1Elizabeth Maria DeChagny set at her vanity in all but a pout. She brushed through her lustrous brown locks idly. She had stroked the silken strands at least the hundred times required already, and now was simply stalling.
"Mother, I really think this whole thing is quite silly." At eighteen, her young voice was softer than that of her mothers - which had sweetened with age. It was mellifluous and chimed like a bell.
"Elizabeth," Christine said in what she hoped was a comforting tone. She turned from the collection of jewels she had been sifting through, with token in hand. Stepping to her young daughter, she encircled the pale column of her throat with a ruby choker, kneeling to fasten it. The color was a perfect choice, delicate contrast to the milkiness of her flesh and providing the perfect hue to compliment the rosiness in her cheeks. "I know that you dread this, but really. You aren't going to be married tonight! This is your night, your party. Just have fun, my sweet child, and get to know some of the young men..."
"But I know them!" the child interrupted, standing abruptly. "I played with them as a child, or their sisters are my best friends! This is all so backwards Mother! I could find a husband for myself, if I wished."
Christine sighed at her child's impatience. She reminded her so much of herself, many years ago.
"It's a chance for everyone to celebrate you, beautiful girl. It's your birthday celebration, your debutante! Please, Elizabeth.."
The teenager softened at her mother's tone. She loved her mother dearly and could deny her little. She turned to embrace the woman she looked so similar too, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"For you, mother."
The night's occasion was a marvelous affair. Everyone in the Paris elite had been invited, and many from afar. The only child of the Vicomte DeChagny was turning eighteen, and her debutante ball was the event of the year. Many parents had designs on her hand in marriage, realizing the political and business ties they would gain through such a merger. Not to mention the money. The young men were enamored with her beauty, and were just as eager to earn her charm. Elizabeth, however, wished she could be in another place. Anywhere but at the center of all of this attention! The two turned from the room after one last glance in the looking glass, and began to descend the stairs. The sooner it began, the sooner it would end.
Below, the grand ball room of their estate had been transformed. No longer was it the lovely and charming room she had danced so often in, upon her Father's toes. It had taken on a new life and boasted all the glorious decor of a masquerade. No expense had been spared and the aroma of the food and wine, the sound of music and laughter - all made Elizabeth feel nauseous. She had overheard her mother and father talking weeks before, and realized the pressure they felt. Who she chose to marry would impact the entire family and she was almost certain they had already picked a prospective groom for her. With dread, she trudged on. When they reached the top landing, Christine released her daughters hand and stepped back - allowing Elizabeth the limelight of her moment. The music came to a less than graceful stop, and all eyes turned to the beauty atop the stairs.
Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady herself, searching through the masked faces quickly in search of any familiar. She cast a smile toward Manette Giry, only a few years her junior, and then continued on. Where was he? Finally, the tall and still handsome form of her Father stepped out from behind another gentleman, and walked towards her. She felt relief course through her form. Her father was her rock, and had always been so. Upon his arm, she could survive anything. She extended her hand to him, and he brushed his lips across her knuckles - smiling upwards at her.
"Bella, you have never looked more beautiful."
"Papa," his daughter replied, the beginning of a plea to save her from all of this. The rest of her lovely voice was cut off - however, as a loud voice began to announce her. She felt frantic, and squeezed her Father's arm as he stepped to her side.
"I love you, Elizabeth.." her father whispered in her ear, and before she could speak..
"Elizabeth Maria DeChagny!" Her voice echoed throughout the massive hall. Young men straightened , tugging on their waistcoats. Older women murmured appreciatively to one another, and the young woman atop the stairs pushed aside her insecurity and dread and donned the face of a socialite. She had been to dozens of these things before, she could charm her way through this one. With one last smile to her father, they began to descend the stairs as the music resumed.