Her mother didn't relent. "Dahlia," she grunted, yanking the ties to her daughter's corset tighter, eliciting another yelp from the young woman. "You are too old not to have a suitor at the very least. By the time tonight is through, you'll have a steady stream of them lining up at our door!" With a final tug, she knotted the ties so Dahlia's already naturally-slender waist would remain as thin as possible.
Madame Winters dabbed at the sheen of perspiration from her brow with her handkerchief while Dahlia shakily rose to stand upright. Although her mother had seen to it that she was used to wearing a corset at all times, her mother pulled her strings especially tight when they were attending a ball for the evening.
Madame Winters shuffled to the closet of Dahlia's bed chamber. "By the time she was your age, your sister Rose was married and had a child on the way!" With her back turned, Dahlia rolled her eyes to the ceiling and silently mocked her mother as she continued, "And Lily is younger than you, yet she still has had callers knocking at our door." She flipped through the myriad of elaborate dresses Dahlia had received as presents from her wealthy parents or just as wealthy neighbors and friends until she found wat she was looking for: a lavish aqua gown that was the precise shade of Dahlia's unusually bright eyes. The dress was made with fine silk and embroidered with her namesake--dahlia flowers with beading that accentuated their brilliantly colored petals. A gold-colored shawl completed the ensemble.
"You're wearing this; it makes your eyes pop," her mother muttered as she helped her daughter pull the dress over her corset and layers of underskirts, being exceedingly careful not to muss her curled hair, half pulled up with subtle sprigs of baby's breath pinned into it. While Dahlia was, admittedly, enamored by frivalous attire, she personally thought the baby's breath was a bit much.
"Mother," she tried again with a huff as her mother tugged at the dress to make sure it was sitting properly on her daughter's small frame, "I have had multiple suitors, do you not recall? They've come to the house and made their grand show of asking father fo permission to call on me."
"Until for some reason," her mother muttered as she hunched to tug at the hem of her dress, "they have seen fit to stop calling altogether." Her voice drooped in vague suspicion, and Dahlia smiled clandestinely to herself, creating that telltale crease in her nose that revealed when her thoughts were bordering on mischievous in nature.
Of course they had stopped calling. Dahlia herself had seen to that. It was simple enough with well-aimed words and whispers that ensured she wouldn't have to worry about marriage any time soon. Dahlia was no fool; she knew those men were only interested in marrying her for her father's money. They tried to disguise their interest in her with sweet words declaring her to be the epitome of beauty, but again, a fool Miss Winters was not.
Her mother stepped back to admire her work. "Ah! Lovely!" She grasped her daughter's arm and began pulling her from the house with the rest of her family, "Now let's be on our way, or we'll be late. And remember," she paused only a moment to slip a gold-lace fan into Dahlia's hand. "Engage. Gentlemen are not interested in women who do not possess the art of conversation."
One side of Dahlia's lip folded up in a smirk. "Oh, you won't have to worry about that, Mother. I am quite the conversationalist."
They entered the large home at the Carlysle estate, a sprawling property peppered with azure and sunshine-yellow flowers--their color scheme of the year. Upon crossing the threshold, Dahlia's mother was greeted by Madame Carlysle, effectively pulling her away from her daughter, to Dahlia's delight.
"Dahlia!"
"Lucy." Dahlia smiled and engaged her close friend in a hug.
"Oh, Dahlia you look delightful!" Lucy gasped, holding her friend at arm's length.
"Oh, stop it, you're the delightful one!" Dahlia replied, taking in the sight of her redheaded friend in a pastel green gown.
"Take a turn with me around the ballroom, will you? I have missed you so!" Lucy wound her arm through Dahlia's and led her to the high-ceilinged room that guests were gathering in. Musicians sat in one corner, poised and playing their instruments beautifully while dancers skimmed the dance floor.
Dahlia was eying the guests with a ghost of a grin on her face; whose ear was she going to slip whispers into tonight? How would she create mischief at this ball?
Lucy squeezed her friend's arm in giddy excitement. "What gentlemen catch your fancy, Dahlia?" She inquired, mistaking Dahlia's calculating gaze for a girlishly enamored one. "Are you looking for any in particular? Such as... Mr. Bingle, Sir Withers, or..." She smirked wickedly, "Mr. Al-Bomani?"
Dahlia's head instantly whipped toward her friend. "Miss Carlysle! How dare you make such an accusation! I would never hope to find that man at any ball. Ever." She snapped open her fan to fan herself, as if she could rid herself of such an idea with each flap of the lacy fan. "I would rather become a spinster than even allow that man the pleasure of a dance with me!"
Lucy's mouth formed a perfect 'O.' "Well, well, Dahlia! What a response! I was only suggesting--"
"Yes, well..." Dahlia interrupted as they paused by the window, which streamed with moonlight. "That is... as if I would ever allow such a pleasantry to be bestowed him. Or on Sir Withers or Mr. Stringle."
"Mr. Bingle."
"Mr. Bingle. Right." But Dahlia's mind was far from the proper pronunciation of names; she was now on alert for Mr. Al-Bomani. Not that she needed to be. He was not worth it in the slightest.
Dahlia did not have time to dwell on him much longer, because a pair of gentlemen--friends of the Carlysles--approached the young ladies at that moment to converse.
Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RolePlayGateway/~3/x6ROGmILhj0/viewtopic.php
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