Grace could either look at Ford and frown or look at the floor and smile, so she chose the latter. There was no point in worrying him about tomorrow night when everything was already planned; all day tomorrow Mama and probably Ford would be fretting about getting everything in order, and then later she'd be able to spend all the time in the world over-thinking things while she was being helped into her gown. She didn't need to worry him, or Mama, or Noble, or whoever he thought to tell that she was being anxious the night before her coming out.
"I wish my name did not have to be on all the invitations," she admitted. What if nobody came because they saw her name and realized that they'd seen her before and that she was definitely not the type of girl they wanted to marry? She could deal with a lack of attendance, and it might even make things easier for her, but Mama would be so put out, and Verity would no doubt have a dozen mean things to say disguised as disappointment. More than anything, she didn't want to be deemed a failure before she even had the chance to come out. If only she could be neutral—not a success, not a failure, living out of the home's drawing room.
"I think it's silly that I'm debuting, really." She was just talking now, trying to work out her own emotion and hoping that Ford might be less insistent on parading her around tomorrow. "I mean - you know I won't marry until Verity does. Nobody will look at me twice when she's there." It wasn't as if she wasn't aware of how self-deprecatory she sounded, but she thought it was true—objectively-speaking. Verity was older, prettier, more eloquent and elegant. She was everything that Mama wanted her to be, and she wasn't blind to it. "Is it too late to repurpose it as our ball?"
"I wish my name did not have to be on all the invitations," she admitted. What if nobody came because they saw her name and realized that they'd seen her before and that she was definitely not the type of girl they wanted to marry? She could deal with a lack of attendance, and it might even make things easier for her, but Mama would be so put out, and Verity would no doubt have a dozen mean things to say disguised as disappointment. More than anything, she didn't want to be deemed a failure before she even had the chance to come out. If only she could be neutral—not a success, not a failure, living out of the home's drawing room.
"I think it's silly that I'm debuting, really." She was just talking now, trying to work out her own emotion and hoping that Ford might be less insistent on parading her around tomorrow. "I mean - you know I won't marry until Verity does. Nobody will look at me twice when she's there." It wasn't as if she wasn't aware of how self-deprecatory she sounded, but she thought it was true—objectively-speaking. Verity was older, prettier, more eloquent and elegant. She was everything that Mama wanted her to be, and she wasn't blind to it. "Is it too late to repurpose it as our ball?"
