The ballroom shimmered with the light of hundreds of candles. The pristine white gowns of the debutantes were interspersed with the vibrant attire of married ladies and the gentlemen escorting them. The orchestra played without pause.
This debut was something her mother had prepared her for since she was eight years old. But instead of her mother, it was her aunt—Lady Crawley—who accompanied her, with the cousin she didn’t particularly care for standing nearby. Henry had invited them to stay, and now they’d be under the same roof for the entire season.
“It’s not at all how I imagined it,” Beatrice thought to herself, letting out a quiet sigh as she unfurled her white lace fan.
That soft sigh didn’t escape the sharp ears of her cousin.
“So…” Cornelia drawled quietly, inching closer with her shoulder. “Which one of them are you ready to sell yourself to?”
“What?” Beatrice barely managed to hide her shock behind her fan.
Cornelia smirked with satisfaction, her eyes scanning the crowded ballroom before she continued.
“We’ve been put on display in this market. Marriage is a transaction, and that transaction needs to be as advantageous as possible.” Her gaze leisurely roamed the room, where couples were lining up for a quadrille. “Through marriage, we buy opportunities for ourselves. Opportunities that come with their status, titles, and wealth.”
If there was one thing Cornelia didn’t lack, it was bluntness. She stood still and confident, her eyes fixed on the hosts of the ball. Beatrice, too, looked at her brother: the Duke of Chandos and his wife drew most of the curious glances. Happy and seemingly carefree.
“Don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve heard this,” Cornelia said with a faint smile, lightly fanning herself. “We may have been raised in different places and circumstances, but I refuse to believe my sweet cousin could be that naive.”
“Glad to hear it,” Beatrice replied with a smirk.
In this marriage market that the London season turned into, there was no room for naivety. She understood that perfectly well, even without Cornelia’s input.
“After marriage, we won’t even have control over our own bodies,” Cornelia went on, sharing her musings. “And since there’s only one path forward, why not sell ourselves for the highest price?”
Beatrice turned her gaze to her cousin, and when she glanced back at the ballroom, a spark of determination flashed in her blue eyes.
“So, who’s the most promising catch right now?”
Cornelia rolled her eyes in an exaggerated, ladylike manner.
“You didn’t even bother to flip through the peerage book before the season started?” she chided.
“Somehow, I didn’t find the time for it.”
In truth, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Maybe if her mother were still alive and guiding her through the season, things would be different. Maybe then she’d have a list of desirable suitors ready.
“The most eligible this year is Eliot Allen Keppel, Earl of Albemarle,” Cornelia said, her eyes quickly locating him in the crowd. “The gentleman over there by the column. The one with dark hair. It’s just a courtesy title for now—his father is the Duke of Albemarle. So, there’s every chance of becoming a duchess in the future.”
Beatrice looked at the young man standing about ten yards away in the company of an older woman. Dressed entirely in black, but in the latest fashion. Average build. She guessed he wasn’t much taller than her. He stood radiating pride, his entire demeanor showcasing his status. Clearly, the conversation didn’t hold much interest for him, as he kept scanning the crowd, as if searching for someone, but doing so discreetly, unobtrusively, so as not to draw attention.
“A few years older than us, never married, and his reputation is generally decent. If he has any skeletons in his closet, he hides them well,” Cornelia shared, clearly well-informed.
The earl’s gaze reached them. For a brief moment, it lingered on one face, then stumbled over the other before wandering off through the crowd of debutantes.
“Rumor has it his father is ill, so he’s given him an ultimatum to marry this season, no matter what,” Cornelia informed her, fanning herself. “And they say the earl is seriously on the hunt. His relative is helping him with it.”
“And they also say that when a debutante so openly and blatantly stares at a gentleman, it doesn’t bode well for her reputation,” Beatrice thought to herself, casting a sideways glance at her aunt, who was still engrossed in conversation with a friend as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages.
Meanwhile, her cousin quietly listed the Keppel family’s estates, wealth, and titles. What Beatrice heard—and saw—was enough.
“If it can’t be Edmund, then it’ll be whoever offers the best match,” she decided.
“Perfect,” she said aloud, stealing a glance at the earl from the corner of her eye.
Cornelia looked at her, catching the note of interest in her voice.
“There’s just one problem, Beth. From what I’ve heard, he’s the most eligible bachelor this season. So, it looks like, dear cousin, you and I are going to have to compete for him.”
Cornelia’s eyes glinted with mischief, and a smile spread across her face, which she tactfully hid behind her fan. She continued,
“We’ve always competed over everything, which is why we’ve never gotten along like proper relatives. It’s time to settle the score. Once and for all, let’s see who’s better. I propose a wager. It’ll make things more interesting. What do you say?”
Beatrice hid behind her own fan, watching as the earl was introduced to a young girl who didn’t even dare lift her eyes to meet his face. Was she the one he’d been looking for in the crowd? It didn’t seem so—he lost interest too quickly.
“Sounds like a gamble,” she said, closely observing as the earl moved on to another debutante. “But I’m in. What are the rules?”
“No sabotaging each other. Other than that, no limits.”
“Deal.”
“Great. Then the hunt for the earl is officially open.”