Flirtation & Folly

by Elizabeth Rasche

  In reality, the mad crush did not signal approval. Marianne had committed to the theme of her ball with a whole heart, but her very fervour made some ill at ease. Marianne had considered a multitude of themes, ranging from an underwater ball (too complicated, according to Aunt Harriet) to a ball requiring play-acting of highway robberies, with hired actors and real carriages positioned indoors. Aunt Harriet had determined against that on grounds of cost and (in her opinion) ridiculousness. Marianne settled for a theme rather overplayed: a fairyland, with herself as Queen of the Fairies. The orchestra bleated out a mix of tunes that sounded eldritch enough, but dancers struggled to time any known figure to it.

  Marianne envisioned the Queen of the Fairies to be beautiful, witty, whimsical, regal, and a little dangerous—and that was how she saw herself. Seeing as London had boasted so many fairylands over the years, she had to do something inventive to keep the theme fresh and make her ball the talk of the ton. For Marianne, this meant not just biscuits and little cakes in the shapes of gnomes and a generous loop of gauze over the entryway. It meant elaborate sculptures of treats in the supper room: dove-shaped marzipan, lakes of jam surrounded by glistening sugar sands, and a castle made of pastry and white almond paste, too well bolstered with wax and glue to make good eating, but garnished with enough orange icing and spun sugar battlements to make it appear delightful.

  It meant an array of little statues and larger stuffed beasts of various animals: deer, foxes, robins, tigers, tropical birds, and beavers all bowing in homage to the Queen. There was even a plaster elephant head hung in one of the windows from the outside, as if the beast was looking in to pay his respects on his way back to India. The prim streamers of gauze that normally draped over the entryway had been loosened, lengthened, and thrown wildly from pillar to pillar and along the walls, making a fearful zigzag throughout the ballroom. And of course, Marianne had spared nothing in her garb as the fairyland Queen, hoping to inspire an agony of envy in every female guest.

  An ivory satin slip hugged her figure, while an over-dress of pale blue spider-gauze floated around her. Silver embroidery looped and swirled over the gauze. The long white kid gloves were merely de rigueur for balls, and Marianne’s dainty shoes did not attract much attention, but the queenly tiara demanded respect. It made her plain tresses—which, thankfully, were growing back with new vigour after Aunt Cartwright’s advice—appear ethereal.

  Best of all was Marianne’s fan. Belinda’s gift had been transformed, as befitting a fairy queen, with a painting of the same castle the confectioners had erected in the supper room. Marianne’s vision had been miraculously embodied, down to its last detail.

  The chatter and ceaseless motion of the guests disguised any ill feeling they might have had for the beginning of the ball. Marianne was too distracted greeting new arrivals and making sure everything was in place to notice any particular reactions. But once she had time for more than the passing ‘how do you do,’ she pounced upon Captain Pulteney.

  “Well, Captain Pulteney? Will it do?”

  “The ball, you mean? Why, it is very original, Miss Mowbrey.” He attempted to sidle off in the direction of those ladies hoping to dance, but Marianne positioned herself a little closer.

  “What did you think of all the animals? And the castle in the supper room?”

  He smiled, but it was a well-worn smile of politeness. “Quite entertaining, Miss Mowbrey. Now, I have promised the next to Miss Emily, so—ˮ

  “Oh, I shall go with you. I long to hear what Miss Emily thinks.” She accompanied him to a group of ladies, who were corralled by the press of dancers and passers-by into a huddle underneath wide, drooping loops of gauze hanging from the pillar next to them. It made them look as if they were caught by a lazy giant spider. “Miss Emily!” Marianne hugged her. Although Miss Emily looked surprised at her demonstrativeness, she permitted the liberty good-naturedly. “Do wait a moment before you go off dancing, and tell me what you think of it all! Did it not turn out well?”

  “All the draperies were an unfortunate notion,” Miss Emily said, glancing up at the mass of circling gauze overhead. She had not been pleased that Marianne had changed the plans they had made together but, surprisingly, she had not seemed offended either. Marianne imagined Miss Emily had simply exchanged the pleasure of being in control for the pleasure of demonstrating her superiority over others.

