Patience looked upon her girls with pride. “Well, I must say you look wonderful. Grace, dear, don’t squint. Put on your spectacles until we arrive. Remember what Lady Caroline advised; use your lorgnette. It’s quite modish.”
Sophie’s gown was of honey-gold silk. Turquoise brocade for Angel, and mulberry crepe shot with aubergine for Rose. Grace had finally settled on a lilac tunic over purple satin. Patience outright refused her request for brown or gray.
She, herself, wore a shimmering sea green faille with a gauze overskirt in pistachio. Grant had been particularly fond of these colors. It was too bad he wouldn’t see her tonight. Wearing the bosom inserts annoyed her, mostly because he sent them. And though she had determined never to wear the blasted things, the dresses just didn’t fit right without them. She hated to admit, even to herself, that they gave her a roundness she enjoyed, false though it was.
Perhaps it was best Grant wouldn’t be at the ball, Patience mused as she watched the passing scenery from the second of two carriages. She was perfectly capable of managing on her own.
They passed through the receiving line thanking the Duchess of Dorset for the kind invitations and waited at the top of the stairs overlooking the ballroom. When their names were announced, and they began to descend, the entire assemblage—all six of them—stopped to watch. Patience’s heart beat to the rhythm of the music. Why were they staring?