The House of Lyall (6 page)

In case Miss Esther's sisters would be offended, she decided to try on theirs too, and so, lifting the deep rose which had been Miss Emily's, she slipped it over her head and turned back to the mirror. It was not a girl she saw this time, but a tall, elegant woman, the décolletage displaying every inch of her neck and shoulders … and most of her bosom.
The front of the skirt flowed to the floor, but the back was padded out by a bustle, not big, but enough to be a talking point these days. She considered for a short time and came to the conclusion that she didn't have the nerve – nor the figure, if it came to that – to wear this gown. Maybe when she was older …?

The ice-blue creation that was Miss Edith's seemed at first glance to be too cold a colour, not what Marion had thought would appeal to her, but as soon as she put it on and pirouetted to get an idea of how it looked from behind, she knew that
this
really was the one. There was just a shadow of cleavage showing at the bust, much more demure, though the bodice was constructed so as to make the most of small breasts. From the waist, which was not quite so small as the peach, the skirt billowed out over a wide crinoline. It was … oh, perfect didn't do it justice, but it was the best word she could come up with.

A quiet tap at her door made her call, ‘Come in.'

Miss Edith opened the door and asked, ‘Have you decided yet? Please don't laugh at my haste, but I had to find out.'

‘I'm not laughing. They're all lovely, but I'm going for yours.' Although Marianne had told Andrew she would give up the idea of going to the ball if any of his aunts seemed distressed, she knew now that she wasn't so self-sacrificing. Whatever happened, she would be there as his partner.

Miss Edith, however, did not appear at all distressed. ‘Do you not think it too old-fashioned?' she asked, as she began to fasten the tiny cloth buttons. ‘Crinolines of this size were going out even when I wore it, and that's … great heavens, almost forty years ago!'

Marianne shook her head. ‘I don't care how old-fashioned it is!'

‘It certainly suits you … much better than it did me.' Miss Edith said nothing more until she had done up the whole twenty-four, then she stepped back to get a better view. ‘You look exactly like one of the illustrations in a fairy-tale book we once had.'

She called for her sisters to come and see, and when they ran in, Miss Esther clapped her hands in delight. ‘Oh, Marianne! You're like the fairy in –'

‘I've told her,' Miss Edith said drily, but smiled just the same.

‘I hope nobody's offended because I've chosen this one,' Marianne murmured. ‘I couldn't make up my mind when I saw them first, but this one fits me best. It won't need any alterations.'

Miss Emily gave a long deep sigh. ‘Seeing you standing there like a graceful swan … it takes me back –'

Not wanting any of them to become nostalgic, Marianne interrupted, ‘I can't get over what a difference a dress can make.'

‘People used to say, “Manners maketh man”,' Miss Esther smiled, ‘but our mamma always added, “… and the proper clothes maketh woman.”

‘I can't get over Father taking the trouble to put camphor in the trunk when he packed these away,' Emily observed. ‘I was afraid they would be moth-eaten, but they look as good as new. We shall have to give them a good airing to get rid of the smell of the mothballs, and we should hang them in a closet so that Marianne can have the use of any of them any time she wants. Andrew will probably take her to other balls.'

‘That's true,' Miss Esther beamed. ‘Oh, this is all so romantic.'

Edith brought their matchmaking to a halt. ‘If not Andrew, someone else. We must not rush the girl into anything, and I think she wants to get to bed now.'

She helped Marianne out of the blue gown while her sisters went out with theirs over their arms. Crossing to the door carrying hers, she said, gently, ‘Those two have made up their minds that you and Andrew are right for each other, and I have the feeling that he would agree, but you must not marry him just to please us, or because you feel you owe us something. Think of your own happiness, my dear.'

‘Thank you for understanding, Miss Edith.' Marianne sat down on the bed when the door clicked. In spite of being so tired, and so excited, she had to think. She liked Andrew, was possibly on the verge of loving him, but she wanted more than that. She wanted wealth, a standing in society. She wanted to be the wife of a man with power, a man other people looked up to and admired. Andrew would never fit that bill: he was too honest, too considerate of his fellow men and women. He might be successful as a solicitor, but he would never make a name for himself at that or anything else.

