by Alyssa Deane
Roxane nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. I—the ball is tonight?"
“Roxane,” smiled Augusta, “how could you have forgotten?"
* * * *
Roxane had not, of course, forgotten the ball. It would have been very difficult to do so, even if she had tried, with Unity talking about nothing else. This was the young girl's debut into society, the first true ball she would be attending, and she was every bit as effusive about that circumstance as she was about any other situation viewed through her romantic's eye. Roxane had been privy to numerous recitations of the guest list, the expected menu, and the music to be played. She knew who would be escorted by whom, who was expecting to be received by Lord Canning and his wife, which of the unattached young ladies was casting her eyes to which of the eligible young men, who had first dance, who hoped for it, and who had not the slightest chance of ever taking to the floor. At times, Roxane could not help but wonder where Unity came by her abundance of information. Trivial as some of it might be, it was, nonetheless, entertaining.
“Roxane,” said Unity as they stood side by side, arms spread, while a pair of seamstresses worked feverishly on the final fitting of their gowns, “you do not seem very enthusiastic about tonight."
“Did I say I was not?” Roxane countered, spinning a quarter turn to her left and sucking in her breath to avoid being stuck by a pin. Bent before her, the native woman looked up at Roxane.
“The memsahib has—” She pinched at her own waistline.
“Has what?” asked Roxane, bewildered.
“A narrow waist,” said Augusta, from her vantage point on the chintz chair in the corner. “You should be proud of that."
“It's the heat,” said Roxane. “I am sure I have gotten thinner since my arrival."
“Nonsense,” argued Augusta. “You have your mother's form, like an hourglass. No need for corseting there.” The woman's tone was ever so slightly envious.
“I am sure Captain Harrison has noticed.” Unity smiled as she, too, pivoted slowly about on the stool upon which she stood.
“Unity! How on earth did I raise such an impudent child? Your father should know of this—"
Unity giggled, eyeing Roxane significantly before tossing her head. Flame-red hair floated about the girl's heart-shaped face and tiny features. She was not, Roxane noted, even perspiring. In afterthought, Roxane lifted the back of her hand to her brow, swiping at the moisture there.
“Please to be standing still,” admonished the seamstress, mouth full of pins. Curbing her mounting impatience, Roxane complied.
“Roxane and the captain will be the most handsome couple at the ball,” Unity continued. “They are very nearly of a height, have you noticed, Mother? Even though Captain Harrison is so wonderfully tall, Roxane comes right up under his chin...."
Augusta, apparently considering the significance of this observation, frowned thoughtfully at her daughter, and then at Roxane.
“They both have such dark hair, though the captain's is quite black, is it not?” Unity went on, undisturbed by her audience's lack of response. “Children most usually resemble at least one of their parents. Roxane and Captain Harrison's children will be absolutely beautiful."
“Unity!"
This from both Roxane and Augusta, who leaped up from her chair, quivering.
“That will be enough, Unity. If you cannot curb your tongue, I shall forbid you the ball tonight, do you hear?"
“Would you really, Mother?” asked Unity, obediently spinning while the seamstress checked her work.
“You know that I would,” replied Augusta sternly.
“Very well, then,” answered Unity, an angelic smile on her lips. “I will say no more."
But the seed had been sown, and for the next several minutes each of the women wore an expression reflecting her particular train of thought. Augusta was patently disturbed, Unity delighted, and Roxane a battleground of conflicting emotion.
Children? thought Roxane. Children? Why, she had never seriously contemplated the role of mother, most probably because she had never seriously considered the advent of a husband in her life. And she still did not. She and Captain Harrison a handsome couple, with beautiful children? Unity was beyond romanticism now; the child was daft.
Roxane stepped down from her stool, allowing her gown to be stripped from her shoulders, and stepped out of it carefully. She stood for a moment, clad in her shift and stockings.
