Page 9 of A Scandalous Love for the Enticing Duke
They all broke into laughter at that, and Elizabeth placed a kiss on his forehead.
“I do love Benjamin so much. He is my son by heart, but you are my son by heart, and by blood. It is only to be expected that I feel a bit more attached to you.”
“Ahh. Nice way to put it. Much safer!”he exclaimed as he bobbed his head. “I would so hate to be killed in a fit of jealousy.”
They broke into laughter again, and when his mother wrapped her arms around him this time, he hugged her in return. After that discussion, he joined them for dinner but declined their invitation to spend the night. Someday, the house in which he had grown up would be his own. For now, he would rather enjoy the home he had built with his sweat and handiwork.
Chapter 5
“She does cause one to envy her. I become perplexed with wonder, when I consider how much she loves the glamour and the soiree.” Agnes murmured to her youngest sister, Eleanore, as they prepared for the first ball they would be attending that season. The person in question was Isabelle, her younger sister who always seemed to be able to gather so much excitement for balls. How? Agnes wondered, for she found them terribly exhausting, herself.
They arrived in London a couple of weeks earlier to adequately make plans for the commencement of the season. These preparations had mostly included shopping for more dresses and pestering Madam Rosette to push out ten lovely ball gowns for each daughter of the Duke of Cambridge, as if they did not already have enough in their wardrobes. Thankfully, most of the lectures about how to behave during the season had been skipped, for none of them were schoolgirls, freshly out of schoolrooms and debuting into the society. Eleanor, who was the youngest at her eighteen summers, had made her debut last year. For Isabelle, this was her fourth season, and as for Agnes, well, this was her seventh, having debuted at age eighteen.
A soft giggle rangout, and she turned to look at her baby sister whose hair was being done by maids too, in front of another vanity. They all had agreed to get dressed up for the ball in the same room and would continue to do so until the end of the season. To her left, Isabelle was having cosmetic applied to her face, her hair already in a clean knot at the base of her neck. Not that any of them needed so much fuss, they were all very beautiful.
“I believe Isabelle is just such a spirit, Agnes. She enjoys it all, because it is who she is. Just like Mother, only, with a kinder and softer heart,” Eleanor teased, and they all chuckled at this.
“Careful little sister. The walls have ears. Mother would not like to hear that, I am certain,” Isabelle warned, though it was no secret that none of them minded the servants.
Snorting, Agnes replied, “Mayhap, but it is not as though she can deny it. She glorifies in her iron will, relishes being called the tigress. She can scarcely get angry at Eleanor’s proclamation of what she is now, can she?”
Her middle sister seemed to consider this for a while, before replying, “Indeed. You are right. That, she cannot. Mother is not that bad, over all. She is just as you said, iron willed. Deep inside, I am certain she has a heart of gold. Otherwise, she never would have been able to get the attention of such a gentle soul as Father.” Isabelle sounded happy, obviously in high spirits like she always was. Many times, Agnes wished she had her sister’s spirit.
“He says they complement each other. I am sure he is the only one to have ever dug deep enough to find that gold,” she clipped in reply, not a fan of her mother, especially with recent developments. The both of them had butted heads so many times, that her opinion of their mother did not come as a surprise anymore.
“Oh now, you are just being cruel, Agnes. I insist, Mother isn’t so bad.”
“Of course not, Isabelle. She isn’t.” She turned to look at her figure in the mirror, so she would see if the pearl necklace that had just been placed on her neck, suited her.
“You are not the one being forced to marry a stranger, after all,” she added under her breath, aware that in truth she had no one to blame but herself for her dilemma. Or should she say, her heart...
