Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“I cannot compare to you,” she muttered, staring down at her hands.
“Must you measure yourself against me?”
“Everyone else does.” She swallowed and looked back up to me with tears in her eyes that she did not let fall. “And when it was your time, you were flawless. It’s all anyone could talk about. Even I remembered the sight of you and was astonished. I have practiced my walk and curtsy a thousand times, and still, it pales in comparison. How did you do it?”
To tell her I had put no effort in it at all and lacked any genuine care for the whole charade, or that I could not even remember much of it, would only crush her spirit.
“I believe all you must do is trust yourself and remain calm. It is but a few seconds,” I replied.
“Yes, of course. Why did I not think of it that way?” She huffed and looked out the window as we passed through the gates.
No further conversation was my best option to not aggravate her more. Instead, I studied my other sisters, Devana and Abena, who gaped out the side window in amazement at the fuss being made and those in attendance.
“Hathor, I do not think you should be worried. So far, all the other girls look as queer as Dick’s hatband,” Abena said.
“Abena!” Hathor gasped in horror at her language.
“Where on earth did you learn that?” I asked, trying not to giggle.
Abena shrugged and turned back to us. “I heard one of the maids say it.”
“Well, are you a maid? Never repeat it, especially in the company of others. It is beneath us as ladies and unseemly to hear,” Hathor declared, causing Abena to glare at her.
“So, what do you call someone who is ugly or not right-looking?” Abena shot back.
Hathor paused as she tried to think. “Plain?”
“People call Silva plain, but I do not think she is ugly,” Abena replied.
“Oh…will you stop thinking so much? Say nothing then. Why can you not be more like Devana? See how quiet she is.”
Abena crossed her arms. “You do not like being compared to Odite, so why do you compare me to Devana?”
“Will you—”
“Enough,” I said gently. “Hathor, you will become flushed, and your face will strain if you continue.”
She gasped, placing her hands on her face, pressing hard as if to stop any emotions from showing. A lady’s face on her debut must be serene and elegant but also innocent and enticing. It was a standard I thought impossible for anyone to meet, yet I was told I had. I could only assume the secret was to simply not care at all.
“We’ve stopped!” Devana’s low and soft voice exclaimed. She shifted from the window, allowing the footmen to open the door for us. When Abena began to move, I shook my head, holding her back.
“Hathor goes first,” I informed her and then looked to my sister. “It is your day. Mother says it is best to take a moment to stand alone before the carriage.”
She nodded, inhaled deeply, and stepped out with the help of a maid waiting to adjust her white gown while the three of us waited behind. Only when our mother arrived at her side did we step out ourselves.
I could not help myself. I searched through the sea of people and carriages before me. My actions must have been more obvious than I presumed, for my brother appeared beside me.
“Whom are you looking for?”
“No one,” I lied and faced him. “I was looking at all the gowns.”
His eyebrow rose. “They all look so similar.”
“Such is the eye of a man.” Silva giggled and took his arm. “One would wonder why we ladies try so hard.”
I believed it was for the eyes of the other women who judged us. For the ton, the faster all of us married, the better. It displeased me that beauty and family status were how a woman was ranked. But simply because I detested it did not mean I was ignorant of the fact that Abena was right. Hathor was far more beautiful than nearly every other lady here. There seemed to be a force, an air around our whole family as we entered the court. Some looks were curious, others awestricken, and a few jealous, but all made way for us. Oh, to be a Du Bell.
As I walked I was noticed more now than I had been on my own day.
It made me wish I possessed Plato’s Ring of Gyges as he described in Republic. The ring would afford me the power to become invisible at will. What talk would I truly hear then? What secrets would I uncover? Although Plato would argue that I was not honorable by choosing to use the ring and, therefore, nearly as bad as any evildoer I might discover.