Collier. She had, of course, known that he had gone away, and she had not needed Colonel Stanton's explanation for his absence. He had come to her beforehand to inform her that he was going, though he did not say where. They had argued, out in the garden, very quietly and very quickly. He had been, Roxane recalled, out of sorts, anxious without expounding, and concerned for her. She had had a headache, which would not usually have made a difference to her disposition, but this day it had. The words exchanged had not, in themselves, been particularly rude or hurtful, and might have amounted to nothing, had the opportunity to take them back or apologize been readily available, but she had backed away from him when he attempted to embrace her, despite their tiff, before departing, and then he had gone. The expression in his eyes as he turned away was unreadable. She did not call him back.
Roxane slipped her arms into the dressing gown held out to her by a servant. Augusta, perhaps noting something in Roxane's countenance, came forward, patting Roxane's arm.
“To rest now, girls. Let us nap before this evening's frivolities, so that we may look our best."
And look their best they did, overcoming Roxane's initial reluctance to lend enthusiasm to the task. She was not, at twenty, so far from childhood that she could not be caught up in the exuberance of what was very near to a holiday atmosphere, nor so sedate and modest that she could not become entranced by the nearly magical alteration of her appearance at the hands of two capable servants.
Despite Unity's declarations otherwise, Roxane had never considered herself a beautiful woman. She recognized, of course, how much she favored her mother, who had been remarkably good-looking, and on that level understood that she herself was charmed by that resemblance. Yet she had spent so much of her life determined that looks would not rule her destiny that to stand up one evening in India before a full-length looking glass, and to find her gaze returned by a young woman whose appearance was nothing if not extraordinary, held her in momentary awe. She was tempted, for an instant, to glance over her shoulder, to see if she was not really standing somewhere behind the person reflected in the glass.
“Oh, Roxane,” breathed Unity.
The gown, a polished, cream-colored muslin, fit perfectly, close-fitting from bosom to waist, then draping in fluid motion to the floor. The sleeves were nearly non-existent, just a sweep of rolled fabric off the shoulder, to which a brief length of straight lace, seeded with pearls, was attached. The bodice followed the same design and curve, seeming to be secured over her bosom by air alone. Gloves of the same color came up over her elbows, and about her neck her mother's rope pearls were wrapped twice, the extra length hanging down over her breast. The heavy mass of her dark brown hair was up off her neck, twisted loosely about her head and threaded with strands of silver ribbon, and at her ears a dangling pair of earrings brushed, with sweet sensation, the sides of a throat whose length was accentuated by the upward sweep of the coiffure.
A low whistle of appreciation issued from the doorway, and they all turned of one accord to find Colonel Stanton smiling at Roxane in open admiration.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you.” Roxane blushed with pleasure.
“All of you,” continued the colonel, remembering himself as he entered the room, hands extended to his wife and daughter. “All of you will be the most lovely creatures in attendance.” He smiled intently for his wife, then turned to Unity.
“You,” he said, “you, my elfin child, I would scarcely recognize. I will have to keep a strict eye on you tonight."
Uni
ty ducked her head, giggling, pale blue eyes alight. The material for her gown had been chosen to exactly match her eyes, and though much more demure in cut, due to her tender age, it was every bit as lovely as Roxane's. Her own hair, flaming about her head, was affixed with small blue and white flowers, tiny green leaves still attached. She looked, Roxane thought, like a dryad, a wood nymph, come to walk among the mortals.
“Ladies,” announced the colonel, still grinning and arms akimbo, waiting for the hands of wife and daughter to tuck inside each elbow, “the carriage awaits."
Roxane followed the procession, smiling in spite of herself.
* * * *
Having avoided lavish entertainments in London, Roxane was unprepared for the extent of extravagance that was Government House ball. Outside, their carriage was one in a long procession, awaiting its turn before the grand stair, where ladies were assisted to emerge from their conveyances by an army of liveried servants, the gentlemen, soldiers and civilians alike, dismounting behind them. Not all were Europeans, Roxane was glad to see, and studied each face, honey brown to nearly black, with interest. Some of the women wore brilliantly dyed native dress, while others arrived garbed in gowns identical to their European counterparts.
