The gown was a monstrosity and not just because of its size. It combined the high waist of modern fashion with the wide, hooped skirts of thirty years before, and the effect was that Fiona looked ten times her size. Or that her upper portion was a tiny bird sitting atop a massive rock. It was, in a word, unappealing.

White with a pale peach overskirt that exposed the center of the skirts of the gown, the garment was as heavy as it was unwieldy. Fiona was grateful for the support of Lord Overton’s arm.

“Careful there, Miss Wingate,” he murmured, his features creasing in a slight wince.

Fiona loosened her grip on his sleeve. “My apologies. This is a treacherous costume.”

Lady Pickering looked from the four pale yellow feathers in Fiona’s hair style to survey the room where perhaps a dozen other young ladies were already queued to see the queen. “Yes, four feathers was just right. And the cameo was a brilliant touch, if I do say so.” Her gaze dipped to the several necklaces draped about Fiona’s neck, which also contributed to her sensation of feeling as though she were a human anchor. Indeed, she’d wondered how she was going to leverage herself off the seat of the coach when they’d arrived. Thankfully, the earl had provided a great deal of assistance.

“Pardon me for a moment,” Lady Pickering said. “I must speak with Lady Hargrove.”

Fiona glanced about, wondering if any of the other young ladies felt as ridiculous—or frightened—as she did. And where was Cassandra? She was also being presented today.

A lady in her early forties and, presumably, her daughter approached them. “Good afternoon, Lord Overton. May I present my daughter, Miss Judith Nethergate?”

The earl bowed most elegantly, extending his leg in a way Fiona had never seen him do before. “Lady Corby, Miss Nethergate, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He gestured to Fiona. “Allow me to introduce my ward, Miss Fiona Wingate.”

Fiona dipped into a rather shallow curtsey. She didn’t dare come close to the depth that would be required in the throne room.

Miss Nethergate was a very pretty and wholly proper English rose with pale blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her blossom-pink lips perfectly matched the ribbons and ruffles on her ivory gown. It was every bit as ostentatiously absurd as Fiona’s. In fact, Fiona suspected it might have been slightly larger. Miss Nethergate also had five feathers in her hair—four ivory and one pink.

Lady Corby’s gaze slid to Fiona. “I didn’t realize you had a ward. How charming.”

“Yes, I assumed responsibility for her after my father passed. Miss Wingate is enjoying her first Season so far.” He looked to Miss Nethergate. “And how is your Season?”

Miss Nethergate fluttered her lashes prettily. “This is my first outing, my lord. I am looking forward to the Basildon ball tomorrow evening. Will you be there?”

“Indeed we will.”

Fiona wondered if she could get her eyelashes to do what Miss Nethergate’s had done. She’d ask Cassandra to teach her. Surely she’d be able to do it.