TWENTY NINE
The day passed in something of a blur, my mind occupied with thoughts of why my stepmother should take such an unusual interest in the forthcoming ball. It was most unlike her to display concern, save when there was some advantage to be gained. As evening drew near, a nervous excitement took possession of me. I endeavoured to conceal it, yet George’s steady gaze across the dinner table betrayed that my efforts were in vain. He watched me quietly over his cup of wine, while my uncle, with a faint and knowing smile, met my eyes — a look I hastened to evade. Dinner itself was a silent turmoil. I felt as though every pair of eyes in the room were fixed upon me. Then Papa spoke, breaking the uneasy quiet: “The gown from your Aunt Mia shall arrive on the morrow, and in two days' time, you and
- Writer
