A Fiery Dalliance

XI

"The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself." Mark Twain

----

XI.

The date for the ball was set for three weeks' time in the first week of July. Invitations were promptly sent out, and Perrie was promptly swept away to London by her grandmother to have a dress fitted.

Adam had vehemently denied his mother permission to take Perrie to London, which Cecily had interpreted as fervent approval.

"He's in denial, darling," her grandmother informed Perrie dismissively as they were jostled about in the carriage. "Best we help him to get used to the idea a little at a time before we launch you upon society next April."

"I don't know if I like the idea of being launched, Grandmamma," Perrie murmured. "It makes me sound an awful lot like a ship."

Cecily chuckled. "And you shall be the grandest and the most beautiful of all the ships, my dear. Trust me. My friends and acquaintances number half of London society, and the up-and-coming debutantes have nothing on you. Several young ladies that I know of are said to have inherited the noses and chins of some of the most unfortunate gentlemen of your father's generation. Lady Lucinda Strachan resembles a Habsburg, poor girl."

"Grandmamma!" Perrie cried, thankful that they were in the privacy of a carriage, and so they would not be overheard.

"Oh, dear, I am too old to mind what I say, and too influential to care what others think," Cecily said dismissively.

"I should hate to think what other people will say about Lady Perrie Beresford," Perrie retorted, thinking back to what Mrs Liscombe had written in her report after leaving school. "I will make a terrible wife, Grandmamma." Perrie had known that for quite a while. Perhaps she had known that she would make a terrible wife since before attending finishing school. She lacked the grace and temperament of her mother. Without that, she highly doubted that anyone would ever love her as much as her father loved her mother. And Perrie didn't want to get married without love. But love, itself, seemed like such a foreign phenomenon. The unknown, truth be told, was a little frightening.

Cecily scoffed, shaking her head. "One day I will tell you about the years I held London under my thumb the first season your mother was out. Nobody would dare gossip about my granddaughter."

"But you are gossiping about other people's daughters!" Perrie shot back.

Cecily's brows furrowed, as though she did not understand the connection. "Darling, what I say goes," she said simply. "Fear not about being a good wife, anyhow. If you are a terrible wife, like I was, take comfort in the knowledge that you will be an excellent grandmother instead."

Perrie received no comfort. She sighed before looking out the window at the passing countryside. Perrie knew that she needed to get better in every sense before it came time to debut. Despite her grandmother's confidence, Perrie knew that she was far from the ideal. She was not so naïve as to not know that she was very indulged at home. Her parents were firm, but very loving, and Perrie knew that she had suffered very little in the realm of consequences.

Because of this, Perrie was very aware that her temper and instinctual behaviour were unladylike, and probably very unattractive. She did not have a Habsburg chin, but she could not sit at a pianoforte and perform for hours either.

If a husband wanted a wife who could torture him in varying humorous ways, then Perrie knew she would have to fight away the suitors.

Perrie knew, deep down, that she really wasn't enough just as she was. She knew that nobody could really love her, and yet her behaviour felt like an ingrained part of her personality that she couldn't change. She knew that she should have taken better care at finishing school, but Perrie had hated every second of it. She was impulsive and headstrong and was the furthest thing from a calm and demure society milk cow.