The immediate days after the arrival of Mr. Archer were so full of preparations for the Eagleton ball that Amelia scarce had a moment to spare for her visitant. Notwithstanding having sent invitations in a more belated time frame than is considered fashionable, almost every invitee had replied in the affirmative. Amelia was delighted and expected the ballroom to be filled with a joyous multitude. Whispers in society had been kind to the new Mrs. Dyer. Forgiveness was encouraged for the breach in etiquette as the Eagleton ball was expected to be the event of the season. Fortuitously, the ball was also set to be on the penultimate day of August, and would allow the gentleman to have one day of repose before the start of the hunting season. Any doubt that gentleman would be scare was therefore displaced by the aspiration of every young woman to be occupied for every dance.

The day of the ball, Amelia awoke betimes with her emotions a flurry. In short order, she tucked her hair beneath a lacy cap and put on her oldest gown before going down to instruct the household's final preparations. Her first sojourn was the drawing room to partake in a small breakfast. She hastily entered and crossed to the sideboard without a second glance. She grabbed a slice of cake and began to eat while leaning against the furniture. Deep in thought, she failed to notice that Mr. Archer was sitting in the chaise near the window, book in hand, just barely out of view.

From his veil, Thomas observed her actions and smiled inwardly. Anew he found himself privy to Mrs. Dyer in a state of discomposed appearance; it was endearing. Her posture was prepossessing and free from the constraints of civil dictates. Thomas was confounded by the impact of her natural charm and easy manner on his heart. Impropriety brightens her cheeks, he thought, though I do not want to disturb her with my presence. Hoping to be quiet as a mouse and conceal himself further from view, Thomas uncrossed his legs and turned in the direction of the window. Regrettably, he forthwith knocked his book to the floor with a great clatter.

Amelia started, dropping the remains of cake on the floor as she rushed to right her posture. "Mr. Archer!" she exclaimed. Thomas hesitantly rose from his seat, and made to walk towards Mrs. Dyer but instead stopped abruptly. Silence impregnated the room as the individuals tentatively regarded one other. Each attempted to obscure the contrariety of emotion the situation excited. Amazement, shame, and unsurety took precedence and neither spoke. In due course, eager to dismiss herself, Amelia brushed the crumbs from her face and skirt, squared her shoulders and lightly curtsied.

"I trust you slept well, Mr. Archer."

"Erm, yes, thank you Mrs. Dyer."

"Pray do not let me interrupt your solitude. Please continue reading. There are many arrangements that require my attention today."

"Why, yes, of course. I shall engage myself and aspire to remain inconspicuous, rather than underfoot."

"You may wish to revisit the use of books then," Amelia said with a smile. "This particular tome seems too emphatic for such purposes."

Thomas bent down to pick up the offending book from the floor, his expression softening in response to Mrs. Dyer's quip. "That is most sound advice.  Perhaps I should take a turn about the grounds instead."

As Mr. Archer raised his eyes, Amelia was struck at the delicate countenance in which he regarded her. Twice he had witnessed actions not befitting an accomplished woman, but did not appear put off. Rather, he was amused and forwardly encouraged her biting remarks. So curious, thought Amelia.

"There is a fine view of the county from atop the hill."

"Thank you." Mr. Archer bowed deeply and exited the room.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Amelia emitted a large breath. Her nerves were preoccupied with planning for the evening, and she did not wish to fret about Mr. Archer. The horror of acting informally in his presence oppressed her, yet she hastily stashed her feelings in order to fuss over the matters at hand. Collecting her abandoned cake from underfoot, Amelia tidied her breakfast items and hurried to inspect the progress.

The household staff had been busy. The ballroom had been aired, cleaned, and the floors polished. All tables, sofas and chairs had been removed. Forms had been placed around the perimeter to accommodate those who wished to sit between dances. The supper room was directly down the hallway from the dancing so as to not incovenience the women. Acending stairs in gowns to dine was a grievance, indeed. A cloak room and hat room for the ladies and gentlemen, respectively, were established. Additional maids and footmen had been hired for the evening. Space was such to allow for a smallish sitting parlor to be set up with card tables for any older guest would did not wish to dance.

Creating a bright atmosphere that was practical and pleasing to the eye was crucial. A large chandelier filled the center of the room, replete with dozens of candles casting brilliant illumination. Lustres were placed on the each mantelpiece for additional radiance, and the customy wall sconces were polished and newly wicked. The late Mrs. Dyer enjoyed exquisite lighting, and had collected a remarkable number of ornate girandoles. Amelia had chosen several specimens to put on display. Their bronze bases and delicate glass crystals were now speckless. Finally, tripod candelabras occupied any potentially dark and foreboding corners.

