What she was working on now was color. Color was so difficult: oranges, for example. When she closed her eyes, she saw groups of oranges, bright against her eyelids. She mixed and mixed for hours, a little yellow, blue, brown, but she couldn’t find the orange she saw in her mind’s eye. Oranges, colored the right way, had a slight brownish tinge at the top and streaks of blue: colors that smelled of the sun, of warm seas, of real orchards rather than of long halls or white rooms.

But Charlotte didn’t have much time for painting after they arrived at the Calverstill House in Albemarle Square. She endured hours and hours of poking and prodding from seamstresses, and days of her mother’s planning.

“Dearest,” announced her mother. “Delphiniums!”

Charlotte stared at her.

“Delphiniums what, Mama?” she finally asked.

“Delphiniums! They’re your flower for the ball! I’ve been racking my mind … you know I did Violetta’s ball in lilies. I had to avoid colors for her because of her name, but delphiniums are such a lovely blue. They will set off your hair perfectly.”

Just now the rage was for blondes: blondes with curly locks and blue eyes, but Charlotte had jet-black hair, her mama thought despairingly. She did have green eyes, but her skin was so white—not a drop of color. True, with some coaxing her hair formed perfect ringlets, and her skin was creamy, but she was no sweetly pert debutante. Her eyebrows arched like question marks over eyes as green as the ocean on a cloudy day. In fact, her whole face was pointed like a question mark: Her chin formed a delicate triangle that simply led back to her eyes and those flying eyebrows.

The duchess sighed a little. When Charlotte was happy, she was the most beautiful of her daughters: She would simply have to see that she had a happy first ball, that’s all.

Charlotte stood rock-still through all the fittings, closed her eyes, and analyzed the oranges that appeared in her mind. Perhaps more red. Perhaps starting very red, and working back to orange, in layers?

“Charlotte!” her mother said. “Miss Stuart is trying to do up your hem. Please, turn around when she asks you.

“Charlotte! I’ve asked you twice; please raise your arms.

“Charlotte!”