Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake
Page 100
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Her discomfort was ignored; the girls continued to titter between themselves as Madame Hebert guided Callie back behind the dressing screen.
Once there, Callie risked a look at the dressmaker, noting the woman’s knowing smile just before she said, quietly, “The Marquess of Ralston is after you, is he?”
Callie shook her head in response to the bold question, immediately answering, “No. Certainly not.” With a little noise of acknowledgment, Madame Hebert began to unbutton Callie’s dress, remaining silent long enough for Callie to think the conversation was over.
It was only after she stepped out of the pool of aethereal blue silk that the modiste added, as though Callie had not spoken, “Well, if Ralston is your target, be certain to wear the lingerie, my lady. He shall enjoy it as much as you do.”
Callie blushed furiously as the dressmaker gave a little, knowing laugh.
Twenty-one
Callie and Mariana stood on the edge of the Salisbury ballroom, watching the steady stream of attendees arrive. The enormous space was bathed in the golden light of thousands of candles flickering high above in enormous crystal chandeliers. The room was mirrored along one wall, doubling the light and giving the illusion that it was twice its size and that all of London had turned out for the ball. Of course, all of London just might have done so. The ball was packed with people—women in silks and satins of every imaginable hue gossiping in small clusters, men in dark formal attire talking politics and Parliament.
Callie stood up on her toes and looked around the room, concerned that they might have missed Juliana’s entrance. The hour was growing late for arrivals, and the last thing that a new addition to the ton needed was to be unfashionably late to her first ball. Surely Ralston understood that, Callie thought to herself as she searched for the younger woman.
There had been little doubt that the Salisbury Ball was the ideal place to launch Juliana into society. The annual event, one of the largest and most inclusive of the season, was hosted by the very dear and very kind Earl and Countess of Salisbury, whom Callie had always considered one of the most gracious couples in London. When her father had passed away, it had been Lord and Lady Salisbury who had offered the most support—for both Callie’s devastated mother and for young, ill-prepared Benedick, who had been in dire need of the tutelage that the earl had offered. The Salisburys were friends, and they would welcome Juliana and Ralston without question. Of that, Callie was certain.
Assuming, of course, they ever arrived.
Callie gave a little sigh. She was as nervous as she had been on the night of her own coming out.
“They shall be here,” Mariana said calmly. “I don’t know Ralston nearly as well as you do, but I know enough of him to be certain that he would not miss this evening.” She turned an impish gaze on Callie. “And when he sees you in this dress, he will be very happy that he did not miss it.”
Callie rolled her eyes at her sister and said dryly, “A bit much, Mari, even for you.”
Mariana laughed and gave a delicate shrug. “Perhaps…but true, nonetheless. Hebert has outdone herself. It is a stunning gown.”
Callie looked down at herself, at the drape of blue silk across her bodice and the full, lovely skirt that swayed perfectly when she walked. The fabric, which she had only ever seen in sunlight, took on an entirely different sheen in candlelight. It shimmered as though it were alive, like the bluest of oceans. She gave a little smile at the memory of her image in the mirror tonight. Gone was the dusty old lace-capped spinster; this gown had transformed her.
“They’re here.”
Callie’s reverie was cut short by Mariana’s whisper, and her gaze flew to the entrance of the ballroom, marked by a wide staircase, just long enough to offer attendees an ideal look at those entering the festivities. There were masses of people crowded along the edges of the stairway and on the platform above, but it was impossible to miss the trio that had just arrived.
Juliana was relieved of her pristine white cloak and stood, back straight, perfectly still, in a soft empire-waisted dress of the palest of pinks. It was the perfect gown for the evening—beautifully crafted without being ostentatious, expensive without being gaudy. Just behind her, moving almost in unison, stood Ralston and St. John, shucking their greatcoats to flank their sister. They were twin portraits of determination, each surveying the crowd below as though preparing to do battle. The corner of Callie’s mouth twitched in amusement. London society just might be the closest thing to battle that the people in this room would ever see.
Callie’s gaze settled on Ralston as her heart pounded in her chest, noting the firm set of his jaw and the cool determination in his eyes—so blue that she could see them from where she stood, halfway across the room. And then he was looking at her. She warmed as his gaze lingered, taking in her in. Unconsciously, she sighed, a deep, resigned sigh, and Mariana gave her a little nudge with her elbow. “Callie, do try not to appear as though you’re thoroughly infatuated with the man, will you?”
Callie snapped her head around to her sister, and whispered harshly, “I am doing no such thing!”
“Mmm. And I am Queen Charlotte,” Mariana said dryly, ignoring her sister’s glare before adding, “And so it begins.”
Callie followed the direction of Mariana’s gaze and noted Juliana being presented to the countess and earl. She watched as the young woman fell into a perfectly executed curtsy, eyes downcast, serene smile pasted on her face. The long column of her neck gave her a swanlike grace that was sure to be the envy of every woman in the room who was watching. And they were all watching.
