White Regency 03 - White Knight Read Online Free PDF Page B

fairytale. The ballroom was
bathed in brilliant candlelight from chandeliers whose crystals winked like
diamonds. Flowers the likes of which she had never seen spilled from ornate
china and ormolu vases that were set about the room, filling the air with an
exotic mixture of their various perfumes. Liveried footmen stood off to one
side, awaiting any request, while numerous other servants wove their way among
the throng of guests bearing silver trays filled with every sort of delicacy
imaginable. Brightly colored chiffon festooned each window opening and doorway,
and one could have sworn that the tables set in the supper parlor were groaning
beneath the weight of their delights. Jewels glittered about necks, ears, and
fingers. Elegant satins glowed against the candlelight. Everywhere she looked
gaiety and opulence were evident. Everywhere except—
    Grace glanced down, took one look at
herself, and blanched.
    The pale blue-gray silk she had chosen was
one of her best gowns, but its modest design indelibly marked her a rustic from
the country. The styling or her hair—a simple topknot of curls that bounced
clumsily about her ears when she moved—made her lack of style even more
apparent. Uncle Tedric had arranged it so that they would arrive at the ball
deliberately late in order to make their entrance as inconspicuous as possible.
Grace was certainly thankful for that now.
    These noble people had been born to the
life of privilege, had never known a day of choosing their own clothing or
dressing their own hair. Grace had been born the daughter of a marquess, yes,
but it was distinction made only in name, for she had been raised in the
country more like a milkmaid than a noblewoman. Nonny had believed that simple
living gave one character. How the ladies present this night would gasp were
they to learn Grace didn’t have her own ladies’ maid, but instead relied upon
her uncle’s housekeeper, Mrs. Bennett, to fasten the hooks at the back of her
gown when she couldn’t reach them. How could she even pretend to assume the
role of Marchioness Knighton, much less that of the future Duchess of Westover?
    Just as Grace convinced herself to have
her uncle take her home and forget the entire affair, a young lady of perhaps
nineteen separated herself from the masses, coming forward. She smiled politely
at Grace before presenting her gloved hand to Uncle Tedric.
    “I’m so happy you could come, Lord
Cholmeley. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
    She was everything a lady should
be—slender, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Grace, with her cocoa brown
hair caught up in a graceful sweep beneath an ornamented ostrich plume that
drifted softly as an angel’s wing when she moved. Her gown was made of white embroidered net that
draped over pale rose-colored silk set with sparkling brilliants that winked in
the candlelight. It was quite the most elegant creation Grace had ever seen.
    Tedric took the lady’s hand and bowed over
it. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, my lady.” He turned
toward Grace. “Lady Eleanor Wycliffe, allow me to introduce my niece, Lady
Grace Ledys.”
    Grace bowed her head, wishing she had
something more ornate than the simple ribbon fillet laced through her curls.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady,” she said
quietly.
    “Grace,” Uncle Tedric said,
“Lady Eleanor is Lord Knighton’s sister. This evening’s ball is being
given in her honor.”
    “Yes, it is to be my coming-out. Such
a peculiar term, do you not think? Makes one think of a pillow that’s been
overstuffed!” Lady Eleanor linked her arm through Grace’s, whispering,
“Your uncle has informed me of your wish to share a dance with Christian.
I’m sure Lord Cholmeley wouldn’t mind letting me have you to myself for a bit
first to get better acquainted.” She squeezed Grace’s hand.
“Especially if we are to be sisters.”
    When Grace had been a girl, she’d dreamed
of having a sister, someone she