The Proletarian of Mayfair

Chapter Three

"A soul is composed of music. Laughter is the instrument and love is the melody."
The Romantic Writings of O.P.B.S.

Olivia spent the better part of a week learning a lifetime's worth of manners, poise, and grace. She did not know a thousand things she should. Knowing which spoon to use for each meal—there were three, how should she know?—and why there were two forks baffled her immensely. Apparently, she did not hold her shoulders properly and never met someone's eyes. She did not walk perfectly or curtsy well, either.

What was even worse was that, even with all she had studied, she did not know how to dance. It would be okay if she wished to be a wallflower for the rest of her life. With only one season to pull this off, she had to know how to dance. Dancing with men brought attention to her, and attention brought proposals.

She vowed to not take her aunt's money more than was required. Even one season was worth more than she could ever repay. The dresses she wore would be more than a month's pay. Her shoes were more than three month's. When all of this concluded, she would not need them anymore.

It seemed a waste of resources and time, all to look beautiful only once.

"Olivia, tomorrow, you will walk in front of the queen. It is the official start to the season. Every new debutante will be there, attempting to do the same as you: impress the queen." Daphne told her. Olivia, in a dress shinier than the Thames on a sunny day, let out a shaky breath. "Queen Victoria is unlike her mama, in that she has very differing tastes. She does not favor one debutante over another, but any impression she does give is minimal and unimportant, at least from what I have seen. You do not need to impress the queen, but I would recommend doing well. The better you do, the more attention you gain."

"Of course, Aunt Daphne. I understand completely." Olivia nodded. It did not settle her stomach, but it did settle her mind.

"Then let us practice the curtsy a few more times. Preparation will ease nerves." Olivia understood the concept. The best way to learn things was to practice. She learned everything because of review or practice. Even how to use the printing press, though she was rusty now.

She shifted her weight, stared at a picture, and kept her hands fluttering just above the fabric of her dress. One, two, three, she counted in her head and pulled up. Her ankle shifted, but she tried her best to save it. Olivia nearly lost her balance, but managed to hide it underneath a tiny wobble.

"It is better, but you are still struggling to rise from the curtsy. Do you wish to continue to practice? We do not have to," Daphne knew how difficult it could be under the pressure. She could not imagine only having a week to pull off what few do in years.

"Later, I will. I am tired. I need a bit of rest. I will be at afternoon tea," Olivia muffled a yawn. It was fake, but she did not wish to practice another time. It was futile. She could not pull off the impossible. No one could learn to curtsy in a matter of days, not even with the best of teachers and all day to practice.

The entire charade was futile. She did not belong there, in that world. The ton was no place for a printer's daughter. The season would be cruel to her.

Perhaps that was the price for love. She would endure the pain of a thousand lifetimes if it meant she could find a romance half of what was described in the books she adored. She saw the way her mama and papa looked at each other. Their eyes held admiration, devotion, and joy for the other. Her mama had her writings—those took London by storm years ago and had led to some changes. Her papa had his business, which took off alongside her mama's writings.

She watched out the windows that overlooked Mayfair. In the distance, she imagined what her family would be doing. Would they be finishing the days' prints? Would Amber have begun making dinner? Perhaps one last customer was sliding in at the last moment before the doors closed for the day. Olivia smiled at the thought that Amber might be sneaking out later to meet up with the boy who had caught her heart.