  Marianne laughed. “Your design would have been much more symmetrical, but I found I had to have my own way. Captain Pulteney, I am sure you understand the gauze?”

  He looked puzzled. “Understand it?”

  “It is spells, Captain!” Marianne could not wait for him to guess. “See how they go left and right and up and down, as if they were bouncing off the walls, or encircling the guests? They are spells cast by fairies!”

  “Oh, of course,” he said pleasantly. “Are you ready, Miss Emily?” Miss Emily took his arm, and they strolled over to take their place in the dance.

  Marianne had no time to regret their passing, for she was accosted by Mrs Walters, who again displayed a generous expanse of bosom and a good part of her white shoulders. She fanned herself erratically as she spoke.

  “How pleased you must be, Miss Mowbrey! What a crush!” The fan worked back and forth, reminding Marianne to use her own and display its enchanted castle. “Belinda will be so sorry when she hears what she has missed. I cannot imagine what came over her. She has not been ill a day since I have known her, and all of a sudden she nearly collapsed! A headache, and pains in her stomach, and goodness knows what else. She took to her rooms and could not move a muscle.”

  The description sounded too muddled to appear serious, but Marianne pretended to think it so. “How dreadful! I must come and visit her, if she is not feeling better tomorrow.” She tried not to feel guilty that Belinda was sitting in her room playing sick rather than spinning in a glamorous ballroom. Sitting at home with no attention was the strictest martyrdom Belinda Mowbrey could endure. It really is unfair, to insist she not come so that I do not feel threatened by her beauty.

  “Yes, do visit, my dear. You can tell her all about your dress, and the dances, and how nice everything is. So many pretty things! Only, some poor woman spilled spangles all over the tables in the supper room. I cannot imagine how anyone could have managed it—she must have fairly had her dress ripped off her—ˮ

  “Oh, no, Mrs Walters. The spangles are scattered there on purpose. It means magic. Sparkles and glittering things, spells and all.” Marianne could not help feeling a little disappointed that Mrs Walters had not guessed.

  “Oh, I see. How charming.” Mrs Walters attempted a smile but only succeeded in looking vaguely disconcerted. Marianne reminded herself that her ball was not about impressing society women like Mrs Walters. It is not even about impressing a potential suitor anymore. It is about—well, showing my real self. Except hiding her sister did not match with any notion of authenticity. Perhaps she could hint to Mrs Walters that she expected her sister felt better, send Belinda a carefully worded message, somehow contrive— What am I thinking? The truth is best, however humiliating in the moment.

  “Mrs Walters, I have a confession to make.ˮ Marianne took a deep breath. “I asked Belinda to pretend to be ill so that I would not have to compete with her during my ball. But that is wrong. Would you be willing to go and fetch her in your carriage? I am sure she would very much like to come, if—ˮ Shame gutted her. “—if she thought she was welcome.”

  “My goodness.” Mrs Walters blinked, her eyes wide. “You are very forthright today, Miss Mowbrey. I suppose I could just check on the poor girl…ˮ

  “Please tell her what I have said. You will find that I am right.” Marianne’s conscience eased a little at her decision, although she could not suppress a twinge of satisfaction that it would take some time for her sister to arrive at the ball. I will have a little time without her, and she will have a grand late entrance. It will do.

  She watched a bevy of ladies approach
the menagerie of bowing animals. Two gentlemen trailed them, and they all grouped together to examine the stuffed beaver. One of the ladies held her fan up to her nose, as if to block an unpleasant smell—no, with a slight adjustment of angle Marianne could see she was giggling behind her fan. The taller gentleman gave the plaster elephant head a shove, feeling its weight and murmuring something, and then the group all started laughing. One of the younger women threw a glance in Marianne’s direction and looked apologetic. That sweet, hesitant effort at repentance revealed it all. They were not laughing with Marianne in her fantasy world. They were laughing at her.

