Southampton
Meg pulled up to the large estate in her uncle’s motor coach, which he insisted on driving himself despite her mother’s embarrassment at having Mr. Bitterly sit beside him in the front seat as if the auto was his, and stared at all of the finely dressed people.
She had never been to a ball before, but now that she was fifteen, she would be allowed to attend, though there were certain rules she had to follow as she had not yet had her own coming out party. She absently wondered what the point of that might be since she was already promised to someone, but as she took the offered hand of a young man dressed in high-fashioned servant’s clothes and made her way out of the backseat of her uncle’s prized possession, her focus was on the people, the lights, the music, and the dancing.
She could hear the musicians from outside. The house was lit so spectacularly, one might think it was daytime. Though the majority of the lighting was finely crafted gaslights, Meg noticed that some of them appeared to be electric, and she wondered how long it might take Uncle Bertram to try to convince her mother that they needed electricity in their own home.
Forced to place her hand on her uncle’s arm out of respect for high society’s rules, Meg entered the ballroom where they were announced by a regal sounding man who was later identified as the master of ceremonies. Her mother, who was on her uncle’s other arm, instructed him to escort Meg to an area of the room where several of her friends and acquaintances were seated, and once they had ensured she was where she belonged, they went about their own ritualistic greeting ceremony which Meg had only read about in books.
“Good evening, Mary Margaret,” Beatrice Townly said with a smile as Meg took her seat.
“Mary Margaret?” her younger sister Alise, who was only thirteen, and in Meg’s opinion shouldn’t likely be there, questioned. “Why aren’t you calling her Meg like you do every other time you see her?”
“This is a formal,” Beatrice scolded. “We should be more proper.”
Meg couldn’t help but laugh at both sisters. “Good evening, Beatrice; Alise,” she stated, straightening her gown. It was by far the loveliest dress her mother had ever allowed her to own, and she had spent half the night before wide awake thinking of all the awful things that could happen to it like if she spilled something on it or tore the train.
Meg spoke pleasantries to several other young ladies, many of whom she had known for years. There were others that she hadn’t met yet, but all of their names sounded familiar. Some of them had come from as far away as London and even New York City for the event, including Madeline Force and her family, whom Meg recognized as one of the socialites she actually recognized from the papers. When Meg had a chance to talk to the young debutante, she found her quite clever and interesting, and they’d hit it off right away. Unfortunately, she’d been asked to dance almost immediately and Meg wondered if she’d get another chance to speak to her again that evening.
Christina Edgebrook, the girl whose womanhood they were celebrating that evening, proved herself to be quite the catch. Otherwise, surely no one from as far away as New York would have bothered to come. As she watched the young woman flutter from suitor to suitor, in the back of her mind, Meg thought perhaps she shouldn’t bother to have a coming out after all. What if no one attended?
She spent most of the evening in her seat. She wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without a proper escort, and since she was one of the younger ladies there, the gentlemen were not inclined to ask her to dance. Like Alise and some of the other younger girls, she was only there to be seen and to observe. Nevertheless, when one young man, who she’d been introduced to earlier that evening, asked her if she should like refreshments, she did let him lead her to the table in the adjoining room where Mrs. Edgebrook had supplied her guests with an endless array of fruits, desserts, and finger foods. Meg didn’t want to overstuff herself since she knew dinner would also be served, but it was late and she was hungry, so she indulged a little more than she probably should have. When she realized her escort, Marcus Hayworth, was staring at her, she asked, “What is it? Haven’t you ever seen a young lady eat before?”
He smiled, and though his cheeks were a bit round and his eyebrows a bit bushy, he had very straight, white teeth. “Not quite as jubilantly as you, I believe,” he replied.
Meg wasn’t sure if she should be offended or complimented, but since he didn’t seem insulted at her enthusiasm, she laughed. Finishing her refreshments, she allowed him to escort her back to her seat. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Westmoreland,” Marcus said as he delivered her back to her chair.
Giving a little curtsy, Meg smiled and sat back down. For a brief second, she wondered what it might be like if Ezra were the one escorting her back to her seat. Would he have any idea how one was to behave in high society? Likely not….
Her thoughts were interrupted by a comment from over her shoulder. “I guess one can eat whatever she likes when she doesn’t have to worry about impressing anyone.”
Meg turned to see that the speaker was Samantha Fairweather, and though she was speaking to another young lady, Connie Mercer, she had obviously kept her voice up so that Meg would overhear, even over the noisy giggles of Miss Mercer who sounded a bit like a donkey in Meg’s opinion.
Her mouth open in shock, it took Meg a moment to gather her thoughts. She had thought Samantha a friend. Why would she say something so ugly? Before she could even consider censoring her reply, she found herself saying, “Fairweather seems an appropriate last name for you. I shall remember that when Mr. Ashton and I are writing our wedding invitations.”
She heard both girls gasp in shock, but she swung back around to face the dance floor, pretending that she couldn’t care less about what they had to say about her. Though she could hear them continuing to whisper, she could no longer hear what they were saying, and she decided that if they were talking about her, it really was no longer her concern.