A Kiss To Remember | Herophine

Chapter Twenty Five - The Ball

Josephine

And I wish those dreams could go on forever...

“Lady Irene was right,” Josephine wailed. “You can polish me all you like, but I’ll never be anything more than a lump of coal!”

As she turned away from the mirror and collapsed across Mercy's bed, flinging one arm dramatically over her brow, Mercy and her Abigail exchanged an exasperated look.

“Don’t be silly, Jo," Mercy snapped. “You’re simply suffering from a case of nerves. Why you’re going to be the loveliest woman at the ball.”

Josephine sat up. “Why? Did you forget to invite anyone else?”

Even Mercy had to admit that no one would have mistaken the young duchess for a diamond of the first water at that moment. She wore a ratty old dressing gown stained with numerous splotches of tea. Her hair was wrapped in curling papers that stuck out from her head at all angles and her face was smeared with a thick layer of Gowland's Lotion, the miracle cream that was guaranteed to bleach away even the most disfiguring of freckles.

Mercy gently wiped a smudge of the stuff from the tip of Josephine’s nose. “You may look a fright now, but by the time Lily here is through with you, you’ll be the toast of London.”

Josephine’s countenance brightened. “Toast? I’m so ravenous I could eat a whole loaf of bread. Could we ring for Maggie to bring up some toast?"

“Perhaps later,” Mercy promised. “But right now we need to concentrate on getting you dressed."

“Why? So your cousin can parade me in front of all of London? So all the lords and ladies can sneer down their noses at the penniless country chit who tricked him into marriage? I knew he was determined to have his revenge on me, but even for him, this is too diabolical. I should have married Zachary Gooodman or Michael Bolton. They might have been hairy and smelly, but they weren’t mean." She flopped back down on the bed. “Your cousin is a devil. I hate him!"

“Of course you do,” Mercy crooned, frantically gesturing to Lily to fetch the duchess’s silk stockings while she was distracted.

Before the maid could begin to roll them over Josephine's ankles, she sat up again, her sullen scowl replaced by an expression of abject misery. “I shouldn’t blame him, you know. God wouldn’t be punishing me if I hadn’t been so wicked. I was the one who mistook my will for His, the one who coveted, the one who lied, the one who ..."

That sombre soliloquy of Josephine's sins might have gone on for days had Katy not come barging into the bedroom, carrying a plate laden with sweets.

It hadn’t taken Josephine’s sister long to figure out that the north wing was one of the best-kept secrets of Deansbrook Hall. Mercy had created a cosy haven there for herself, a world away from the chilly marble and oppressive mahogany of the rest of the hall. The floral-chintz-draped walls and fitted carpeting provided the perfect backdrop for the fluffy white cat who reclined on an overstuffed ottoman in front of the hearth like a sultan’s most cherished wife.

As was her custom, Katy was already talking when she entered. “Oh, Jo, you should see all the treats Maggie has prepared for tonight! There are sweetmeats and gingerbread and ices and a syllabub decorated with sugared violets and the most enchanting little heart-shaped French cakes soaked in rum. She gave me some of each to taste and Hero said that even though I was too young to dance, I could stay up all night if I was so inclined.”

Josephine’s gaze was locked on Katy’s plate. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “I’m starving. Give me some of that.”

Katy picked an unfortunate moment to turn truculent. “No, it’s mine!" She hugged the plate close to her chest. “Go get your own.”