? It doesn’t look like the girl is blessed with a family who can expend much on the outward adornments.”
His aunt made a tutting noise. “What a thing to say, Crispin. Most young men would not make observations about the plainness of her dress. They’d have eyes only for the beauty of the young woman. I have to say, she is rather exceptional. Shall I make some investigations on your behalf?” She sent Crispin a sly look.
He nodded. “I would appreciate that, Aunt.”
His aunt looked on the point of happily announcing some scheme to facilitate Crispin’s wishes, for she was a woman who adored schemes and plots, before she was nearly knocked over by an enthusiastic young lady cutting a swathe through the crowd.
“I am so sorry!” came the mortified, immediately identifiable mid-Atlantic tones of the young lady who’d inadvertently bumped into Lady Pymble. “I really have no idea how to behave, do I?” She put her hand to her mouth as she hiccupped. “Off the boat from New York last week and unleashed this evening for my first London soiree, and already I’m scandalising my English relatives. I’m Miss Amy Eaves, by the way. Pleased to meet you!”
Crispin smiled inwardly as he witnessed the aversion his aunt had in taking the hand thrust into her face. He wondered if she’d go so far as to tell Miss Eaves that young ladies did not introduce themselves in such a manner in this country.
To his surprise, she merely said, “You clearly have much to learn about English ways, Miss Eaves, but I daresay one has to start somewhere. I’m Lady Pymble, and this is my nephew, Mr Westaway.”
“Oh, my! Lady Pymble, is it? My apologies again.” Now Miss Eaves was curtseying. Crispin didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or amused. He chose the latter.
“Welcome to London, Miss Eaves. And what are your plans while you are in our fair city?” Miss Eaves was not a beauty in any conventional sense, but there was an enthusiasm about her that set her apart from the coy, well-mannered debutantes of his acquaintance.
Miss Eaves replied with unsurprising directness, “Well, my father wants a title. That is, he wants me to snare one since he’s got everything else. Including the world’s biggest yacht which he’s sailing around the world.”
“Indeed.” Lady Pymble seemed not to know what to say.
Miss Eaves rubbed her little snub nose and frowned. “So, why are you a lady and your nephew is only a Mr?”