“They are Christian women,” Augusta informed her loftily, following her gaze to where a woman was alighting wearing a dress very similar to Augusta's own. They were of a size, the woman and Augusta, and might have been one and the same if not for the lustrous ink of the woman's dressed hair, the creamy brown of her skin, and her sloe eyes like the bluish-black fruit of the blackthorn.
When Roxane descended from the carriage, she smiled gratefully at the man who assisted her. “Thank you,” she said. He bowed low, from the waist, in response.
Climbing the steps, Augusta leaned close to her head. “You needn't always be thanking the servants, Roxane."
“Why not?” retorted Roxane, genuinely puzzled. “I appreciate their service."
“It is unseemly,” Augusta continued in a rushed whisper.
“How so?” Roxane asked, pausing on the step. Unity brushed against her and passed by. “I always thanked the servants at home. I do not believe it was unseemly to do so."
“Yes, but that was at home. You are here now.” Augusta arched her brows, awaiting some sort of revelation which eluded Roxane.
“And?"
“These people,” Augusta stated, lowering her voice still further, “are not white."
“Yes,” said Roxane, in acknowledgement of the obvious, “and?"
For a moment, Augusta was silent, and then she sighed in exasperation. “Never mind, Roxane. I cannot imagine what your mother was thinking, bringing you up the way she did. But no matter. This evening is for the enjoyment of all, so let us not spoil it with a difference of opinion."
With a snap of her fan, Augusta reached for her husband's arm, accepting his assistance on the staircase. Roxane, determined to put the woman's comments out of her head immediately, lifted her chin and walked up the stone steps, reaching the top before her hosts. Unity was there, waiting.
“You are turning heads, Roxane,” she said.
“Nonsense!"
“No, it is not. Look, over there. See that officer with the blond head? He cannot keep his eyes from you."
Against her better judgment, Roxane turned her head to follow Unity's gaze and found a youthful blond-haired man in dress uniform, freckles spattered across his nose and a grin that was nothing if not endearing, staring back in their direction.
“Unity, that fellow is not looking at me. I believe you are the one who has caught his fancy. Now stop gaping, before your mother catches you."
Firmly taking Unity by the arm, she steered the younger girl in through the parted doors.
Guests were funneled along a roped corridor, so that entry into the ballroom was made, of necessity, by only a few at a time. Each person was announced by name, as he or she placed the invitations received upon a silver salver. For decorum's sake, Roxane and Unity had been forced to wait on the Stantons’ arrival in the corridor, so that the two could proceed ahead of their unwed charges.
The ballroom was quite large, twice as long as it was wide, with floor-to-ceiling windows open to the evening air. Every table was covered with a multitude of fragrant white or pink, freshly cut flowers, positioned in beaten brass vases on starched white tablecloths. Servants were likewise in white, with ruby or salmon sashes. Chairs were pale pink brocade, and table legs were lacquered white. The floor was polished marble, and suitably reflected the illumination of tiered chandeliers, which hung at even intervals down the length of the room. On the tables themselves, massive ivory candles stood tall in long silver candlesticks. The buffet was set with lustrous silver and crystal and bone-china plates. And in the midst of it all, the guests strolled, the first order of the evening being a promenade about the room for the sole purpose, it seemed to Roxane, of providing each young man ample opportunity to study each young woman, before the second order of the night, which was the filling of the dance cards. After that, she had been told, a light repast, and then the dancing, before a later meal, speeches, and more dancing, well into the night. To end the affair, for those who had not yet succumbed to exhaustion, there was breakfast.
Roxane smiled at the back of Unity's bright head, then looked beyond her toward the center of the vast floor, where a group of officers had gathered, ostensibly to talk but more obviously to scrutinize the passing entourage of cultivated and groomed young ladies. One among them Roxane had cause to recognize, and turned quickly away in the hope of avoiding his eye. It was, of course, too late. Harry Grovsner, always with an eye out for the ladies, had noticed her long before she had him. If he remembered the episode in the garden, he appeared to have forgotten, as a broad smile broke out across his face.
“Miss Sheffield!” he called. Several heads turned. Roxane moved back through the press, leaving Unity with her parents as she pretended an examination of the china at the buffet. He managed, however, to find his way to her, and arrived at her elbow blowing like a winded horse.
