“Am I?” Anna asked with a laugh. “Is not prettiness for girls, Bertha? I am twenty-five.”

“Well, you don’t look old,” Bertha assured her. “You don’t look a day over twenty. You are going to be the most gorgeous lady at the ball.”

“Well, thank you.” Anna got to her feet, her coiffure complete, and looked at her image in the long mirror. She would very probably be the least gorgeous. She had seen the way everyone dressed for the theater, and presumably they would dress even more grandly for a ball. But she was satisfied with her appearance. Her gown would shimmer in the candlelight, and she liked the color, though she had hesitated over the bolt of fabric when she first saw it. It was a vibrant pink, and a color she had never associated with herself. But Madame Lavalle had unrolled some of it and draped it loosely across her body and directed Anna’s attention to a mirror—and Anna had fallen in love. Perhaps she did look younger than her years, or at least no older. And the pink seemed to add a glow to her cheeks when she had feared that it might do just the opposite.

Madame Lavalle, she thought, had earned her fake French name and accent. She really was both talented and skilled. The neckline was a little lower than Anna would have liked, though not nearly low enough to please all her critics. But she liked it and the close-fitting bodice and short, straight sleeves. The gown flattered what little bosom she had—as did the stays she was wearing. The skirt fell straight from below her bosom and yet gave the illusion of wafting about her as she moved. The modiste had wanted to add a train, which would look very becoming, she had said, carried over my lady’s arm as she danced, but Anna had declined. After yesterday, she was extremely glad she had. Her satin dancing slippers, embroidered with silver thread, matched the color of her dress almost exactly. Her elbow-length gloves were silver.

Oh, in the privacy of her dressing room she would believe that she looked gorgeous. Why not? She thought ruefully of her Sunday best dress and the two day dresses she had brought from Bath, all of which had disappeared from her room. Her best shoes too and, of course, the old ones. She smiled at Bertha’s image in the glass.

“No, we must never wish to go back, must we?” she said. “Only forward. My first ball, Bertha. Spend the evening on your knees, if you will, praying that I will not trip over my partner’s feet in the very first set—or, worse, over my own.”

Bertha shrieked and then laughed. “Never tempt fate like that,” she said.

But the first set was to be with the Duke of Netherby, whom Anna had still not seen since the morning of Harry’s departure more than two weeks ago. He would not let her trip over anyone’s feet. It would be too much of a blow to his own consequence. Oh goodness, she would be dining at his table within the next couple of hours. After that she would be standing in a receiving line with him and Aunt Louise, and then she would be dancing a quadrille with him. She felt suddenly breathless and reminded herself that he would probably wish himself anywhere else this evening except where he actually would be. He would look bored and doubtless would be feeling bored too. How very lowering!

She was smiling as she turned from the mirror. “Oh, I am nervous, Bertha,” she admitted.

“What? You?” Her maid looked incredulous. “We always used to marvel over how nothing could ruffle your feathers, Miss Snow. You have nothing to be nervous about, especially after yesterday. You look gorgeous, and you are Lady Anastasia Westcott.”

“So I am. Bless you.” Anna took up her plain silver fan, which had been her one extravagance when she had gone to the shops to help Elizabeth find new dancing slippers. She squared her shoulders and left the room. Cousin Alexander and his mother would be arriving soon with a carriage to escort Elizabeth and her to dinner at Archer House.

They were the last to arrive. All the other guests were gathered in the drawing room and turned as one to greet the new arrivals. There were hugs and handshakes. There were several voices speaking at once. And then Anna found herself the focus of critical attention.

“I suppose you look as fine as you can ever expect to look, Anastasia, if you remain stubborn and refuse to take advice from those who know better than you,” Aunt Matilda said—the first to offer an opinion. From her, it sounded almost like praise, and Anna smiled. “Come and kiss my cheek—after you have kissed your grandmama’s.”

Anna kissed both.

“It is a pity,” Aunt Mildred said, “that your gown is too plentiful in the bodice and not plentiful enough in the skirt. Anastasia. A lower décolletage and a train or at least some flounces at the hem would have improved it nicely. But you look well enough.”

“Does not the color suit her wonderfully well, Mildred?” Cousin Althea said, beaming kindly at Anna.

“Your hair really ought to have been cut short, Anastasia,” Aunt Louise said, “though it does admittedly look less severe than it usually does. You are right, Mildred. She does look well enough, even if she could have looked so much more fashionable.”

“No jewelry and no hair plumes or anything else in your hair, Anastasia?” Anna’s grandmother asked. “I ought to have expected it and taken you to my own jeweler. I shall do so before your next ball.”

“Sometimes, Mother-in-Law,” Uncle Thomas said with a kindly smile for Anna, “a lady is a jewel in herself.” He raised the glass of sherry he was holding.

“I think you look perfectly lovely just as you are, Anna,” Elizabeth said. “Would you not agree, Alex?”