  Now that she had seen it once, it was easy to spy all around her. Two elderly women were chatting about the ‘mess’ in the supper room. A young man was tossing items dropped by heedless guests—a fan, a watch-seal, a handkerchief—up into the gauze hanging above his head. His friends guffawed when he succeeded in netting them with his tosses, and groaned in sympathy when they clattered to the floor. Lady Angela declared the whole ball ‘a hideous mishmash’ to everyone she came in contact with, barely trying to hide the words in an undertone despite Marianne’s proximity. Sir William defended her with good intentions, but in a way that pained Marianne further. “We must allow for youthful spirits. She will settle down and give balls splendidly in time.”

  Marianne could not pretend that the disapproval did not affect her, but she found the stings easier to brush off than she had supposed possible. Well, I think it is lovely. The thrown watch-seal, now embedded in a loop of gauze above, even added a realistic glitter to the spell. Perhaps she could find someone of like mind to enjoy it.

  Aunt Harriet was drinking ratafia near one of the windows, and Marianne headed in her direction. But her aunt’s turban bore a wide, orange feather that crouched round over its top, like a tiger ready to pounce, and her aunt was tugging at the feather with a distasteful glower. It had been Marianne’s choice, and Aunt Harriet had grudgingly agreed to wear it. Her fingers were a signal the grudge had not dissipated yet, and Marianne veered off to find someone more likely to sympathise.

  “Oh, Marianne, do tell the orchestra to play something reasonable now,” Miss Emily begged, coming off the dance floor with the captain. “That odd stuff is impossible to dance to.”

  “It is a bit heavy going,” Captain Pulteney said with a rueful smile. If he was willing to admit that much to Marianne’s face, Marianne wondered what he had said with Miss Emily on the dance floor.

  “But—ˮ

  “I have not seen your sister all night.” The captain did not swivel his head the way Mr Lowes did, but he did gracefully turn and insert moments of conversation as he looked for Belinda.

  “She was unwell and could not come at first—ˮ As much as Marianne had dreaded that her sister would suddenly appear at the ball, like an uninvited dark sorceress ready to spoil the Queen’s gala, now Belinda was the least of her worries.

  “Ill!” Captain Pulteney’s eyes widened. “What dreadful news! I must call on her and offer my assistance—ˮ

  “You are not a physician, Captain,” Miss Emily said, tapping her side with her fan. “I am sure Miss Belinda will be perfectly well without any gentlemen pounding on her door.”

  “She is better, I am sure, and Mrs Walters has gone to fetch her,” Marianne said. The captain made noises of relief.

  “Oh, Marianne, it’s Lady Lucy!” Miss Emily suddenly clutched at Marianne’s hand. “She actually came!”

  “Who?” Marianne scanned the crowd.

  “Lady Sweetser’s daughter! Of course your aunt invited the Sweetsers, but no one expected them to actually come. This is such a small affair compared to what they are used to. Small socially, I mean, not the number of guests,” she added, as if that would console Marianne.

  “I did not know Lady Sweetser had a daughter. You never mentioned her.”

  “Because Lady Sweetser is divine, and her daughter is nothing in herself. She is an insipid creature, and nobody pays her any attention when her mama is around.” Miss Emily laughed. “I am friends with her, of course, so I shall introduce you. What a coup for your ball, Miss Mowbrey!”

  “She is a lovely young lady,” Captain Pulteney said, but for once no one heeded him.

  The young woman who approached was younger than Belinda, probably eighteen or nineteen, and although her posture was correct and her steps light and airy, she looked vaguely self-effacing, as if she was both surprised to find herself there and apologetic for it. Her hair was a washed-out shade of brown, and her eyes were like great grey orbs of solid use but little display, like plain silver platters, blank and shining. She gave a demure curtsey, and Emily made rapid introductions.

  “But where is your sister, Miss Stokes?” Lady Lucy asked. Her voice gave the impression of a tiny bird—sweet, but tremulous and delicate.

