Victoria, the oldest daughter of the Marquis stood before her mirror in a gown of azure silk, adorned with delicate lace and shimmering jewels. The preparations for the grand ball had been meticulous, yet her reflection betrayed a turmoil hidden beneath the surface. Her eyes, usually bright with anticipation, now held a shadow of sadness.
Mathilda knocked gently on Victoria's chamber door, expecting a flurry of activity in response. Silence greeted her instead. She tried again, more insistently this time, only to receive no answer. Frowning, Mathilda concluded that Victoria must be with her younger sister, Emma, whose room was just down the hall.
Turning towards Emma's door, Mathilda was surprised when Victoria suddenly pushed her own door open. The young lady's appearance was impeccable, yet her demeanor was far from the usual excitement that preceded such grand events.
"Mathilda," Victoria acknowledged with a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Mother sent you, I assume?"
The head maid scrutinized Victoria with concern. "Yes, Lady Victoria. Is everything alright? You seem... troubled."
Victoria hesitated for a moment, then shook her head lightly. "It's nothing, Mathilda. Just pre-ball nerves, perhaps."
Mathilda wasn't convinced, but she knew better than to pry further. She had seen Victoria grow from a spirited child into a poised young woman.
"Very well, my lady," Mathilda replied respectfully. "Your mother awaits you downstairs. Shall I inform her you'll be down shortly?"
Victoria nodded, her smile a touch more genuine this time. "Thank you, Mathilda. I'll join them shortly."
With that, Victoria closed the door gently, leaving Mathilda standing in the corridor.
Mathilda sighed softly as she walked away from Victoria's door, her thoughts lingering on the despondent expression she had glimpsed moments ago. As she made her way towards Emma's room, the distant sound of laughter reached her ears, echoing down the grand hallway of Delacroix Manor. The head maid paused, briefly intrigued by the source of such mirth in contrast to Victoria's solemn demeanor.
Approaching Emma's door, she heard the lively chatter of voices within, punctuated by Emma's infectious laughter. She knocked gently, announcing her presence, and was bid to enter. Stepping into the room, Mathilda found Emma surrounded by maids putting the final touches on her exquisite ball gown, while she conversed animatedly with Madeline, whom she was going to look into as she wasn't aware of any maid with a child.
Emma caught Mathilda's reflection in the mirror and turned to face her, her expression curious. "What is it, Mathilda?"
The head maid cleared her throat lightly, momentarily taken aback by the contrast in atmosphere between Emma's room and Victoria's. "Lady Elvira requests you and your sister's presence downstairs," she informed respectfully.
Emma snorted dismissively, a rare edge of irritation in her voice. "I heard you. You may leave now."
Mathilda's brow furrowed slightly at Emma's curt dismissal. The young mistress had never spoken to her in such a manner before, and it unsettled her. She couldn't help but wonder what might be troubling the usually cheerful sisters on this particular evening.
Maintaining her composure, Mathilda inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Of course, Lady Emma," she replied evenly, turning to leave the room.
Margarita descended the grand staircase of Ashcroft Manor, her steps light yet purposeful. As she reached the bottom, she found Lady Elvira engaged in lively conversation with a group of distinguished women. The atmosphere was filled with the hum of anticipation for the evening's ball, the air scented with the fragrance of roses from the lavish arrangements adorning the hall.
Approaching with respectful decorum, Margarita waited for a pause in the conversation before gently tapping Lady Elvira on the shoulder to announce her presence. The elder lady turned gracefully, her expression welcoming as she regarded the head maid.
"Yes, Mathilda?" Lady Elvira inquired, her voice carrying a warmth that belied her aristocratic bearing.
Mathilda executed a respectful bow, her demeanor poised and professional. "The young mistresses will be joining you downstairs shortly, my lady," she informed dutifully.
Lady Elvira's smile deepened, her eyes softening with maternal pride. "Thank you, Mathilda ,You may leave us now."
With a nod of acknowledgment, Mathilda retreated quietly, leaving Lady Elvira to resume her conversation with the other guests as she made her way back towards the staircase.
Victoria sat in front of her dressing table, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow across her features as she delicately fastened a hairpin into her hair. It was a delicate piece, a gift from Emma during her 14th birthday, and Victoria had treasured it ever since. As she carefully secured it in place, her thoughts drifted to the conversation she knew she must have with Emma—the revelation about Madeline and the weight of the secret their parents had entrusted to her. She was determined to mend whatever had strained their bond lately.
With a final glance at her reflection in the mirror, Victoria took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead, and gracefully exited her room. The corridors of Delacroix Manor were aglow with the warm hues of candlelight and the distant strains of music from the ballroom. As she made her way towards the festivities, her heart heavy with resolve, when she unexpectedly crossed paths with Emma and Madeline.
Emma looked radiant in a gown of pale lilac, her laughter ringing melodiously through the air as she conversed animatedly with Madeline.
"Sister," Victoria began tentatively, hoping to broach the topic that weighed on her heart.
Emma turned towards her, her smile bright yet somehow guarded. "Victoria," she greeted warmly, her gaze flickering briefly before she resumed her descent down the stairs, Madeline trailing behind her.
Victoria's brow furrowed in confusion. She had expected Emma to be more receptive, to engage in the conversation she had intended to have. Her concern grew further when she noticed that Emma was not wearing the gown Victoria had chosen for her—a stunning creation of ivory silk and delicate lace that had been meticulously selected for the occasion.
As they reached the bottom of the staircase, Victoria hesitated, torn between confronting Emma then and there or waiting for a more opportune moment. She glanced around the bustling ballroom, where guests mingled amidst the opulent decorations and shimmering chandeliers. The evening promised festivities and revelry, yet the rift between her and Emma weighed heavily on her mind.
Taking a breath to steady herself, Victoria resolved to seek out Emma later in the evening, away from the prying eyes of guests. Whatever secrets lay between them, she was determined to mend their bond and restore the closeness they had once shared. With renewed determination, Victoria entered the ballroom.