Page 38 of Saving Miss Pratt
“You’ll be the most sought-after lady there, miss.”
She lifted the edge of her gown, revealing a dainty foot under the hem. “I do hope my slippers hold up. I plan to dance all night. No man will be too disagreeable.” She met Nancy’s dubious gaze. “They will all be wearing masks. I won’t have to look at their faces. I only want to dance!”
Nancy chuckled and, nodding, left Priscilla alone.
Priscilla twirled around her room, her arms spread wide. It had been ages since she danced and, oh, how she’d missed it. She had little care with whom she partnered. Although she hoped at least one would be young, dashing, and perhaps a tiny bit flirtatious.
Would he suggest they slip away to a secluded spot?
Would he attempt to steal a kiss?
Sensations like tiny birds fluttered in her stomach, and her heart beat furiously.
Would she let him?
Oh, to have one magical night where no one judged or shunned her. She closed her eyes, picturing it before her.
A soft knock broke the spell.
Her father poked his head around the door. “Are you ready, my dear?”
She nodded, too excited to speak. Her father looked quite handsome in his formal attire. He’d commissioned a new waistcoat in a subtle shade of green.
Priscilla’s thoughts drifted to Timothy and his moss-green eyes.
Nervous energy pulsated through her during the brief carriage ride to the Duke and Duchess’s stately home on Grosvenor Square. Unconsciously, her feet tapped a happy rhythm against the carriage floor, practicing the movements of several dances.
“Anxious?”
“Hmm?” She peered up from the clasped hands in her lap.
Crinkles formed at the corners of her father’s eyes. “From the movement of your feet, I half expect them to carry you from the carriage immediately when the door opens—perhaps without even trying. They seem to have a mind of their own.”
“Oh.” Heat rose up her neck to her cheeks. “I suppose I am a bit eager.”
When they slowed to a stop, she peered out the window. A line of coaches, not unlike their own, queued in front of the grand home. Worry seeped in, replacing her excited anticipation. “Do you think anyone will recognize me?”
“You’ve grown up, my dear. Not only your physical appearance, although I’ll admit, as your father, I’ll be watching the young—and old—men carefully around you. But you’ve matured as well.” He chuckled. “Although your exuberant feet belie the girl within. Besides”—he tied the black demi-mask to his head—“we have these. Now don yours before we arrive.”
After tying and adjusting the white mask dotted with sapphire-like stones along the edges to her face, she took a deep breath before exiting the carriage.
Remnants of the hopeful debutante she’d been surfaced, and she said a silent prayer that perhaps, tonight, she would find her one true love.
* * *
Timothy sipped a glass of ratafia,scrunching his nose at the overly sweet drink. “Lord, how can people drink this abomination?”
Laurence chuckled beside him. “I hear there is some brandy in a side parlor that is excellent. Shall we seek it out?” Although they were both masked, Timothy had hounded his friend for a description of his mask prior to the evening. He counted on Laurence to save him from the empty-headed chits sure to make him wish to run screaming from the ballroom.
“Even brandy seems too weak to calm my nerves. I wish we had some of your cousin’s whisky.”
Laurence turned toward him, his amiable smile disappearing. “What’s wrong? I don’t remember you being uncomfortable at one of these. That was usually left up to me.”
“Ah, but now you have Bea to rescue you from boredom. So someone must take up the mantle.”
Laurence scanned the crowd. “How are things progressing with Lady Honoria? Is she planning on attending this evening?”
Timothy nodded. “It’s the one thing she actually talked about the other day. I swear it seems like she’s afraid to speak her mind about anything. It’s most frustrating.”