Feeling suddenly chilly in her undergarments, she stood up to change into her nightie, then got into bed and snuggled down. In her last thoughts before sleep claimed her, she pictured her spectacular entry to the ballroom on Andrew's arm in the magnificent ice-blue gown, imagined all eyes turning to watch her progress into the room, conjured up dozens of handsome, eligible bachelors begging her to dance, gold cravat pins gleaming a few inches above the chains of their gold pocket watches.

Drifting off into slumber, her dreams followed the same pattern, and strangely, in the morning she could remember them distinctly.

When she was thirteen, there had been a special celebration put on in Tipperton for some occasion now forgotten, and her mother had allowed her to stay to watch the dancing after the concert. Marianne had been enthralled by the
energetic Lancers and in her dreams had seen herself performing the intricate steps with this stranger or that, their eyes telling how much they were attracted to her, her crinoline floating out around her. Each time the music had come to an end, her partner – a new one every time – had taken her to another room on the pretext of finding her a comfortable seat. Then her supple body had been pressed against a manly chest, firm hands going round her waist, but each time she'd looked up to smile at a hopefully prospective suitor, it had been Andrew's face she'd seen, his lips within a fraction of hers.

During breakfast, she assured herself that he'd been the one she'd seen because he was the only man she knew for certain would be there. He was too shy to kiss her; it was more likely to be Stephen Grant or any one of the men she had been introduced to over the past year and a half.

It could even be the boy – the rich man – who was to be her future husband. She didn't have a picture of him in her mind; she didn't care what he looked like … as long as he was taller than she was. She was five feet seven already and maybe hadn't stopped growing, so he might need to be over six feet.

Tall and wealthy? Surely that wasn't expecting too much? He didn't need to be handsome.

Chapter Four

In order to be seen at her best, on the evening of the ball Marianne waited until Miss Esther, chirping delightedly, had taken Andrew inside before she came slowly down the stairs. His stunned expression, the admiration which sprang to his eyes, more than compensated for the awkwardness of holding up a crinoline so that she wouldn't fall over it, but the shocked faces of his aunts told her that her petticoats were showing. Well, it was better to be a little immodest, she thought, in some irritation, than to pitch headlong down the stairs and display a much more intimate garment.

Miss Esther sidled up to her before she reached the floor. ‘Let me remove the hoop,' she whispered. ‘I had quite forgotten that Edith had trouble with it. All I have to do is snip the holding stitches, so it will not take long.'

‘No,' Marianne whispered back, ‘I want it left in. It's a talking point, isn't it? No one else'll have one.'

‘That is true. Well, if you are sure.'

Miss Esther helped her down the last two steps, where Miss Edith flung a hooded cloak round her shoulders, and before Andrew led her out, all three sisters kissed her on the cheek. She needed Andrew's assistance to negotiate the high step of the cab he had waiting, but once up, she had the presence of mind to lift the back of the hoop before she sat down, albeit rather gingerly.

When Marianne finally walked majestically into the Mitchell Hall on Andrew's arm, her reception was all that she had hoped for … at first. All eyes turned to her, and those of each young man brightened at the sight of her fairy-tale loveliness. Savouring this, it took her a few minutes to realize that the girls – there as partners to the law students – were whispering to each other, and giggling as they pointed at her. One of them – all skin and bone in a hobble-skirted gown – didn't bother to lower her voice. ‘Doesn't she know these things have been out of fashion for decades? My grandmother speaks about wearing them when
she
was a girl, for goodness' sake.'

This raised a laugh from the girls standing nearest to her, until they caught sight of Andrew's scowl. ‘I think I should take you home,' he said loudly to Marianne. ‘I don't want you mixing with these ill-mannered people.'

Sick at heart, but determined not to show it, she shook off the hand he had laid on her arm. ‘It's all right, Andrew,' she declared as staunchly as she could. ‘They can't help being badly brought up, and they didn't bother me. In any case, I don't need to go anywhere near them. They'll be in the minority here, I'm sure.'