Once there, Callie risked a look at the dressmaker, noting the woman’s knowing smile just before she said, quietly, “The Marquess of Ralston is after you, is he?”
Callie shook her head in response to the bold question, immediately answering, “No. Certainly not.” With a little noise of acknowledgment, Madame Hebert began to unbutton Callie’s dress, remaining silent long enough for Callie to think the conversation was over.
It was only after she stepped out of the pool of aethereal blue silk that the modiste added, as though Callie had not spoken, “Well, if Ralston is your target, be certain to wear the lingerie, my lady. He shall enjoy it as much as you do.”
Callie blushed furiously as the dressmaker gave a little, knowing laugh.
Twenty-one
Callie and Mariana stood on the edge of the Salisbury ballroom, watching the steady stream of attendees arrive. The enormous space was bathed in the golden light of thousands of candles flickering high above in enormous crystal chandeliers. The room was mirrored along one wall, doubling the light and giving the illusion that it was twice its size and that all of London had turned out for the ball. Of course, all of London just might have done so. The ball was packed with people—women in silks and satins of every imaginable hue gossiping in small clusters, men in dark formal attire talking politics and Parliament.
Callie stood up on her toes and looked around the room, concerned that they might have missed Juliana’s entrance. The hour was growing late for arrivals, and the last thing that a new addition to the ton needed was to be unfashionably late to her first ball. Surely Ralston understood that, Callie thought to herself as she searched for the younger woman.
There had been little doubt that the Salisbury Ball was the ideal place to launch Juliana into society. The annual event, one of the largest and most inclusive of the season, was hosted by the very dear and very kind Earl and Countess of Salisbury, whom Callie had always considered one of the most gracious couples in London. When her father had passed away, it had been Lord and Lady Salisbury who had offered the most support—for both Callie’s devastated mother and for young, ill-prepared Benedick, who had been in dire need of the tutelage that the earl had offered. The Salisburys were friends, and they would welcome Juliana and Ralston without question. Of that, Callie was certain.
Assuming, of course, they ever arrived.
Callie gave a little sigh. She was as nervous as she had been on the night of her own coming out.
“They shall be here,” Mariana said calmly. “I don’t know Ralston nearly as well as you do, but I know enough of him to be certain that he would not miss this evening.” She turned an impish gaze on Callie. “And when he sees you in this dress, he will be very happy that he did not miss it.”
Callie rolled her eyes at her sister and said dryly, “A bit much, Mari, even for you.”
Mariana laughed and gave a delicate shrug. “Perhaps…but true, nonetheless. Hebert has outdone herself. It is a stunning gown.”
Callie looked down at herself, at the drape of blue silk across her bodice and the full, lovely skirt that swayed perfectly when she walked. The fabric, which she had only ever seen in sunlight, took on an entirely different sheen in candlelight. It shimmered as though it were alive, like the bluest of oceans. She gave a little smile at the memory of her image in the mirror tonight. Gone was the dusty old lace-capped spinster; this gown had transformed her.
“They’re here.”
Callie’s reverie was cut short by Mariana’s whisper, and her gaze flew to the entrance of the ballroom, marked by a wide staircase, just long enough to offer attendees an ideal look at those entering the festivities. There were masses of people crowded along the edges of the stairway and on the platform above, but it was impossible to miss the trio that had just arrived.
Juliana was relieved of her pristine white cloak and stood, back straight, perfectly still, in a soft empire-waisted dress of the palest of pinks. It was the perfect gown for the evening—beautifully crafted without being ostentatious, expensive without being gaudy. Just behind her, moving almost in unison, stood Ralston and St. John, shucking their greatcoats to flank their sister. They were twin portraits of determination, each surveying the crowd below as though preparing to do battle. The corner of Callie’s mouth twitched in amusement. London society just might be the closest thing to battle that the people in this room would ever see.
Callie’s gaze settled on Ralston as her heart pounded in her chest, noting the firm set of his jaw and the cool determination in his eyes—so blue that she could see them from where she stood, halfway across the room. And then he was looking at her. She warmed as his gaze lingered, taking in her in. Unconsciously, she sighed, a deep, resigned sigh, and Mariana gave her a little nudge with her elbow. “Callie, do try not to appear as though you’re thoroughly infatuated with the man, will you?”
Callie snapped her head around to her sister, and whispered harshly, “I am doing no such thing!”
“Mmm. And I am Queen Charlotte,” Mariana said dryly, ignoring her sister’s glare before adding, “And so it begins.”
Callie followed the direction of Mariana’s gaze and noted Juliana being presented to the countess and earl. She watched as the young woman fell into a perfectly executed curtsy, eyes downcast, serene smile pasted on her face. The long column of her neck gave her a swanlike grace that was sure to be the envy of every woman in the room who was watching. And they were all watching.