Amelia had carefully chosen the flowers that ornamented the rooms. Alabaster roses, roseate dahlias and dried hydrangeas covered the mantles and sideboards. The fire places were filled with cascades and light foliage. Verdant plants reflected blue and yellow rays in candlelight, and no woman seeking to be the fairer sex would stand near them lest her skin seem sallow and sickly. A few smaller arrangements consisted of white chrysanthemums, embellished with orchard apples and colourful pheasant plumes. These uglier pieces were relegated to darker corners. One cannot have a traditional madam confusing it with a hat, Amelia mused.

As all else was in order, Amelia set upon her largest task for the morning. Securing an apron about her waist, she removed a series of white chalks from a box and placed them carefully to one side. Chalking the floor was of great import in ensuring no guests slip while completing a dance routine. Local inquiries failed to produced a suitable professional to execute the demand, and thus Amelia had risen to the challenge. My artistry skills may not be of the same caliber, she thought, but my design shall please the eye and be light on the feet. Furthermore, this evanescent picture must only impress the first guests, as it will soon be marked on their soles.

After several hours of toil, Amelia rose to admire her composition. Narrow walkways had been left to allow guests to congregate on arrival, but the rest of the floor was covered. A floral cascade took center stage, mirroring the flowers about the room. Roses danced in each corner, feeding tendrils across the floor. An intricate arabesque pattern wove from side to side, spotted by leaves and smaller blooms. Bows and arrows, representative of the hunt, had been woven in. An admirable effort for a novice.

Fatigued, Amelia withdrew to her bedchamber. John was occupied in his study and no visitors were expected to call making now the perfect opportunity for a bath. Such ablutions were a decadent affair, requiring much toil and coordination of effort by the servants. Amelia was, therefore, generally content to wash using a pitcher and basin. Yet, on this special day, she wished to soak away her troubles and weary muscles. Already, Hill had overseen the placement of a screen and metal tub next to the fire. Hot water had been carried up by the footmen and a maid was attending a kettle on the fire to douse her shoulder as needed. Amelia's lady's maid, Anna, was nearby to help her undress and comb out her flaxen tresses.

Stepping out of her soiled gown and stays, Amelia slipped into the tub. The fabric of her shift floated around her. Her muscles slackened and she placed her head back against the edge of the basin allowing Anna to work. The fine pressure on her scalp and the warmth threatened to lull Amelia to sleep. She longed for the repose, yet she was agitated. Amelia had attributed her unsettled emotions to the apprehension of hosting her first ball. However, as she closed her eyes, the impression of a pair of bright blue orbs danced across her eyelids. These are not John's familiar hazel irises, she reflected. How wholly unexpected!

Grabbing a sphere of Pear's soap from the dispensary, Amelia ran her hands over her limbs, determined to rid her mind of such indecent thoughts. Would that these were John's hands, she imagined. His lips on her bosom, his hands beneath her stays. Her tender nips were darkened and taught, begging to be enveloped by his strong digits. A heaviness was present at the base of her abdomen, inspiring longing that only her husband could fill. If only this was the time or place to be considering such diversions. With great pains, Amelia focused on her wash, pushing all other thoughts to the back of her mind.

The struggle eased once she commenced her rigorous toilette with Anna. The lady of the house must be present to welcome every guests and conspicuous full dress would distinguish her from the wall flowers. After donning a clean shift and stays, Amelia sat in front of the looking glass. Anna deftly arranged her wavy hair into a complicated contortion of braids, piled at the back, and pulled high off the nape of her neck. Small natural golden curls framed her face, cascading about her ears. Small strings of pearls draped on each side of her head, secured by several light pink silk flowers as was fashionable for young ladies. She may be a matron now, but she was not yet prepared to add plumage or caps to her "wig" lest she be aged infinitely.

Amelia's lavender silk gown was pressed and ready to be worn. The hue was just bright enough to not appear sickly grey under the chandelier. I shall present myself in the best candlelight, Amelia quipped. As she slipped in to the fabric, she admired how full her decollete appeared. Not too immodest Amelia hoped. She so longed to show off the lace ruffles, recently reworked by Anna, that trailed the neckline and sleeves. Amelia had chosen a dazzling gold neckalce, replete with opals, diamonds and emeralds to compliment her dress. The gems formed three elaborate drops on a delicate chain. When strung about Amelia's neck, they kissed her clavicles and stroked the curve of her bosom. A matching pair of opal drops graced her ear lobes. White gloves gently outlined her fingers and pushed up her forearms, only to hang gently below the elbow. Finally, a fan made of ivory and lace completed the outfit.

Taking one final turn in front of the reflective glass, Amelia rose, ready to present herself as the new Mrs. Dyer, mistress of the Eagleton ball.