  “There is a card party at the Wilkes-Suttons’s, and of course Augusta wanted to be there,” Miss Emily said. Marianne felt a mild disappointment; she had assumed Miss Stokes was present somewhere among the whirl of dancers, but apparently she had not bothered to come at all. Perhaps she is more in love with Mr Wilkes-Sutton than I thought. The idea gave her some comfort.

  “What a pity,” Lady Lucy said. It was like a dove making a coo of sympathy. Marianne was beginning to agree that Lady Lucy was a bit insipid. “Why, Miss Mowbrey, everything here is so delightful! Did you really think of all of this yourself?” The girl’s beaming smile seemed to bear genuine appreciation, and Marianne blessed whatever had sent her.

  She is not insipid after all, I suppose. “I had some help.” She glanced at Miss Emily, whose lips pressed together in a warning fashion, and decided she did not want to be acknowledged as having any hand in the affair. Truly, most of Miss Emily’s efforts had been at reining in Marianne’s forays into make-believe, so perhaps it was irrelevant. “Do you really like it?”

  “Oh, it is heavenly! I shall not sleep at all tonight. I am afraid I will wake up under the hill with the elves.” Lady Lucy’s giggle still sounded a little empty and silly, but Marianne welcomed the laughter with relief. For once, she could join in with the giggles and trust they meant no harm. Marianne was a little sorry when Captain Pulteney carried the girl off to dance, even though Miss Emily took Marianne’s arm and began to stroll with her, just as they had at Sir William’s ball.

  But Marianne felt far from the same pride. She knew Miss Emily’s friendship for what it was now, and she knew none of it had anything to do with the real Marianne. For once, the pain chiselled too deep for tears. She felt herself growing stony and brittle like the stark church walls in the fog.

  “You must not mind this ball too much, Marianne,” Miss Emily said, patting her arm amiably. “You will do much better the next time. Everyone says so.”

  “There will not be a next time.”

  “Of course there will. Your aunt can afford to give a ball like this twenty times over, I daresay.” Miss Emily pulled Marianne aside to make way for a couple headed to the dance floor, and Marianne’s body stiffly obeyed. “If she is cross, just wait a few weeks. At worst, you can give one next Season.”

  “But I have told you fifty times that I am only here for this Season, Emily.” As inured to suffering as she had thought herself, Marianne found annoyance tinging her tone anyway.

  “Oh, please, Marianne. I daresay your aunt says that to keep you in your place, but of course you will be back again, even if you go home for a time. You are Harriet Adams’s heir. She is not likely to lose sight of you for long, now that she has chosen you.”

  Marianne broke away from her friend and stared at her. “Her heir? I am not her heir.”

  “No? But she asked you here especially. And she is not getting any younger.” Miss Emily seemed to have talked herself back into the idea, and her voice grew in confidence. “Who else does she have to leave it all to?”

  “You mean aside from my parents, and Aunt Cartwright, and all my brothers and sisters?” Marianne asked, acid in her tone.

&
nbsp; “She does not even know your brothers and sisters, except for Belinda, and anybody can see she hates her. And Mrs Cartwright does not need the money.” Miss Emily paused, as if something in Marianne’s surprised tone was finally sinking in as genuine. “She really hasn’t said anything to you about it? No hints?”

  “Quite the opposite. She has always impressed me with the idea that we can’t expect handouts and should learn to mind one’s pennies, and all that.” Marianne had the presence of mind to begin strolling again, as if their conversation was leisurely, but she did not take Miss Emily’s arm. “Indeed, I would not be surprised if she left her money out of the family altogether. Aunt Cartwright says my aunt is very fond of her companion, Miss Westcott, and there are a dozen worthy charities to give to besides.”

  “Indeed,” Miss Emily said. She walked alongside Marianne in silence, her manner thoughtful, making no effort to retake her friend’s arm.

  Marianne sensed the change in her. She had no right to take offence, given that she was equally unwilling to parade as bosom friends, but Marianne resented it anyway.

  Miss Emily’s silence continued for a full lap around the ballroom. When she finally spoke again, her tone had returned to its light, casual notes. “So this really is the last we will see of you, then.”