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.
I ring the bell at the address Aubrey gave me, which is the largest house I’ve ever seen in Paravel. It has white columns and huge front windows, a fountain in the front garden and a manicured lawn bordered by hedges and flowerbeds. The door is opened by a man in livery, and I’m ushered into the hall.
Aubrey comes bounding down the stairs, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “Wraye! I can call you just Wraye, can’t I? Let’s dispense with all that lady nonsense.”
I smile in relief. “Oh, yes, please.”
Aubrey throws her arms around me in a hug, and I can’t help but like her even more than I did last night. She takes me upstairs to her room, which is pretty and pink-and-white and so orderly that not even an earring on the dressing table is out of place. I wonder if she’d still be smiling at me if she saw where I’m living.
She tells me about her horse, Cinnamon, and opens the window onto the garden. We both lean out into the fresh air, and she points to a cluster of buildings just out of view. “I’m keeping her in an outbuilding, next to the garage, but I want to find a proper riding stable in town for her. Daddy doesn’t want me galloping all over the lawns.”
Aubrey turns and sits on the windowsill and smiles at me. “Do you ride?”
I step back, my stomach plummeting through the floor. There’s a buzzing in my ears. “I, uh…”
Suddenly, Aubrey gasps.