Page 12 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
She could not let herself yearn for it again. It would not do. She needed to think of Longbourn. The house did not need her making a fool of herself at another derby.
It was time to go to the ball. Valeraine went to her wardrobe, searching for her gown. Then, there was a great and terrible discovery: her cream gown, the new one with the beautiful lace, was not hanging there.
There could be no doubt. There was no other possibility.
Selaide had stolen the gown, the one that she had expressly forbidden Selaide to take.
Valeraine was going to kill Selaide. She would go to the ball naked, rip the dress off of Selaide’s festering frame, and wrestle her into submission.
So. What was Valeraine going to wear now?
She had other gowns, of course. She had worn the most fashionable of them for the last two years, and before that it had been worn by Alyce for a year. Once, it had been a tasteful orange, bright and stylish. Now, it was a faded light brown. There was a small stain on the hem that the laundress hadn’t been able to get out, but was hardly noticeable. It was a dress that was suited for a small party, or a luncheon. It was nota gown fit for a daughter of a dragon house at a derby ball. Mamma had been fair to commission a new gown for Valeraine.
She could go and steal one of Selaide’s gowns. But it wouldn’t do. Selaide was both slimmer and shorter than Valeraine. Selaide likely looked a fool right now, the gown too big for her, baggy and dragging on the floor.
Valeraine put on the old orange dress, her anger rising again. After all she had done for their household today, Selaide repaid her with this?
Or, after all she had attempted to do for Longbourn today. She hadn’t exactly accomplished much.
The Longbourn family had taken the carriage to Netherfield. Valeraine took a horse, riding sidesaddle proficiently the three miles to the manor.
Netherfield house looked even grander now at night. Light spilled from most of the windows, along with the sound of chatter, laughter, and music. Some of the guests milled in the gardens, admiring the paths and the flowers.
Valeraine entered the house, blending in with the other milling guests. The ballroom was easily found from the noise. The room was grand, with musicians playing a reel on a small dais on the side. There was a table full of food, and kegs of ale and wine. Many couples danced, and many more talked on the edges of the room, standing and sitting down in dining chairs at small tables. Candles glimmered overhead in chandeliers, caressed by the summer breeze wafting through the open windows.
Valeraine’s eyes roved for one girl only.
Selaide was dancing. She was marvelous, dazzling, beautiful, the life of the party, the great betrayer. The dress fit like it was made for her. Her dance partner was a handsome man Valeraine didn’t recognize (likely from one of the visiting dragoneerentourages). The song ended and Selaide went to sit down next to Alyce and Merna, clustered at a small table with snacks.
The ride to Netherfield had given Valeraine some time to reflect, and now her rage was baked coals instead of a roaring fire. She would have to choose her words carefully. She was surrounded by the neighborhood, and by visiting dragon houses. She approached her sisters and stood by them. There was not an available chair.
Selaide took the first word. “Val! I thought you were staying home. Because of your headache. That’s what I told our lovely hosts, the Nethenabbis.”
How dare Selaide take the liberty of making an excuse for her. It was a good lie, useful and plausible. Valeraine decided she would be angry about that, too. She had come all this way to the ball for nothing, when no-one would have suspected her of more than a headache. If Selaide had told her of this ruse earlier, she could have stayed home. Selaide hadn’t made the excuse to help Valeraine, she had done it to remove Valeraine from the ball.
“I felt much recovered,” Valeraine said. Her smile was a wolf’s, predatory and threatening. “That gown fits you so well, Selaide. When did you alter it?”
Selaide’s large eyes showed her wariness, realizing the depth of Valeraine’s anger. She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes in pure craftiness. “It took me a few days. It’s perfect now for dancing and displaying my figure.” With that, Selaide stood and glided toward the dance floor, looking to catch a man’s eye. Retreating from Valeraine’s fiery stare.
Valeraine took her vacated chair.
Alyce gave a conciliatory smile, delicate on her small lips. “Selaide will have done the alterations so they can be reset, without damaging the gown. She will even fix it for you, I’m sure. If you bully her a little.”
“I plan to bully her more than a little,” Valeraine grumbled.
“Have compassion. She didn’t know you were coming to the ball. It was a shock to all of us. I’m sure if she knew that you wished to wear the gown then she would not have pilfered it.”
“Do not defend her, Alyce,” Merna interjected. “She is clever enough to predict Valeraine’s anger, and deserves what is coming to her. She’s obviously been planning this for days.”
“I shall never forgive her,” Valeraine declared.
“You can’t mean that,” protested Alyce.
“Of course she doesn’t,” Merna said. “Valeraine will forgive Selaide in a decade, once she has performed one hundred and one good turns — at least ten of which are impossible tasks.”
Valeraine was satisfied with Merna’s description. She might begin to start contemplating about forgiving Selaide if she returned the gown, repaired. She might consider forgiving Selaide if she groveled and begged for compassion. If Selaide reformed and became a nun of incredible charity and honesty, Valeraine would give serious credence to the idea of forgiving her. Not before.
Now, Valeraine was here at the ball. She had confronted Selaide, and found absolutely no satisfaction in it. Her sister was still a snake, and she was still without her beautiful gown. She supposed she would have to make the most of the party. The idea of turning back to Longbourn was tempting.
