ONCE UPON A DREAM I SIMON BASSET

Turn Your Face Towards The Sun

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Turn Your Face Towards The Sun

Grosvenor Square, 1813

Tired of waiting for Daphne to emerge from her toilette for her grand coming out, Beatrice hurried up the stairs, careful to carry her long trailing white skirts lest she trip and fall as she had four years before on the occasion of her own debut. On that auspicious occasion, her heel had become caught in her hem, resulting in her tottering backwards as if she were tippled, before landing heavily on her rump. She had completely disregarded all decent sense of deportment in front of Queen Charlotte, but in that moment, she had been beyond caring. All she could think of was fleeing to the farthest reaches of Equatorial Africa, her mother thinking along the same lines as she stood behind her, Lady Violet Bridgerton utterly immobilised by her daughter's display.

In the face of such theatrics, Queen Charlotte had just sat there in all her regal splendour, surveying them in characteristically sullen silence, whilst arching an over-plucked eyebrow in approbation. However, the corners of her coral lips had then twitched unexpectedly. This had been followed by a strange shaking of the shoulders, leading some to suppose a stroke was in the works, causing panic to ripple around her closest courtiers. But then she had suddenly flung her head back in raucous merriment, nearly dislodging her powdered white wig as she did, slapping her satin-skirted thigh at the same time, greatly discomfiting those arrayed in her drawing room. It had been the first and last time anybody ever seen Queen Charlotte spare more than a strained smile.

Beatrice still couldn't remember exiting the drawing room, but somehow she had, finding herself in the vestibule with a strong attack of the vapours. Lady Violet had been in hysterics, her sons the same, but for a different reason, almost crying with laughter. Whilst Daphne had demurely retreated to a distant corner, refusing to be associated with such an asinine creature, Eloise had manfully stayed by Beatrice's side, attending to her with smelling salts and soothing words. It had been a vintage year for disastrous debuts, several of Beatrice's counterparts fainting at the queen's feet, one even unfortunately soiling herself with nerves, resulting in her abandoning her season altogether in favour of spending the summer on her father's estate instead.

Four years on, an older and wiser Beatrice believed she could now maturely reflect on the matter, surmising that she had sown the seeds of her social downfall in that moment. Not that such intellectual introspection helped her. Nobody had taken her seriously since then, eligible men most of all. The queen herself repressed a smirk every time she set eyes upon Beatrice at the assemblies. As her twin Benedict put it, it wasn't so much about Beatrice making an exhibition of herself, but more the expression on Beatrice's face when she did. He performed an impression of it on special occasions like birthdays and Christmases for Gregory and Hyacinth's benefit, who hadn't been present at the time, being too young to attend without incurring incident.

But Eloise had taken a more prosaic attitude towards why Beatrice hadn't taken on the marriage mart; that her debacle of a debut wasn't really the root of the matter. Eloise was of the informed opinion it was because Beatrice had little faith in herself and therefore it was no wonder nobody else did. It hadn't helped Beatrice was already maladroit by nature, causing catastrophe wherever she went. Eloise was always urging Beatrice to carry herself with more confidence, not for the sake of securing a spouse, but for her own sake, believing it would greatly aid in eradicating Beatrice's awkwardness. But Beatrice didn't listen to her little sister's lectures. She learned from bitter experience and not from books like Eloise did.

"Beatrice!" Eloise exclaimed, rushing up to Beatrice, startling her. "Is that a shroud you are sporting?"

Beatrice's blue eyes narrowed. "Well, you look like a parcel with that ridiculous peach bow around your waist," she pointed out, folding her arms across her chest.

"Oh, I am in complete accord," Eloise agreed fervently, "I am already roasting."

"Is Daphne ready yet?" Beatrice frowned, craning her neck past Eloise's dark head.

"Not in the slightest," Hyacinth said smartly, coming up the side of her, followed by Francesca.

"Pray, not more parcels," Beatrice complained, raising her eyes heavenwards. Their mother had dressed the three youngest girls in almost identical ivory and pastel shades. But Hyacinth's ribbons were pink instead of peach, whilst Francesca had chosen a different neck ornament from the others altogether, preferring a more restrained white bow to complement her lace collar, along with the inevitable peach trimming.

"Well, I feel like a princess," Hyacinth said airily, leaning over the balustrade, waving down to where their brothers lounged in the reception hall below. "Do I look like one?" she asked sharply, straightening up.

"Do you truly wish to know what I think you look like?" Eloise said irritably, setting down the stairs, Francesca following, Hyacinth hesitating before doing the same.

"A parcel?" Beatrice hazarded to their retreating backs, before giving in with bad grace and trailing after Eloise as well. Wherever Eloise went, they were bound to follow. It was as irrevocable as God, Hyacinth had once pronounced, only to have her knuckles rapped for irreverence.

"On your left!" Francesca called over her shoulder to Beatrice, and just in time, Gregory almost knocking Eloise over if she hadn't veered wildly at the last second thanks to Francesca's warning. Francesca was the least loquacious of the sisters, but she served to keep them all abreast of calamity on occasion.

"Gregory!" Beatrice protested, rushing after him, only to stumble down the last few steps, her sisters selfishly throwing themselves out of her way, even as her brothers sprang forwards to save her.

"Is our dear sister still not ready?" Benedict said in disbelief, catching Beatrice by the arm whilst Anthony caught her by the elbow. Between both brothers, they soon set her upright again, Eloise and the others edging around her with pale faces. Last Easter, Beatrice had taken a now legendary tumble down the blue carpeted stairs, taking Daphne, Hyacinth, Francesca and Colin down with her, tearing Colin's new tailcoat as she did, the ruination reducing his valet almost to tears.

"Are we still alive?" Eloise demanded, clutching her chest.

"I take it no to the first question, and yes to the second," Anthony observed, backing away from Beatrice, Benedict doing the same, not wanting to tempt fate twice.

"Daphne has only been readying herself the entire night," Eloise snapped, yanking at her ribbons, almost about to rip them off.

"Well, it is figuratively her time in the sun," Hyacinth pointed out, ignoring Benedict's eyeroll at her euphemism.

Beatrice glanced down at the ground, spirits suddenly low, remembering Daphne's ivory satin gown decorated with gold threadwork. Hyacinth was correct; it was indeed Daphne's time in the sun, the flower of the family who would outshine them all.

Yet still inside I felt alone

For reasons unknown to me...