"Ah, there they are," Grandmama announces. I spy Simon. He is so handsome in his white tie and black tails.
"Good evening," I say, curtsying.
"Good evening," he says. He gives me a small smile, and with that smile, I feel such relief and happiness that I could sit through ten operas.
We receive our programs and join the crowd. Father, Tom, and Simon are pulled into a conversation with another man, a portly, balding fellow sporting a monocle on a chain, while Grandmama, Lady Denby, and I stroll slowly, nodding and making our hellos to various society ladies. It is a necessary parade designed to show off our finery. I hear my name being called. It's Felicity with Ann. They are well turned out in their white gowns. Felicity's garnet earbobs shine against her white-blond hair. A pink cameo rests against the hollow of Ann's throat.
"Oh, dear," Lady Denby says."It's that wretched Worthington woman."
The comment has Grandmama aflutter. "Mrs. Worthington? The admiral's wife? Is there some scandal?"
"You do not know? Three years ago, she went to Paris-- for her health, they said--and she sent the young Miss Worthington away to school. But I have it on good authority that she took a lover, a Frenchman, and now he's left her and she's back with the admiral, pretending that none of it ever happened. She is not received in the best homes, of course. But everyone attends her dinners and balls out of affection for the admiral, who is the soul of respectability. Shhh, here they come."
Mrs. Worthington strides over, the girls in tow. I hope the flush on my cheeks does not give me away, for I don't like Lady Denby's snobbery.
"Good evening, Lady Denby," Mrs. Worthington says, her smile radiant.
Lady Denby does not offer her hand but opens her fan instead."Good evening, Mrs. Worthington."
Felicity gives a dazzling smile. If I didn't know her better I wouldn't recognize the ice in it. "Oh, dear. Ann, you seem to have lost your bracelet!"
"What bracelet?" Ann asks.
"The one the duke sent from Saint Petersburg. Perhaps you lost it in the dressing room. We must look for it. Gemma, would you mind awfully?"
"No, of course not," I say.
"Be quick about it. The opera is about to begin," Grandmama warns.
We escape to the dressing room. A few ladies preen at the mirrors, adjusting shawls and jewels.
"Ann, when I say you've lost your bracelet, play along," Felicity chides.
"Sorry," Ann says.