more than enough.” She tugged at one of the long white gloves she was wearing and grimaced. “I’m not accustomed to these. Must I wear them all evening?”
“Of course you must.” Amanda giggled again. “There’s also a language of the gloves. If you bite the tips that means, ‘I wish to be rid of you very soon.’ If you drop both of them, that means—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Evleen replied, laughing even harder. “Suffice to say, I’ll wear the silly things, but I won’t be speaking through my fan or my gloves.”
Amanda’s expression grew solemn. “Evleen, I...”
It seemed as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. Evleen asked, “What is it, Amanda?”
The girl started to blush. “I want more than anything to be just like you.”
Evleen was taken aback. “I?” she asked, pointing at herself. “I am not exactly your mother’s ideal of female perfection.”
“I don’t care what mother thinks. I admire you because you don’t simper. You’re strong and independent, and you think for yourself.” She sighed. “I would give anything to be like you.”
“Then be like me,” said Evleen.
“How?”
“Well, it’s very easy. You hold your head high, keep your shoulders back, and do what you think is right, not what other people want you to do.”
“I shall try.”
“Good. That’s all there is to it.”
Evleen was proud of herself for sounding so completely confident. Underneath, all she could hope for was that her insecurity didn’t show, not only to Amanda, but later tonight, to “all those people who count” at Lady Claremont’s ball. Would Lord Thomas be there? She should not be thinking about him, but, all the same, she was.
* * *
The ball was well underway when Evleen and the Trevlyns stepped into Lady Claremont’s ballroom. At first, Evleen felt overwhelmed. Never had she seen so many tiers of lighted candles flickering on crystal chandeliers, heard such stirring music, seen so many people so elegantly attired. In truth, “everybody who was anybody” was here, just as Lydia predicted. May I not commit any gaffes tonight, Evleen sternly resolved as she stood with the Trevlyns, near a row of chaperones. Her conduct would be so impeccable Lydia Trevlyn would find not one little thing to complain about. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about knowing the dances. In the ugly dress she was wearing, there was little chance any man would ask her to dance.
“Don’t forget your fan,” Amanda whispered from behind her own fan.
Evleen held her fan clutched to her side. She considered placing it in front of her mouth as Amanda had done, but it was just too silly. She left it where it was.
Montague appeared and gave them both a warm greeting. Evleen knew she shouldn’t ask but couldn’t resist. “And where is your brother tonight, Lord Eddington?”
“My brother has left for Tanglewood Hall, his estate near Abingdon.”
Her heart sank. She knew she should not be disappointed, but she was.
“You will have to make do with me,” said Montague with a supercilious smirk. “Would you care to dance?”
Not really. Not with this vain, overdressed fop, but what could she say? It was beyond her that he was actually Thomas’s brother, the two were so different in so many ways. But this was the night she must be flawlessly correct, no matter what. She gave him her most gracious smile. “I would be delighted.”
He led her onto the dance floor, but when the music began, she froze in dismay. A waltz! As her thoughts churned, Montague placed one hand on the back of her waist, while with the other, he held her arm straight out. He stepped forward to begin the dance, but she, not knowing which way to step, stood rigid, feeling at once both awkward and gauche. Panic swept through her as she looked around at all the graceful dancers floating by. No use. She would disgrace herself if she even made an attempt at the unfamiliar steps. Only one thing could she do, no matter how humiliating. “I... I am terribly sorry, Lord Eddington, but I don’t know how to waltz.”
“Would you care to try?” he asked. “I should wager one twirl around the floor and you’ll catch on.”
“I think not,” she replied, knowing it would take more than one of Montague’s twirls for her not to make a fool of herself. “Please, may we leave the floor?”
Montague appeared nonplused, but only for a moment. “Quite all right, Miss O’Fallon. I shall return you to your