"Now please remain still, my lady."
Izzy's smile froze and she followed the photographer's instructions. The middle-aged man busied himself behind his tripod while she stood in front of a huge panoramic background scene mounted on rollers. With the plaster bust next to her, one could have thought she was indeed standing in the Buckingham Palace Throne Room.
"Hold still for me, please," the photographer repeated.
The bright flash of a lamp blinded her as the smell of burning magnesium powder filled the studio.
"One more," the photographer warned.
She looked straight at the camera and waited, her chest filled with pride and delight. The flash lamp popped again.
Behind the photographer, Vita and Izzy's mother chatted in low voices, sat in a row against the wall. They were at Bassano Photographic Studio, a few streets away from the Mayfair house. It was the mandatory stop for any fashionable debutante, between her Court presentation and her ball. Izzy didn't care that beads of sweat were forming along her back in the spotlights' heat. This was where royalties got photographed, and this was where she deserved to be immortalised in her Court presentation ensemble.
"Let's take a couple of pictures sitting down, shall we, my lady?"
The photographer's assistant, a boy no more than sixteen, brought her a gilt chair and she arranged her white tulle gown and her train before staring at the camera again. Vita's dress was a complicated design made of silk and lamé with net, sequins and rhinestones. Izzy was quite happy with her more modest choice. She held her ostrich feather fan, which matched those of her headdress, in front of her chest in a demure pose.
"Beautiful," the photographer muttered to himself, bringing a shy smile to her lips.
He had said the same thing about Vita, but still. Izzy appreciated the compliment. This was just such a perfect day.
She'd been floating on a cloud since that morning. Despite nervousness tying her stomach in knots and keeping her from eating anything, she'd managed to make it through the entire day without fainting or making a fool of herself.
The wait on the Mall had nearly finished her, though. Sitting in the back seat of her father's car for two hours with her mother, as the vehicle moved forward on the red tarmac at a snail's pace, hadn't been exactly fun. However it was part of the tradition: one couldn't avoid the long string of cars taking the day's debutantes to their destination – Buckingham Palace. The gathered crowds of sightseers and reporters had distracted her for a while, before the nail-biting prospect of being presented to the King had sent shivers of stress down her spine again.
At last Izzy and her mother had been allowed inside the Palace. She held her precious presentation card between tight fingers as they both ascended the grand staircase and waited in line in the antechamber, before the double doors of the Throne Room opened and their Majesties appeared.
The ceremony itself had been over in a flash, though. Izzy barely remembered handing her invitation to the official in livery who shouted her name, walking along the red carpet, stopping and sinking into two graceful curtsies to the King and Queen who sat on a low dais, and finally walking on. The great appearance before their majesties, which she had dreamed of for years, had been extraordinarily brief after all. Only a couple of minutes had sufficed to officially turn her into a woman eligible for marriage.
As usual, Vita had somehow managed to play her cards better than anyone else, and the King himself had spoken to her instead of only nodding like he did with every other debutante. He had talked about her father's bravery in the war and had offered her his condolences.
But it didn't really matter to Izzy. Nothing could ruin her day.
After the Court presentations, Lady Shaftesbury had gone back to Weatherly and the girls and Lady Rhodes had returned to Mayfair to have their photograph taken before the night's ball.
"All done," the photographer announced.
Izzy let out a sigh of relief. Now the real fun began.
***
"Did you hear?" Izzy squealed in Vita's ear.
Vita took a glass of lemonade from the footman's tray and took a sip before raising her eyebrow at her friend.
"Obviously not," she replied, her tone jaded.
"The Prince of Wales is coming!" Izzy whispered.
She could barely contain her excitement, heat flushing her cheeks. The heir to the throne had just let Lady Rhodes know he was coming. To her ball. In her house. She took Vita's glass and gulped down half her drink.
"I'm going to faint," Izzy said.
Vita rolled her eyes. "Don't. S'il-te-plaît."
She took her glass back. Around them, the drawing room was filled with the guests invited to the dinner party. The Prince and the other guests only coming to the ball would arrive later. The most beautiful and wealthiest debutantes attracted most men, eager to write their names in their dance programmes. Vita had been standing next to Archie by the fireplace, an expression of vague boredom on her face, when Izzy had dragged her away.
"This means photographers from the Sketch and the Tatler will come for sure!" Izzy said, undaunted by Vita's lack of interest in her piece of news. "I can't believe it!"
At last, the shadow of a smile stretched Vita's lips.
"Look at you," she said, "you really are going to be Deb of the Year after all."
