cover her ears. Hot with embarrassment, she swished her fan before her face, praying for a gentleman to rescue her.
No one did. She sat, her chest tight with distress, watching the dance until its conclusion, and then the couples promenading from the floor.
Two debutantes sashayed past Jo. They glanced at her and giggled behind their fans. Their dresses of white muslin embroidered with tiny flowers and trimmed with ribbons, were exactly like the illustration Jo found. Jo wistfully admired them. They were like dainty blossoms, from their elegant heads to their satin slippers.
She placed a hand over the saucer-shaped green silk camellia above her navel. She dropped her gaze, unsure where to look, fearing everyone in the ballroom laughed at her. How totally lacking in style, she was. How could she be so gauche? So foolish?
She sat out the country dance, which seemed interminable. During the break, two women walked past her, casting her curious glances.
“Who is she?” the lady in puce asked the woman beside her.
“No idea. They come from far and wide to the Rivenstocks’ balls and pay for the privilege,” the other lady said.
So, it was true! Mrs. Millet had paid the Rivenstocks to invite them!
As the women strolled away, Jo heard the lady in puce ask her friend, “Where on earth did she get that dress?” Jo sat rigid in her seat, fearing her father overheard. Fortunately, he was now talking about his shop.
When she couldn’t bear it another minute, Jo excused herself and went in search of the ladies’ retiring room. She hurried inside, relieved to find no attendant and no one behind the screen provided for a lady’s modesty.
Jo flopped down onto the settee, but a moment later, the door opened, and a young lady in rose-pink brocade entered, her dark brown hair styled elegantly to display a long, graceful neck. Diamonds sparkled in her ears and adorned her throat and wrist.
Crushed, Jo rose to tidy herself before the mirror. She frowned at her image. Her heavy dark red locks defied any attempt to tame them and were escaping the pins, the arrangement in imminent danger of collapse.
The lady smiled at Jo’s reflection. “Your first ball?”
Jo sighed. “Is it so obvious?”
Her smile widened. “Mrs. Letitia Cartwright. How do you do?”
“Miss Joanna Dalrymple, and not very well, I’m afraid. My hair is beyond help, and I hate my dress. I should ask my father to take me home.” She gathered up her shawl and reticule from a chair and turned to leave the room.
Letitia put a hand on her arm. “Please stay a moment. Might we talk? I gather you are new to London?”
Jo feared another snub. “Yes, we arrived a week ago from Wiltshire.”
“It takes a while to accustom oneself to how we do things here. It’s all a mystery at first, especially the rules and dictums of Society. I found it challenging myself at first.”
Jo raised her eyebrows. “You did?” She could not believe this elegant lady could suffer such humiliation.
“I came from Cumbria. My first Season in London was awkward and then…well, most unusual. But that’s a story for another time.”
Letitia didn’t seem much older than Jo herself. “Did you meet your husband during the Season?”
Laughter warmed her brown eyes. “I did, yes.”
“I shan’t be so fortunate. Not tonight, at least.” Jo pulled a face and turned away from her image. “My dress is all wrong, Mrs. Cartwright.”
“Please call me Letty.”
“Letty. I’m Jo,” she said shyly.
“I had a similar experience, Jo. In fact, it was that which drew me to you.”
“Oh?” Jo studied Letty’s beautiful ballgown in disbelief.
“My aunt had antiquated ideas about dress. You are far more fortunate than I was. My gown featured a large double ruffle around the neck, which one might find on a lizard.”
“Oh, no!” Jo giggled.
Letty grinned. “The style of your gown is fashionable, but the flowers detract from the overall picture, don’t you think?”
“I wanted rosebuds,” Jo admitted.
She nodded sympathetically. “Let me see what I can do.” She studied the gown, from the largest flower on the skirt to the smallest decorating the short sleeves, and those rioting around the bottom.
Her face burning, Jo stood in silence while Letty considered it. How mortifying. She would love to go home, but how could she disappoint her father and Aunt Mary? It was insupportable.
“We can improve it,” Letty said finally.
“How?” Jo couldn’t help being hopeful. Letty seemed confident.
“With these.” Letty opened her reticule and took out a pair of scissors. “Let’s remove some of those flowers.”
“Oh… do