“Roxane—"
“You have no leave, Captain Grovsner, to call me by that name,” she said, lowering the plate in her hand to the tabletop with a distinct noise of contact. He placed his fingers on her elbow.
“Nor to touch me, sir,” she added, shaking off his hand in impatience. “Regardless of the company, I shall ensure that you do not take that liberty again. Do I make myself clear?"
His lip quirked in amusement, but she saw in his eyes that he did, indeed, recall the end result of his last attempt to take liberties with her person. Folding his hands in front of his jacket, he inclined his head, bowing slightly in mock submission.
“Perfectly,” he said. “However, Miss Sheffield,” he went on, returning to the formal, “I would like to make amends for my behavior when last we met. I, too, can be a gentleman, when called upon to do so."
Roxane made a rude, unfeminine noise.
“Honestly, Miss Sheffield. Allow me to prove myself. Grant me the honor of serving you your repast, when this silly charade with the cards has ended. I will be both gallant and repentant, I swear."
“Swear not, Captain Grovsner, lest the gods frown upon the recklessness of your endeavor."
He laughed, a quick, humorless sound.
“You will allow me, then?"
“No,” said Roxane.
He was, for the moment, at a loss for words. Roxane tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and turned away. He was immediately at her side.
“A dance, then. I will come to sue for a place upon your card."
“I think not."
“Why are you so quick to say no?” he persisted, strolling beside her as she continued her walk about the room. “How many others will you permit to escort you around the floor, and yet you tell me that I cannot? You sorely wound me, beauty. I do not think I shall survive."
“Captain Grovsner,” stated Roxane, swinging about to face h
im so suddenly that someone behind her nearly trod upon her gown, “save your theatrics for Rose Peabody. And if you shall truly not survive your disappointment, then crawl away and die somewhere where the smell will not taint the occasion."
Roxane observed with gratification the ruddy hue creep up from the man's collar. His open mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
“Very well,” he said hoarsely, and swung on his heel, marching in careless disregard across the floor, in his haste not even noting the welcoming expression on Rose Peabody's pale and lovely countenance as he blindly pushed past her. Roxane, catching Rose's eye, nodded a pleasant good evening to her, then went, smiling, in search of Unity and her parents.
“Goodness, do you not look like the cat who has lapped up the cream. Whatever have you been up to, Roxane?"
* * * *
Roxane continued to smile serenely, absently tugging with her forefinger at the strand of pearls hanging just between the upper swell of her breasts. She had visually searched the floor for the past half hour, with no sign of Collier Harrison. Harry Grovsner she had seen, more than once, half drunk already, with Rose clinging hopelessly to his arm. Soon they would eat, and then the first set of dances would begin. Flipping the pearls from her grasp, she turned to greet a returning Augusta and her daughter.
Unity held out her hand, displaying the card attached by a slender ribbon to her wrist.
“Look, Roxane, you were right. See that name there, and there again? Corporal Donald Lewis,” she pronounced, giggling.
“The one with the blond hair?” Roxane whispered, leaning nearer to examine the scrawled signature.
“Yes. He claimed two dances right away. How about you?"
Roxane held up her own wrist. “Abysmally empty,” she said, with a dry laugh.
Although Corporal Donald Lewis, son of Colonel Archibald Lewis, would have given his right arm to serve Unity her repast, he was not permitted to do so, given her debutante status. Colonel Stanton served the three ladies of his household instead, jocularly attending to them. He had remarked once on the absence of Captain Harrison; then, upon viewing Roxane's countenance, chose not to do so again. Roxane ate lightly, halfheartedly listening to Unity's chatter. Heedless of her mother's disapproval, the girl extolled the charms of Corporal Lewis. One by one, both cards were filled by tentative young men who came requesting certain dances of the evening, after having first ascertained the order of the set from the orchestra master. They seemed more open with Unity, and somewhat subdued, even tongue-tied, in Roxane's presence. This did not surprise her at all. She was used to men who were put off by her demeanor.