Izzy shivered with anticipation. She really might finish her Season with her picture on a magazine cover and an engagement announcement. Against all the odds, her dreams might well come true after all.
"Show me your dance programme," Vita added.
She extended her hand, wrapped in a long ivory glove. Izzy gave her the small book.
"It's almost empty!"
Her tone was reproachful.
"Of course, it is," Izzy replied. "I need to be available to dance with the Prince and Mr. Lang."
Instead of agreeing with her, Vita shook her head.
"This is your ball," she said. "You can't risk finding yourself without a partner tonight."
She handed the programme back to Izzy.
"This is how you do it: you fill your dance card with as many names as you can. Then when a better partner presents himself, you displace the ones you're not interested in, and feign mix-ups or make up excuses."
Izzy's mouth gaped at the audacity of this plan.
"I'm not sure I can lie that easily."
Vita shrugged. "Then I'll lie for you. Just come and find me when you need me."
Izzy's smile widened and she gripped her friend's arm in gratitude.
"You're the best, do you know that?"
Vita's eyes sparkled. "I do what I can, ma chérie."
Izzy squeezed her hand. Vita may have behaved strangely and hidden secrets for most of the summer, but she had kept her promise to help Izzy through her Season.
"Dinner is served, Lady Rhodes," the butler announced.
The golden clock on the mantelpiece chimed eight o'clock as the guests made their way to the dining room.
Izzy found herself ravenous at the dinner table and she ignored her partner's attempts at conversation. Henry Stratford was a second cousin on her father's side, a young gentleman handsome enough not to embarrass her but whose only function tonight was to stand at her side until more suitable escorts arrived. Nodding at him from time to time, she made up for the two meals she had skipped that day by heartily eating her way through the dinner menu.
After their meal, all the guests went through to the ballroom. Izzy took the arm her temporary escort offered her and they ascended together the grand staircase woven with white flowers and gold ribbons.
She couldn't help a smile of pride when they entered the ballroom. Her father hadn't spared any expense for her ball. A large chandelier lit the hall, along with numerous brass sconces. Gilt chairs and potted palms lined the walls and mirrors topped the carved marble fireplace. Flower arrangements decorated the gilded consoles. At the end of the hall, the band tuned their instruments while the dancers chatted and the chaperons sat down. Footmen offered glasses of champagne on silver trays. This display of wealth may be a complete lie, but Izzy would enjoy it while it lasted.
Soon the guests who had had dinner elsewhere arrived, leaving their coats in the cloakrooms and greeting Lady Rhodes. Izzy surveyed the debutantes' dresses and tiaras, worried someone would outshine her, but most of the girls' outfits were tame.
At last a whisper spread through the crowd: the Prince of Wales had arrived downstairs. Izzy pretended to engage in conversation with Tallulah, but she couldn't hear a word she said over her wild heartbeat. A single thought clouded her mind: the Prince was here.
Then he appeared at the ballroom's double doors and Izzy's heart plummeted.
Tall and fine-featured, he was twenty-eight and a decorated war veteran. Every gaze turned to him as he walked into the room, and a hush fell on the gathered crowd. With elegant gestures, he shook hands with Lady Rhodes, then bowed to Izzy, who remembered to curtsey just in time.
"Thanks ever so much for inviting me tonight," he said.
"You honour us with your presence, Your Royal Highness," Izzy heard herself reply, as if in a dream.
"I wouldn't have missed this for anything in the world," he added.
She hoped she wasn't blushing.
"Lord Rhodes," the Prince asked Izzy's father, who stood in a corner with other elderly gentlemen, "would you mind my asking for this first dance with Lady Isabel?"
Izzy had never loved the sound of her own name more than in this moment. Her father must have given his assent, because the music started. The Prince led her into a waltz and they twirled around the parqueted room. Izzy was faintly aware of other couples dancing next to them, but all she could see was the Prince's handsome face gazing down at her.
All too soon the dance ended, and the Prince thanked her before releasing her.
Dazed, she returned to her mother's side, where a couple of photographers took her picture. Temporarily blinded by the flashing lamps, she took a moment to realise Mr. Lang had materialised next to her with a dashing smile.
"I see the competition is stiff," he said, shooting a glance at the Prince who danced with Margaret.
Izzy let out a happy laugh, and playfully took a look at her dance programme.
"I don't remember you writing your name here, sir."
To her utter delight, Mr. Lang pried the book from her fingers and slipped it in his pocket.
"Let me take care of that," he said.
Izzy beamed, and she let him lead her on the dance floor once more.
***
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And let me know what you think of this ball...