Bridget's Flame, November contest, week three, "Limelight"
This is something I wrote a long, long time ago. It was originally fanfiction; I dusted it off, took out all references to the work it was derived from, and here it is ...
Lucrezia D’Armiant loathed waiting. Especially waiting for something as important as her first ball. Well, the end of her first ball. There was nothing worse than waiting for something you didn't want to happen, anyway. She sighed, and settled back into the window seat where she had hidden herself.
She studied her appearance in a night-darkened window. Her skin was still pale, despite the heat of the room. Her dark brown hair was piled on top of her head in the latest style from France, with her face a small, pointed oval beneath it. Her eyes were blue and piercing and entirely too large for her face, giving her gaze a sharp directness startling in such a young woman. Lucrezia frowned at her reflection. She didn't think she was particularly attractive, not compared to many of the other girls. She had never tried to be, so perhaps it was just lack of practice. Perhaps she would be a beauty one day. She snorted. It had never been important, before this.
She turned from the window, looking at all the other girls in the room with her. They were all dressed as she was, in elaborate, shimmering gowns: some were encrusted with jewels and fine lace; some were worked with the finest embroidery mortal hands could make. The candlelight was caught and magnified by magnificent jewels and glossy hair. Lucrezia noted that a fine dress and expensive jewelry could make the ugliest girl look lovely. She herself was proof.
They were gathered into nervous packs, giggling and working their fans furiously to keep their complexions from shining. Lucrezia thought they resembled nothing so much as livestock for auction. In a way, they were, and so was she, though she supposed she was luckier than many of them. She had been taught to read and write; many parents thought it worthless to waste money educating girls in the literary arts. Most girls her age only learned singing, dancing, sewing, and other pretty tricks that enhanced young maidens.
They all, however, had received equally thorough schooling in one thing: how to obtain a husband. Lucrezia sighed. She, too, had the same goal, after all. Without a husband, she would have nothing when her parents died; she would be sent from one relation to the next, or worse, spend her life serving as governess to strangers, with no real home of her own. She supposed it would be marginally better to be someone's wife.
She sighed again, and walked over to her friend, Anne. Anne Montpassé was lauded as the beauty of the century. Lucrezia couldn't deny that; Anne was tall, especially with her almost-white hair piled on top of her head. Her skin was pale and flawless; her scarlet gown making her seem paler still. Her heart-shaped face and tilted green eyes gave her as lightly fox-like appearance, but no one other than Lucrezia seemed to notice this.
"What are they keeping us here for? Surely everyone except God himself has arrived." The waiting was making Lucrezia peevish.
"Patience, my dear," Anne could wait forever, if assured of the outcome. "and don’t blaspheme too loudly. They'll come and get us soon."
As if the words had been a summons, the doors to the ballroom opened. All the girls in the room turned, as one, to face the doors. What they could see of the ballroom beyond was glorious. The light from thousands of candles blazed down and was reflected from the polished golden marble floor. Great swags of imported flowers hung from the ceiling and between the columns that ringed the room.
Lucrezia could see hundreds of elegantly dressed noble men and women gathered amongst these columns. Just outside the doors, their escorts were waiting: mostly cousins and brothers too young to marry yet. It wouldn't do for the young ladies to be thrust upon their prospective husbands so soon.
Each girl was to walk out when her name was announced and curtsy to the King and Queen, who were seated on their thrones directly opposite the door under a bower. She was to take the proffered arm of her escort, and take her place on the dance floor. After everyone was announced, they would perform a well-rehearsed and much-hated figure dance; then they were free to mingle as they wished.
The order in which the girls went was determined by some arcane formula made up of wealth and family standing. Lucrezia would go near the end; her family was not particularly wealthy or illustrious, but they had gained status by providing certain discreet, useful services to various kings for many generations. Anne, whose ancestors were far more impressive, was last. They used the time they spent wiating to observe the ballroom and gossip.
"Ah, Lucinda Stewart. It seems her parents had to sell the last of their silver to buy that gown." Anne was worth eighty thousand a year, enough to make the choosiest man drool.
Lucrezia frowned, "Why is Aurore D’Artangnion being presented? I thought she was all but promised to William Sheridan?" She couldn't imagine putting oneself through this if it wasn't necessary.
"Well, nothing is official, yet," Anne replied, "and there's always the possibility that someone a bit . . . oh, wealthier, could become interested." Anne smirked; the smile of someone who did not have to worry about what the future would hold. "Oh look, there's Sargit Macgregor. Davida Coulter told me she had heard that Sargit is no longer . . . intact.”
"Two of three of the "eligible men" we are to meet tonight are not intact." Lucrezia said, bitter at the unfairness.
"Well," said Anne with a most inappropriate grin, "someone's got to lead the way."
On they waited, until Lucrezia heard her name called. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the fierce light and looked around the room. Hundreds of eyes looked back at her.
So, she thought bitterly, someday, I will belong to one of these men. She glanced at the door. I could run … No. Only rabbits run.
She straightened her back and made the most elegant curtsy she could muster. She did not, however, bend her neck as the other girls had done. Instead, she looked directly into the King’s eyes; such a gesture might have gotten another girl executed, but she knew things that could have gotten the king executed.
The king seemed to be reading her thoughts; he blanched a bit before he bowed slightly, the gesture both recognition and dismissal. Her courtesies done, she took her cousin Theodore's arm, and walked away, thankful that her time alone in the blazing light was over.
