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On the other side of the glass stood a girl Lucy Carlyle did not recognise even though she knew her very well. Begrudgingly, she considered the dress in the mirror. The dress in question was a beautiful thing. Blue silk that sparkled as she moved. The high waistline lay quite flattering on her body. It was a dress she’d normally never be able to even dream about buying. But it did not fit her, she thought. Lucy was too plain for it. Her mother standing next to her seemed to agree, as shown by the frown when Lucy glanced at her in the mirror.
“Don’t look so sullen. You look like you’ve eaten a lemon, "Mrs Carlyle reprimanded her.
Lucy, who wanted nothing more than to rip the dress off her body and go home, tried to arrange her face with a small smile. It ended up making her look more sour. She gave up. Her mother called the seamstress over.
”Add more detail to the dress. You’ve made it too simple. Do you want to embarrass my daughter?”
Lucy wanted to apologise to the seamstress. To tell her that the dress was perfect and that she herself was the problem. Wished to point out to her mother that she had never once cared about her daughter’s embarrassment, only how it reflected on herself. She stayed silent.
The seamstress told Mrs Carlyle that she would see what she could do and threw a doubtful glance to Lucy’s face before helping her out of the dress. Lucy was grateful of the latter, glad to be able to don her simple dress of a light blue fabric, one of her favourites.
Her mother had dragged her to the seamstress shop as soon as news got out about the season's largest ball. It was arranged by the Fittes and rumour was a certain Lord Kipps would be in attendance. As the most eligible bachelor in the ton, all mothers were dead set on their daughters being the ones to ensnare him, Mrs Carlyle included seeing as he was her shot of escaping poverty.
Mr Carlyle’s passing combined with Mrs Carlyle's spending brought the family deep into debts. With six daughters, all needing a dowry to wed, left Lucy’s mother desperate to find wealthy suitors. Lucy knew the only reason she had a dowry was because her oldest sister’s husband had agreed to provide her with one after Mrs Carlyle spent the last of the savings on keeping up the appearances of affluence.
Lucy found that she quite liked her sister’s husband. He was a decent man, kind towards his wife's family and Lucy’s rescue from a life as a spinster taking care of her mother. The spinster part did not seem awful. It was just that she wished more than anything to escape her mother.
Mrs Carlyle stormed out of the boutique with her daughter following behind like a shadow.
”Tomorrow night you must gain Lord Kipps attention”
It was not the first time Lucy was reminded of that by her mother and she found herself reluctantly agreeing. Lord Kipps might seem dull and self absorbed but she knew he cared about his companions and she really could bring herself to love him if he rescued her from her mother. She thought to herself how that may play out.
Somehow the majority of her daydreams centred around leaving the prison that was her home. Never could she blame her sisters for leaving and never looking back, even if that meant Lucy no longer had much contact with them.
———
After some time they reached their home. It took a while seeing as they had to walk since renting a carriage was too expensive and they had spent most of their small income on the new dress.
Lucy found it rare to be the subject of generosity from Mrs Carlyle, but not strange since the woman saw it as an investment. If she got her daughter an expensive dress, her daughter would gain a wealthy husband who would provide for her. Mrs Carlyle’s thoughts usually ended up centering on herself.
As quickly as she could Lucy escaped to her room, wanting to be free of her Mothers scrutiny.
After closing the door she took a seat by her stationary and started drafting a letter, starting with ’Dearest Norrie’.
’You shall find I have missed you quite a lot and I hope you extend the same feeling towards me.
You were of course correct. London is different from Yorkshire. I have not quite decided if it is a good difference but I am sure you would have enjoyed yourself here. It is big and you always were too large for our village.
Not everything is different, of course. My mother is quite herself, if not moreso. Moving here for the season has not made her any good. She is starved for attention and set on finding me an eligible suitor, which I cannot find myself in disagreement with. I believe it would do us both good. I still wish I could do it with you by my side. If only you could convince your parents to let you come here, even for just a week, I would be forever grateful.
With hopes to see you soon, Lucy.’
She signed the letter, slipping it into an envelope and reminding herself to give it to the maid later to post.
When she woke the next morning to find her gown had arrived in a box she could not help but be a little excited. The seamstress really was talented, adding just enough ostentation to appease her mother while still keeping it classy.
With her hair done up in an elaborate bun and some makeup added to her lips and cheeks by the maid she found herself pleasantly surprised. Even her mother gave her a pleased nod. She might actually have a chance to secure a match, she thought.
———
By the time Lucy was finished it was time to depart. The Fittes were a prestigious line of nobles, descended from Marissa Fittes who had been sister to the previous king before marrying the duke Fittes. Their estate reflected their esteemed heritage. Lucy was astounded by the pure size of it and she and her mother found themselves pausing by the gates for a second to take it all in before being pressured by the following guests to keep moving.
The ballroom was glamorously decorated. The walls were painted in deep greens and blues and displayed scenes from Greek myths. Nymphs being chased and gods lounging by lakes. All in some state of undress which Lucy found quite obscene but at the same embarrassingly fascinating. As if the wallpaper was not enough they were adorned by loads of family relics and heirlooms and tapestries. The whole room was accented in white and gold. She silently wondered if this might be how she would have lived had her father not passed and left them destitute.
The large golden chandelier hung in the middle of the room, over the sea of dancing guests. Dresses of all colours flashed by her and she admired the dancing couples. It all seemed a confusing mix of intimidating cheerfulness which she longed to be part of but unsure how to join.
”Don’t suppose you see Lord Kipps?” Mrs Carlyle said while craning her short neck. Lucy searched the room.
”No”
”Oh well, he might be late. Just make sure you get to him quickly when he joins us. Go and see if you can find someone else suitable in the meantime.”
”Yes, mother,” Lucy sighed and watched as her mother made her way over to a group of more watchful mothers.
Lucy took the opportunity to scan the room an additional time before joining the chaos. She briefly considered fleeing before her thoughts were interrupted by a loud cough. Lucy turned toward the source.
”May I have your next dance?” said the man standing next to him.
He was rather plain. She remembered meeting him before, at another ball and remembered him as quite boring. She wanted to recall his name as Bromwick. Or was it Bromfield?
As Lucy could find no reason to reject him, she gave him a polite smile.
”Of course.”
”Excellent!” he replied and led her to the dancefloor.
He was quite a good dancer, she had to admit. As they spun around the floor she found herself laughing.
Eventually the music slowed and the dance came to an end. They did their customary gratitudes when Lucy’s attention was turned to a tumult erupting from the crowd. There were yelling coming from the middle of the room where guests had formed a circle around five men. She immediately recognised one of them as Lord Kipps, accompanied by two of his regular companions standing behind him and she drew her breath. He was dressed elegantly with his hair slicked back. In one hand he gripped his rapier, the other he held protectively against his chest and Lucy could clearly see why. Red wine ran down his arm. No—not wine. Blood. A large gash along his forearm leaked blood. Lucy did not think that she had ever seen so much blood in her life.
Across from Kipps stood a man. He too stood with his rapier raised, his stained red. A playful smirk painting his face. Lucy’s eyes met his and to her horror he was starring right at her.