The girls' mouths gaped, their eyes widened in shock, but several of the young men clapped their approval at her show of spirit, and Andrew was left standing at the side while she went off with one after another of those clamouring to claim a dance. As in her dream, she was often asked to go to another room, a secluded room, to have a rest after an energetic romp, but she always said that Andrew was her escort and asked to be returned to where he was waiting.

‘I'm sorry,' she puffed, nearly an hour after they had arrived. ‘I don't like saying no when somebody asks me, so if you want to dance with me, you'll have to make a stand against them.'

He had been watching her closely while she was on the floor, noting her too brilliant eyes, her deeply flushed cheeks, the white around her pinched nostrils, all of which gave the lie to the impression she was trying to give, that of enjoying herself. ‘I'd prefer if you'd sit this one out with me,' he said.

‘Oh, thank you, Andrew,' she said gratefully. ‘It's been an awful strain.'

‘It must have been.' He could not let her know that he was well aware of the effort she had been putting into appearing free of care.

During one of the previous dances, he had looked for a place to take her if he got the chance, and led her now to the little alcove he had found. It was screened from the rest of the hall by two large plants in tubs, and even better, as far as he was concerned, the only place to sit was a small chaise longue.

Flopping down in utter exhaustion, Marianne was horrified that the crinoline made the front of her skirt shoot into the air. She looked at Andrew in dismay. ‘I should have listened to Miss Esther,' she wailed. ‘She wanted to take the hoop out, but I wouldn't let her. I thought …'

His heart went out to her when he saw the tears in her eyes, and he longed to hold her, to stroke the soft coppery hair one of his aunts must have dressed for her, it was so beautifully pinned up. But he did not want to take advantage of her present vulnerability. He tried to think of an answer to her latest problem – it wouldn't do for her to be caught in such an undignified position – and then he took hold of both her hands. ‘I'll pull you up, but you'll have to be careful when you sit down again.'

With Marianne decently covered, he felt free to sit down beside her. ‘I wish I hadn't made you come,' he murmured, taking her hand. ‘I had no idea that any girl could be so rude about another's dress. In any case, I thought you looked …' He paused, swallowed, and then said reverently, ‘I had never seen anything so beautiful in all my life as the picture you made walking down my aunts' stairs.'

‘Oh, Andrew.' It was all she could say with her throat so tight.

‘And I'm sure all the men here tonight felt exactly the same when they saw you come in. You outshone every girl in the hall. That's what was wrong. That girl was jealous. It was a compliment, really, when you come to think of it.'

‘Was it? Are you sure?'

‘Yes, I'm sure. And the rush of men to dance with you, that was a compliment too. Now, have you rested enough, or do you want to dry your eyes and give me at least one dance before I take you home?'

Turning towards him, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. ‘You're such a dear, Andrew. I'm sorry I neglected you, and I feel better now.'

As soon as they emerged from their haven, Marianne was besieged once more, but she shook her head. ‘This dance is Andrew's.'

When the military two-step was over, they made for the seats round the wall, and noticing two young men heading in her direction, Marianne waved them away.

‘I won't hold you to the next dance if you –' Andrew began, but she broke in, ‘I want to dance with you.'

Waiting for the music to start again, she let her eyes rove round the hall and when she noticed a small knot of girls at the opposite side looking up flirtatiously at a tall, fair-haired young man, who was paying no attention to them, she gave Andrew a nudge.' ‘D'you know who he is?'

‘I can't see his face, but he must have more charisma than I have,' Andrew grinned. ‘Girls do not mill round me like that. Do you want me to find somebody to introduce you?'

‘Oh, no! I'd be too embarrassed.'

The next dance was stopped before the end, so that everyone could hear the bells chime midnight, and after the hand-shaking and well-wishing had died down, most of the men kissed their partners, and so Andrew felt emboldened to kiss his. ‘Happy New Year, dear Marianne,' he murmured bashfully, taking her in his arms.