Jane tried not to stare when Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed at the address. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the weight of the paper, and the thick wax seal on the back. As Mrs. Ellsworth slid her penknife under the sealing wax, Jane kept her focus on the watercolour before her.

“The FitzCamerons are hosting a ball!” Mrs. Ellsworth nearly dropped her penknife. Her hands trembled, making the invitation rattle like a miniature thunderstorm.

Though the FitzCamerons were their closest neighbours, Lady FitzCameron was rarely in residence at Banbree Manor since her husband’s death, preferring to spend her time in London with the ton. There had not been a ball at Banbree Manor since before Melody’s coming out.

Melody dropped the fringe she had been crocheting, and ran across the drawing room with a squeal of delight.

Mr. Ellsworth shook his head. “I suppose young Livingston has arrived?”

Mrs. Ellsworth studied the letter without responding. “Oh! She barely gives us time enough for the modiste to make us new gowns.”

Jane glanced at her father. Though she coveted a bolt of dove silk at Madame Beaulieu’s Haberdashery, Mr. Ellsworth was constantly worried about funds. His face softened as he looked at Melody. “Well. I want my girls to shew well against young Miss FitzCameron.”

“Charles, do not be silly.” Mrs. Ellsworth put the letter down and glared at Jane’s father. “Everyone knows that Miss FitzCameron uses glamour to enhance her appearance, though with the dowry she carries, most overlook it.”

“Does she?” Like most men, Jane’s father was nearly blind to glamour folds. Jane rather thought it was from lack of training than lack of a native ability, for he could do rudimentary warming spells when hunting.

“Yes,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “Heavens, do you not recall how her teeth stuck out like a horse?”

“Oh. Yes. I thought perhaps she had outgrown it.”

Melody snorted. “La! If she had, then she wouldn’t faint all the time. If you watch at the ball, I am certain that she will faint. When she awakens, she will cover her mouth with her hand until she has the charm in place again.”

“But why does her mother allow it?” Mr. Ellsworth asked.

Jane put down her paintbrush. “I imagine that she turns a blind eye because she hopes her daughter will make a better match for it.”

“Neither of you do that, I hope.”

Jane picked up her paintbrush again, painfully aware that he looked at her, not at Melody. “I trust that it is apparent that I do not.”

As she laid brush to paint, dabbing at the blue with which she hoped to capture yesterday’s sky, her father blustered with a poor attempt at apology. “No, of course. Both of my girls are too sensible for such nonsense.”

“Sensible.” Jane guided the brush across the page, letting the paint bleed across the water. “Yes. We are sensible girls. Are we not, Melody?” Such was her bitterness that she could not contain that small jab at her sister’s moment of weakness from the day prior. At the paling in Melody’s cheeks, Jane instantly regretted her pettiness and tried to turn her words. “And so we should have no trouble in using our sensibility to convince you of the importance of new gowns for the ball.”