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THE AFTERNOON OF THE DANBURY BALL, the Beaumont sisters were all clustered into Beatrice's bedroom. The drapes were drawn, allowing the invigorating glow of the late afternoon sun to dance along the walls and kiss their skin. The bustling nature of the ton seeped through the open window, becoming a faint soundtrack behind the sisters' voices and lapses of laughter. The smell of spring was carried through the small crack, the breeze rustled the drapes and sometimes caught a few strands of loose hair from her updo.
Elizabeth pushed the strands behind her ear, bothered by the tickling sensation on her nose. Her allergies to pollen were already proving to be a feat that season and she was not interested in sneezing yet again that afternoon.
Every so often, the crisp sound of Ophelia turning a page of her book would reach their ears from her spot by the window. Somehow, even with her nose in her latest book, the eighteen-year-old still actively participated in the conversation at hand. Elizabeth was in awe at her sister's ability to multitask. It was a talent, really.
"With the Queen's favour, I should think you will have suitors chasing you all evening," Frederica sighed dreamily. She fell backwards from her seated position at the edge of the bed, plopping against the mattress with her arms above her head. "I wish I could attend."
Ophelia snorted, her eyes never straying from the page. "You only wish to attend for the food."
"No!" Frederica's bottom lip fell slightly and her brows furrowed. At the shrill noise that fell from her sister's mouth, Elizabeth cringed. Frederica continued in defence, "I wish to attend to support our dear sister."
Glancing away from the mirror, Beatrice gave Frederica a pointed look. Frederica's adoration of food was very well known amongst the Beaumont sisters.
Elizabeth shook her head softly, the strand of brown hair falling from its place from behind her ear. She pushed it back. "Of course, Freddie. You would never seek an invitation on the grounds of apple tarts and macaroons alone."
"There's apple tarts? M-macaroons?" Frederica all but cried out, holding herself back only on the premise that she was not only wishing to attend for the delicious food. Swallowing, she forced out, "I'm afraid I do not fancy either. However, I do fancy the idea of Beatrice catching a fine husband, perhaps a nobleman like Lizzie? Oh! Should you think Lord Bridgerton has any suggestions—"
At the mere mention of her fiancé, Elizabeth jumped in her seat and the corner of her mouth tugged downwards. The blood rushed from her face, allowing a white look of horror to wash over her soft features. Thankfully, the action went unnoticed by her sisters.
"I do not understand the fuss," Beatrice said, rolling her eyes. Knotting her fingers in the fabric of her blue dress, she swished her skirt. She watched in the mirror as the soft fabric danced around her legs, the sleek fabric and dainty beads shimmering in the direct sunlight. "The Queen did not call me flawless. By all means, I am no Daphne Bridgerton."
