A buzz of anticipation filled the air as the London Season approached. Roads swarmed with carriages, their polished surfaces reflecting the coats of arms that proclaimed the arrival of prestigious families.
Ambitious mothers, their eyes fixed on the upcoming Debutante Ball, were a constant presence in the city's finest shops. A hive of frenetic energy buzzed around the dressmakers, cordwainers, and milliners.
Seamstresses fussed over silks and satins, their needles flashing like fireflies. Cordwainers hammered away, crafting the perfect footwear for the debutantes of the season. Milliners perched atop precarious stools, expertly shaping feathers and ribbons into extravagant confections.
All of them catered to the relentless flow of hopeful young ladies and their watchful mothers.
Even those who had no mothers still had aunts or elder sisters or any elder female person to accompany them, but Maggie had no one.
Had she not arrived in a carriage adorned with the Locksworth family's crest, she might have been entirely overlooked.
Thankfully, she had enough money to go through one season. If she was not able to secure a husband this year, though, the next year promised a bleak outlook. The year after bleaker still.
But it was not the time to despair over events yet to take place.
Connections, marriage alliances, competence, and social conduct. These were the four aspects she needed to polish in order to assert her claim to the Earldom of Huntington.
The day before their departure for London, Maggie transformed the drawing room of Locksworth Manor into a stage for her debutante debut.
Dressed in the gown she had chosen for the ball, she sat in front of the piano and started playing an energetic piece.
Alas, musicality had never been her forte. Her music teacher at Cavendish even dared to suggest a touch of tone-deafness. Maggie was not sure if he tried to dissuade her from playing piano in the future or persuade her to work harder to overcome her flaws.
Undeterred, Maggie moved on to practicing her social graces. Reciting a practiced speech to her reflection in the mirror, she felt a flicker of confidence. That is, until Lord Locksworth, the rascal, burst through the doors, his laughter erupting in a fit of doubled-over guffaws.
Red-faced, Maggie swiveled around and glared at the Lord.
"Lord Locksworth, if you will please!" She snapped, anger and embarrassment coursing her veins. "I am trying to concentrate here!"
Lord Locksworth held a hand up in the air, gesturing for Maggie to let him laugh until he could not anymore.
"What is so funny anyway?" She demanded to know. "Was it my voice or my words or... Goodness, are they all going to laugh at me?"
"Oh, lighten up."
Lord Locksworth had finally finished laughing.
"Social events are social events, not a parliamentary session. I know this is your first Debutante Ball, but surely Huntington Hall saw its share of banquets and balls when your father was alive."
Maggie shook her head. "Not really. Those social gatherings were considered a woman's domain. Even the lords who take credit for hosting them usually have their wives managing everything behind the scenes."
Lord Locksworth's face crumpled in realization. "Right," he finally conceded after a beat of silence. "This truly is your first foray into social gatherings with… well, everyone."
Maggie clarified, "I've attended tea parties with other girls, but never anything where men and women converse freely."
Lord Locksworth sighed.
"This is why young ladies need to be escorted by their fathers and mothers into a Debutante Ball. You do not simply go up to a random person and introduce yourself."
Maggie's face turned pink.
"Unfortunately in my case, that has to do."
Lord Locksworth laughed.
"You take yourself as a lone pigeon, but really you are not. You will shine on the night of your debut, that I assure you."
"Thank you, but you were laughing at me," Maggie said with a flat tone. "If I did anything wrong, I need you to tell me what it was. Otherwise, I will repeat the mistake in a room full of people, and then I will be ruined."
"Don't worry, you haven't misstepped," he reassured her. "It's just... your determination might be coming across a bit strong. A Debutante Ball should be about enjoying yourself, not preparing for war."
Maggie sighed.
"With all due respect, my Lord," she countered, "men get to stand back and observe, while we women are expected to perform, to contrive a flawless display to secure a good match."
"Alright, try to perform for me then."
"... I beg your pardon?"
"I am an influential bachelor," Lord Locksworth beamed at her. "Try to approach me."
"..."
Maggie instantly went as stiff as a wooden board.
Lord Locksworth shot her a dazzling smile some distance away, but she simply didn't know what to do.
With a nervous curtsy, Maggie approached the man. "Good evening, my Lord," she greeted him.
Lord Locksworth inclined his head in a bow. "Good evening to you as well, my Lady."
Maggie ventured, "Lovely weather, isn't it?
"Indeed," he bit off.
"It has not been raining much in London these days," she stated. "Apparently we are enjoying some dry spell."
Lord Locksworth broke into another guffaw.
"Dry spell, my Lady? It seems you haven't graced London with your presence in recent years. It's been raining cats and dogs almost every day!"
Maggie's mouth fell open in amazement.
"Really?"
Why, maybe she should have brought more pairs of boots and clothes. And several umbrellas.
"There is no need to exaggerate, Adrian," Marquess of Canterbury's voice cut through his laughter, prompting the Lord to fall silent on the spot. "Londoners rarely face heavy deluges, but they're quite accustomed to days of gentle drizzle, which most find rather pleasant."
Maggie spun around, catching the Marquess's eye. His gaze swept over her, a low hum escaping his lips. Approval or disapproval remained a mystery, sending a flicker of panic through her.
Had she overdone the makeup?
Did her hair ornament teeter precariously at the edge of her braided updo hairstyle, threatening to topple over? Ignoring her rising anxieties, the Marquess simply offered his hand in her direction. "May I have the honor of this dance, my Lady?