Lucrezia D’Armiant loathed waiting. Especially waiting for something as important as her first ball. Well, the end of her first ball. There was nothing worse than waiting for something you didn't want to happen, anyway. She sighed, and settled back into the window seat where she had hidden herself.
She studied her appearance in a night-darkened window. Her skin was still pale, despite the heat of the room. Her dark brown hair was piled on top of her head in the latest style from France, with her face a small, pointed oval beneath it. Her eyes were blue and piercing and entirely too large for her face, giving her gaze a sharp directness startling in such a young woman. Lucrezia frowned at her reflection. She didn't think she was particularly attractive, not compared to many of the other girls. She had never tried to be, so perhaps it was just lack of practice. Perhaps she would be a beauty one day. She snorted. It had never been important, before this.
She turned from the window, looking at all the other girls in the room with her. They were all dressed as she was, in elaborate, shimmering gowns: some were encrusted with jewels and fine lace; some were worked with the finest embroidery mortal hands could make. The candlelight was caught and magnified by magnificent jewels and glossy hair. Lucrezia noted that a fine dress and expensive jewelry could make the ugliest girl look lovely. She herself was proof.
They were gathered into nervous packs, giggling and working their fans furiously to keep their complexions from shining. Lucrezia thought they resembled nothing so much as livestock for auction. In a way, they were, and so was she, though she supposed she was luckier than many of them. She had been taught to read and write; many parents thought it worthless to waste money educating girls in the literary arts. Most girls her age only learned singing, dancing, sewing, and other pretty tricks that enhanced young maidens.
They all, however, had received equally thorough schooling in one thing: how to obtain a husband. Lucrezia sighed. She, too, had the same goal, after all. Without a husband, she would have nothing when her parents died; she would be sent from one relation to the next, or worse, spend her life serving as governess to strangers, with no real home of her own. She supposed it would be marginally better to be someone's wife.
She sighed again, and walked over to her friend, Anne. Anne Montpassé was lauded as the beauty of the century. Lucrezia couldn't deny that; Anne was tall, especially with her almost-white hair piled on top of her head. Her skin was pale and flawless; her scarlet gown making her seem paler still. Her heart-shaped face and tilted green eyes gave her as lightly fox-like appearance, but no one other than Lucrezia seemed to notice this.
"What are they keeping us here for? Surely everyone except God himself has arrived." The waiting was making Lucrezia peevish.
"Patience, my dear," Anne could wait forever, if assured of the outcome. "and don’t blaspheme too loudly. They'll come and get us soon."
As if the words had been a summons, the doors to the ballroom opened. All the girls in the room turned, as one, to face the doors. What they could see of the ballroom beyond was glorious. The light from thousands of candles blazed down and was reflected from the polished golden marble floor. Great swags of imported flowers hung from the ceiling and between the columns that ringed the room.
Lucrezia could see hundreds of elegantly dressed noble men and women gathered amongst these columns. Just outside the doors, their escorts were waiting: mostly cousins and brothers too young to marry yet. It wouldn't do for the young ladies to be thrust upon their prospective husbands so soon.
Each girl was to walk out when her name was announced and curtsy to the King and Queen, who were seated on their thrones directly opposite the door under a bower. She was to take the proffered arm of her escort, and take her place on the dance floor. After everyone was announced, they would perform a well-rehearsed and much-hated figure dance; then they were free to mingle as they wished.
The order in which the girls went was determined by some arcane formula made up of wealth and family standing. Lucrezia would go near the end; her family was not particularly wealthy or illustrious, but they had gained status by providing certain discreet, useful services to various kings for many generations. Anne, whose ancestors were far more impressive, was last. They used the time they spent wiating to observe the ballroom and gossip.
"Ah, Lucinda Stewart. It seems her parents had to sell the last of their silver to buy that gown." Anne was worth eighty thousand a year, enough to make the choosiest man drool.
Lucrezia frowned, "Why is Aurore D’Artangnion being presented? I thought she was all but promised to William Sheridan?" She couldn't imagine putting oneself through this if it wasn't necessary.
"Well, nothing is official, yet," Anne replied, "and there's always the possibility that someone a bit . . . oh, wealthier, could become interested." Anne smirked; the smile of someone who did not have to worry about what the future would hold. "Oh look, there's Sargit Macgregor. Davida Coulter told me she had heard that Sargit is no longer . . . intact.”
"Two of three of the "eligible men" we are to meet tonight are not intact." Lucrezia said, bitter at the unfairness.
"Well," said Anne with a most inappropriate grin, "someone's got to lead the way."
On they waited, until Lucrezia heard her name called. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the fierce light and looked around the room. Hundreds of eyes looked back at her.
So, she thought bitterly, someday, I will belong to one of these men. She glanced at the door. I could run … No. Only rabbits run.
She straightened her back and made the most elegant curtsy she could muster. She did not, however, bend her neck as the other girls had done. Instead, she looked directly into the King’s eyes; such a gesture might have gotten another girl executed, but she knew things that could have gotten the king executed.
The king seemed to be reading her thoughts; he blanched a bit before he bowed slightly, the gesture both recognition and dismissal. Her courtesies done, she took her cousin Theodore's arm, and walked away, thankful that her time alone in the blazing light was over.