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This year's most sought-after invitation must surely be that of the Bridgerton masquerade ball to be held Monday next. Indeed, one cannot take two steps without being forced to listen to some society mama speculating on who will attend, and perhaps more importantly, who will wear what.
Neither of the aforementioned topics, however, are nearly as interesting as that of the two unmarried Bridgerton brothers, Benedict and Colin. (Before anyone points out that there is a third unmarried Bridgerton brother, let This Author assure you that she is fully aware of the existence of Gregory Bridgerton. He is, however, fourteen years of age, and therefore not pertinent to this particular column, which concerns, as This Author's columns often do, thatmost sacred of sports: husband-hunting.)
Although the Misters Bridgerton are just that -- merely Misters -- they are stiIl considered two of the prime catches of the season. It is a well-known fact that both are possessed of respectable fortunes, and it does not require perfect sight to know that they also possess, as do aIl eight of the Bridgerton offspring, the Bridgerton good looks.
Will some fortunate young lady use the mystery of a masquerade night to snare one of the eligible bachelors?
This Author isn't even going to attempt to speculate.
Lady Whistledown's Society Papers, 31 MAY 1815
As screeches went, it was enough to shatter glass. Or at least an eardrum.
"Coming, Rosamund! I'm coming!" Sophie hitched up the hem of her coarse woolen skirts and hurried up the stairs, slipping on the fourth step and only just barely managing to grab the bannister before landing on her bottom. She should have remembered that the stairs would be slick; she'd helped the downstairs maid wax them just that morning.
Skidding to a halt in the doorway to Rosamund's bedroom and still catching her breath, Sophie said, "Yes?"
"My tea is cold.
What Sophie wanted to say was, "It was warm when I brought it an hour ago, you lazy fiend."
What she did say was, "I'll get you another pot."
Rosamund sniffed. "See that you do."
Sophie stretched her lips into what the nearly blind might call a smile and picked up the tea service. "Shall I leave the biscuits?' she asked.
Rosamund gave her pretty head a shake. "I want fresh ones."
Shoulders slightly stooped from the weight of the overloaded tea service, Sophie exited the room, careful not to start grumbling until she'd safely reached the hall. Rosamund was forever ordering tea, then not bothering to drink it until an hour passed. By then, of course, it was cold, so she had to order a fresh pot.
Which meant Sophie was forever running up and down the stairs, up and down, up and down. Sometimes it seemed that was all she did with her life.
Up and down, up and down.
And of course the mending, the pressing, the hairdressing, the shoe polishing, the darning, the bedmaking...
Sophie turned around to see Posy heading toward her.
"Sophie, I've been meaning to ask you, do you think this color is becoming on me?"
Sophie assessed Posy's mermaid costume. The cut wasn't quite right for Posy, who had never lost all of her baby fat, but the color did indeed bring out the best in her complexion. "It is a lovely shade of green," Sophie replied quite honestly. "It makes your cheeks very rosy."
"Oh, good. I'm so glad you like it. You do have such a knack for picking out my clothing." Posy smiled as she reached out and plucked a sugared biscuit from the tray. "Mother has been an absolute bear all week about the masquerade ball, and I know I shall never hear the end of it if I do not look my best. Or" -- Posy's face twisted into a grimace -- "if she thinks I do not look my best. She is determined that one of us snare one of the remaining Bridgerton brothers, you know."
"And to make matters worse, that Whistledown's woman has been writing about them again. It only" -- Posy finished chewing and paused while she swallowed -- "whets her appetite."
"Was the column very good this morning?" Sophie asked, shifting the tray to rest on her hip. "I haven't had a chance to read it yet."
"Oh, the usual stuff," Posy said with a wave of her hand. "Really, it can be quite humdrum, you know."
Sophie tried to smile and failed. She'd like nothing more than to live a day of Posy's humdrum life. Well, perhaps she wouldn't want Araminta for a mother, but she wouldn't mind a life of parties, routs, and musicales.
"Let's see" Posy mused. "There was a review of Lady Worth's recent ball, a bit about Viscount Guelph, who seems rather smitten with some girl from Scotland, and then a longish piece on the upcoming Bridgerton masquerade."
Sophie sighed. She'd been reading about the upcoming masquerade for weeks, and even though she was nothing but a lady's maid (and occasionally a housemaid as well, whenever Araminta decided she wasn't working hard enough) she couldn't help but wish that she could attend the ball.
"I for one will be thrilled if that Guelph viscount gets himself engaged," Posy remarked, reaching for another biscuit. "It will mean one fewer bachelor for Mother to go on and on about as a potential husband. It's not as if I have any hope of attracting his attention anyway." She took a bite of the biscuit; it crunched loudly in her mouth. "I do hope Lady Whistledown is right about him."