Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
From her accent, she sounds like she’s from Paravel. I suppose her family fled when Varga took power. “I don’t know anyone either, but I’m not foreign, just poor.”
“Well, we all were until about five minutes ago, weren’t we? Viva la révolution,” she says sardonically, toasting me with her cup of punch.
I look down at her dress, the vision of dreams and pink sugar that I was coveting at the dressmaker. “Would you be embarrassed if I told you your dress is making me absolutely sick with envy?”
She looks down at herself, blushing a little. “It’s very frothy, isn’t it? I lost my head at the dressmaker’s. I’ve never been to a ball, and Daddy said I should have whatever I wanted and that he liked me in pink, so…”
“You’re lucky he was so indulgent with you. Mama wanted me in the sorts of dresses she came out in.”
She looks down at my dress with a carefully blank expression. “Very…traditional.”
“It’s horrible. I’m Wraye, by the way.”
“Aubrey. Have you danced?”
“I’d rather not inflict this dress on anyone. I saw you dancing before. You looked like you were having a good time.”
Aubrey shrugs. “Men are all right, I prefer horses. When they stand on your toes, you’re allowed to swear at them and give them a good shove.”
I snort with laugher, and then remember to cover my mouth, like a lady should. “I’m wary of them.”
“Horses?”
“Men.”
“Don’t be. They may look grand now but remember that, until five weeks ago, all these people were working in the fields or factories. Or they were in prison.” She peers over the heads of the crowd. “Oh, there’s Daddy. I promised myself I wouldn’t leave him alone too long. He gets…funny.”
I try not to show my disappointment that she has to go already. “Well, it was lovely meeting you.”
She turns to me with a big smile. “Give me your number. We should have coffee.”
I recite it, and she writes my phone number on her dance card, squeezes my arm in farewell and then plunges into the crowd. I wonder if she’ll call. It would be nice to have a friend, especially one who feels as out of place here as I do.
Mama comes back a few minutes later, her eyes alight with success. “I just discovered that Duchess Balzac has an illegitimate niece. Did you dance, Wraye?”
“I wanted to, but nobody asked me. I made a friend, though. A girl about my age.”
“Did she tell you anything interesting about herself or anyone else?”
“She said she likes horses.”
Mama glances away with a dismissive press of her lips. We stand around for another hour, hoping someone will ask me to dance. I yawn conspicuously, and Mama grows more and more annoyed with me. Finally, she gives up, and we head home. We have to walk, because we don’t have a driver or a car.
“I’m sorry that it was a total failure,” I say to Mama, as we try to walk like our feet aren’t tired and blistered in our high heeled shoes. “Maybe we should sell these dresses and get our old jobs back.”
“You think that was our only chance? I have all sorts of plans for us.”
“Such as?”
“Never you mind. You just concentrate on meeting men at Court and making connections, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
I cringe in the dark, hating the idea of throwing myself at anyone and seeing the inevitable confusion, shock and disgust that someone like me thinks she can talk to someone like them. Despite what Aubrey said about no one in that room having any money or power until five weeks ago, it’s plain that everyone I saw at Court tonight belongs, and Mama and I only snuck in.
I wake in the morning to a text message. Rubbing my eyes sleepily, I smile to myself as I read it.
Hello! It was lovely to meet you last night. Are you free this afternoon for tea? Nothing formal. Please say you’ll come. Aubrey.
Sitting up in bed, I type, I would love to! Thank you so much for the invitation.
A minute later, Aubrey sends me a smiley face emoji and her address. Oh wow. Aubrey lives on the ultra-posh side of town, close to the palace. Her family must be loaded.
Downstairs, Mama is already dressed and heading out. “I’m calling on Mrs. Carling. She’s the sister-in-law of the head of the Treasury. Have a nice day, darling. Practice your curtsy. I noticed you wobbled last night.”
The door closes behind Mama, and I drop into an exaggerated curtsy. “I did not wobble,” I say to the closed door.
I read for most of the morning, and then shower and dress and leave the house at two. As usual, when I enter the exclusive part of the city, I tug at my skirt and pat down my hair, wondering if people around me know I’m only pretending to be a lady.