The pearl necklace was lovely. This, she could not deny. It sat beautifully on her neck as though it had been made for her. Against her beautiful skin and her coral ball gown, it shone perfectly well. She took this time to admire her reflection. Agnes was not one to be vain, but she spoke the truth as she saw it. She was beautiful; she knew this. They all were, thanks to her Father’s handsomeness and her mother’s beauty. Tonight, she looked even more beautiful. A little cosmetic had been added to her face to enhance her features. Black ink lined her eyelids, bringing out the hazelnut colour of her eyes. As for her cheeks, they were stained with the softest blush, and she was grateful for this. At least, she would not have to pretend too hard, to be flattered when she met her betrothed later that night. Her lips shone with the brightest of crimson, so much that it reminded her of Rosanda whom Mother had taught them to refer to as the cheer giver, for she gave her woman gifts freely to any man who cared to sample and seldom wore clothes that left enough for imagination. She wondered if her mother would make the connection and decide if she was okay with it. If she was not, Agnes knew she was not likely to agree to have it cleaned off and replaced with a softer shade.
Rosanda or not, she loved the boldness of crimson. It represented who she was inside. Bold, outspoken, assertive, and courageous. All that was forbidden for women to be in this age and time, all of which the women of Birmingham household proudly were. A little voice whispered inside of her, calling her a coward and a liar, and she brushed it off.
That was another case entirely. That was a secret she could never share, one she would likely take to her grave.
“Will that be all?”she enquired, looking up at the maids whom she knew spoke everything to her mother. It did not make her feel angry at them. They were mere servants after all, and they were unlucky to be under the employ of Victoria Birmingham. The only ones whom she treated with the least civility were those whom she knew revelled in their jobs as her mother’s informants. The likes of Louis and Betty.
They nodded, as they secured her loose bun with one last pin and then stepped away. Instinctively, she released a breath she did not know she had been holding in. It did feel nice to be free from all the prying and prodding. She shifted her chair backwards and rose with grace, one of those things that came effortlessly after years of practice. One of the many perks for being the daughter of her mother.
She could now see her full length in the huge mirror before her. She took in herself, focusing on her hairdo and the gown she wore. Its cleavage was deep, but it was only normal as that was the style in fashion now. It did not do to think that the older one got without a husband, the deeper it went, until one became no different from Rosanda, the cheer giver.
Her waist looked even smaller, thanks to the corset whose strings had been tightly pulled and tied behind her. Her sleeves were short, blowing into puffs as lace trimmings and other frail decorations lined them, just as they did the hem of her gown. Her skirt was quite full with all the undergarments she wore beneath, and she wondered tirelesslyabout the need for so much clothing for a ball that would be packed with people struggling for air.
“Do you approve, My Lady?” She turned to the maid beside her and smiled.
“Yes, Leah. I especially love the hair. You did great work. Thank you.”
“We are glad that you are pleased, My Lady.” Leah and Rachel chorused, dipping into a low curtsy.
“You may go,” she dismissed, with a flicker of her hand. As soon as they stepped out of her chambers, her sisters too stood as they were done. They all looked elegant and lovely in their attire, and Agnes felt a sense of pride swell within her. She and her sisters were close-knitted and shared a love that was admired by many. It was no secret that they were closer to each other, even their father, more than they were to the woman who bore them.
“Spectacular! You all look exquisite, dear sisters! We are going to knock those gentlemen off their feet again, as always. The ladies shall be green with envy too, I declare!” Isabelle cried happily again, and they all laughed.
Soon, they were in a carriage, heading for Fortham Townhouse where the ball would be held. Agnes had her eyes out of the window, content to let the busy London streets distract her. Isabelle was in her usual chatty mood, and Eleanor had her head buried in a book she had managed to sneak into her reticule. Agnes did not wonder how she managed to see a thing, for she knew her sister knew those words by heart. It was her favourite book, after all. Once they stepped into the ballroom, Eleanore would make her escape into the library and find a new book to busy herself with. In the case that she did not find one which caught her interest, she would be quite content to read “The Memoirs of an Heiress” which she had read a thousand times, over.
Agnes too, had no love for balls. Mostly because she always had to meet and dance with various gentlemen, pretend to care for their tales and jokes, and fake a blush at their outrageous flattery. She had to pretend to be interested in being wooed, when her heart already belonged to another. A sad situation, she reckoned it was. Tonight, she was especially sad because her years of conceived freedom would be coming to an end. Tonight, she would meet Nicholas Stamford, and all would change.
