Page 45 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“Thank you,” Anastasia said softly. She fetched her shawl from the chair—a white silk one—and then she went slowly downstairs.
“Anastasia!” her sister called out. She was running downstairs, her white muslin gown streaming out around her. Her face was lit with a smile that was brighter than the little beads that were sewn onto her gown and which glittered as she moved. It was more of a ballgown than a gown for a soiree, but she was only sixteen and nobody would mind if it was a trifle elaborate. Lily’s honey-colored curls were framing her face, decorated with a white band and little white beads.
“You look beautiful,” Anastasia told her, reaching out her hands to take Lily’s. They did not wear white gloves, as for a ball, since they would both be performing later.
“You, too, Anny! I’m so excited I fear I will explode!”
Anastasia giggled. “I do hope not.”
“Me, too!”
They were both smiling as they walked down the stairs to the entrance. Mama was already there, her long gown a rich dark blue. Her graying honey-brown hair was arranged in ringlets and partially covered with a lace cap.
“Daughters!” she exclaimed. “You look grand.”
Anastasia smiled and took her mother’s hand fondly. Papa was already in the ballroom, no doubt—he did not enjoy the musical evening, yet he had never disagreed to host it, mostlybecause of the prestige of hosting it.
“Shall we go in?” Mama asked, sounding worried. “The guests will soon start arriving. I believe it is all in order.”
“It is going to be grand, Mama,” Anastasia insisted gently. “It always is.”
Mama smiled and they went into the ballroom together.
“Lord and Lady Ashford, and their son, Lord Matthew.”
Anastasia grinned. The first guests included a young man, which she thought was bound to please Lily. She glanced sideways at her sister, who stood at the door with them to welcome the guests, smiling as she saw her round eyes focus on the young lord.
“So glad you could attend,” Mama murmured as the guests entered the room.
“We would never miss the musicale. Would we?” Lady Ashford asked her son.
“No, Mama,” he murmured, his gaze moving shyly to the floor. He could not have been much older than Lily. She grinned as she watched the two gaze at each other and then looked shyly away, both reddening intensely.
The newly arrived guests went to stand in the ballroom, where some refreshments were laid out. Professional musicians played soft music while the guests stood about chatting politely or sampling the lemonade or small delicacies on offer.
More guests began to arrive, some of whom were ladies Anastasia knew and were part of her circle of acquaintances. Many attended yearly. She gazed through the door but could not yet see Camilla.
She arrived a few minutes later, and Anastasia grinned, delight at seeing her lifting her mood, which had been a little quiet.
“My dear friend!” Camilla exclaimed. “Why! How lovely you look. The perfect colour for you.” She gazed at the ribbon and Anastasia flushed. Camilla grinned.
“It’s grand to see you,” she told her friend. Camilla wore a white gown with blue lavender sprigs patterning the muslin. They had already decided that they would both wear something blue, that they might match a little better for the performance. A sweet smile brightened Camilla’s face.
“And you. I hope you will join me soon,” she added, tilting her head in the direction of the ballroom as she and her party moved towards the steps.
“Me, too,” she agreed.
The rush of guests eventually became a trickle, and then the butler was closing the big doors, indicating that there were no more guests to arrive. Anastasia’s stomach lurched. Soon they would perform.
She found herself standing nervously on the floor of the ballroom, the chandeliers brightly lit above them, conversing with Camilla. She could hear Lily giggling and knew that hersister had found some friends. She smiled to herself, trying to focus on what Camilla said. She could feel her stomach clenching with nerves, and she attempted to distract herself from the impending appearance. She could not make herself ignore it for long, and sweat pricked down her spine, her fingers knotting through each other nervously if she did not make her hands stay at the sides.
“Should we go to perform near the beginning?” Camilla asked. Ladies would elect for themselves when they went up, and Camilla always said it was best to be one of the first five. People tended to stop listening after that, waking up again somewhere near the end. She also agreed that going first was not comfortable at all. Anastasia giggled.
“If you like,” she agreed, her stomach twisting queasily at the thought.
“First five,” Camilla replied, repeating her rule. “Ideally number three.”
Anastasia nodded, knowing they would be performing third, as her friend elected.
