The ugly Luna

Getting ready for the mating ball

*Polly*

"Pollyanna, darling, are you ready?" Mama enters my room in a headlong trot. I often think of my dear mama as being like an ostrich, all neck and long legs in constant motion.

At the moment that neck is much in evidence, as diamonds glitter all over it.

"Tell me how I look," she demands.

"Like St. Paul’s at Christmas," I say, giving her a kiss. "All twinkly and pretty, as if you wore a necklace of stars."

Mama turns a little pink. "I am wearing quite a lot of diamonds, aren’t I? But the Luna Princess’ ball comes only once a year. One should definitely put one’s best foot forward."

"Or best diamonds, as the case may be," I agree.

"Let me look at you, darling," she says, drawing back. "That dress is quite pretty."

"I loathe pretty," I say, knowing this opinion carries no weight. "'Pretty' is terrible on me, Mama."

"I think you look absolutely lovely," she replies, honesty shining from her whole face. "Like the prettiest, sweetest girl in the whole of London."

"You don’t think that you might be the slightest bit blinded by your maternal sensibilities?" I ask, submitting to a fragrant hug.

"Not at all. Not a bit."

"Last night I overheard two Young she-wolves remarking on how much I look like a boy," I say, probing the memory like a sore tooth. "And let’s not even entertain the idea that I’m sweet, Mama."

Mama scowls. "That’s absurd. How can anyone possibly think such a thing? They’re probably blind, like poor Genevieve Heppler. Her mother will not allow her to wear her spectacles, and last night she blundered straight into me."

"They think it because I do look like a boy," I retort. But I don’t expect agreement, and I don’t get it. "At any rate," I say, "Fennec and I have hatched a scheme that will get me noticed by the utterly delicious Geoffrey."

For some reason, Mama does not think that young Alpha Geoffrey Trevelyan is as perfect as I know him to be. But, then, she hasn’t spent much of the last three weeks examining him as closely as I have… albeit from afar, since we’ve exchanged scarcely a word.

"Fennec will pretend to woo me," I explain, turning to the mirror and patting the ringlets that had taken my maid a good hour to concoct.

Mama’s mouth falls inelegantly open. "He will what?"

"Pretend… just pretend, obviously… to woo me. His father has determined it’s time he looked for a wife. But Fennec doesn’t want to. You know how he hates even making an appearance at a ball, let alone engaging in polite conversation with a miss. But if it looks as if he’s squiring me around the ballroom, not only will the Alpha Prince be appeased, but everyone will take note, because Fennec never comes to events like these. And that means they will notice me."

"They’ll take note all right," Mama says.

"Once they are actually looking at me, I can attract Geoffrey’s attention," I say. The scheme sounds rather foolish once I say it aloud. A man like Alpha Geoffrey Trevelyan probably doesn’t care to have a horse-faced she-wolf like myself making clever remarks at him.

But Mama looks rather surprisingly amenable. Then a frown crosses her face and she asks, quite sharply, "Whose idea was this?"

"Mine," I admit. I don’t think Fennec wanted to, but I didn’t give him the chance to refuse. Besides, it is the perfect solution to his father’s demand that he marry. He’s far too young, don’t you think, Mama? He’s not even twenty.

"I don’t know about that," Mama says. In terms of maturity, he’s already at least a decade older than his father. And from what I hear, he’d better marry a she-wolf with a fortune so that he can repair the estate once his father falls over in an apoplectic fit. I expect that’s why the Alpha prince is pushing him onto the market.

"You’re always telling me not to make cutting remarks," I say. Just listen to yourself, Mama. Do I really have to wear these pearls? I detest pearls.

"Young misses wear pearls. What are you doing, darling?"

I look up from my writing desk. "I’m amending my list. Just in case I ever get to dress as I wish."

"Something about pearls?" She asks.

I nod, "Yes. I’ve added two rules in the last day or so. Pearls are for swine."

"And debutantes," Mama adds. "What’s the other one?"

"You won’t like this one," I observe. "Alpha school merit consideration."

"I don’t dislike it. But I think rank is a better judge of a man than education. Besides that, there are schools other than The Alpha academy, my dear."

"Mama! This list has nothing to do with possible husbands; it only reflects how I shall dress when I have the chance to be myself. In short, once I am married. The Alpha academy morning coat is altogether delicious. I don’t care a bit about the bodies inside it, unless one of them is mine."

"I hope I don’t live to see you dress like a schoolboy," Mama says, shuddering visibly. "I don’t like to even imagine it."

"Don’t you remember the hopeless adoration Fennec had for the captain of the cricket team after his first term? There’s a great deal of glamor to be had by looking like a schoolboy, if I can figure out how to harness it. At least it would stop girls from being so blasted sympathetic about my profile."

"Here is my advice," Mama says, turning from the mirror. "Every time you detect even the faintest hint of sympathy from one of those empty-headed little chits, reach up and touch your grandmother’s pearls. You may detest them, Pollyanna, but they are worth as much as most girls’ dowries. There’s much to be said for unentailed personal property when it comes to attractiveness."

"If I get near Geoffrey, I’ll be sure to direct his attention to them. Maybe I will draw the string through my teeth, just to make sure he sees it." I come up behind Mama and give her a hug. "I don’t know why I couldn’t have turned out to be as pretty as you are, Mama."

"You are…"

I interrupt her. "Hush. I have a long nose and chin and I look remarkably mannish. But I can live with it, or at least, I could if I didn’t have to wear so many white ruffles that I look like a pail of foaming milk."

Mama smiles at me in the glass. "There isn’t a seventeen-year-old young she-wolf in all London who doesn’t long to wear colors in the evening. It will happen soon enough."

"Once I’m Luna Geoffrey Trevelyan," I say with a giggle.