Pas De Deux

Part 2

Two weeks later, the social season was officially kicked off with the first ball of the season, held by the Duchess of Somerset as every year — an honour the middle-aged woman had acquired after years of indulging and scratching up the back of the right people with utmost diligence and unremitting attention and one which she wouldn't relinquish until she lies in her grave.

Her Grace's balls were of incredible splendour meant to exhibit in every dish, in every ornamental bouquet, in every piece of fabric that lay about the room, that this event was the ball of all balls, and that nobody could achieve such magnificence without her unparalleled sense of excellence and dignity.

This first ball incidentally came with the contagious need to boast a similar superiority amongst the guests. It was the event that made all the mamas and their daughters occupy the poshest boutique in the city and drain the lovely couturier owner and his seamstress wife out of their life force for the six weeks that preceded the social evening.

Guests adorned their most stunning and expensive outfits, and it seemed Natasha could see the soul of the poor boutique owners reflect weakly in the glittery embroidery of every gown and in the buttons of every tailcoat.

Less officially, but just as importantly, the Duchess of Somerset's ball was the when the surveying phase started. It was the evening when the mamas patrolled around the room in search of a target to call gender by the end of the season; when the daughters praised each other on their looks and gossiped about the unfortunate ones whilst awaiting their mother's report; when bachelors scoped the room in quiet search of the woman that would fill all the societal and his personal criteria. The only difference between the mamas and the bachelors, despite sharing a common agenda, was that men had the luxury of feigning not to care the least about the purpose of the season for the simple reason it was expected of the women to sort the matter.

The Romanoff family entered the ballroom and immediately became the object of more or less fixed looks and glances. For more reasons than one.

Firstly, because it was known that Yelena, Baron Alexei's little favourite would officially enter the season as the debutante and she was viewed as serious competition by the women in the room and an appealing prize for the men. Secondly of course, because this event marked the official return of the older and mysterious daughter to London society.

Natasha feigned not to feel the heavy peering of the audience trying to find evidence — or counter-evidence— of her long study trip across Europe.

Alexei stiffened after about five seconds of enduring patience and then said he needed a drink. He smiled at his youngest daughter and glanced at Natasha with a stifled grunt.

"I fought you said father was fine with my return," she murmured to Melina with a joyous air meant to fool the audience that was still watching.

Her mother displayed a smile of circumstances. "The season is long — I still have time to sway his opinion on the matter."

Natasha suppressed a pout. She gave her mother an intent look instead, then turned to Yelena.

Although she had been in uninterrupted correspondence with her sister, she could now fully realise how much Yelena had grown over the past year. She looked very much like a young woman. She noticed she was wringing her fingers behind her dance card.

"It's going to be alright," Natasha said, giving her hand a squeeze. Yelena glanced back at it then grinned. "I'll be right by your side the whole evening. Besides, remember you don't need to find a match this season — this is your first year and there is still plenty of time for you to turn into a full and strong woman."

Melina stepped between them out of nowhere, like a hound smelling danger. "Tasha, no feminist indoctrination tonight — I mean it. Yelena, remember what I taught you, always be refined and polished."