8- The Presentation Ball

A large group of girls filled the long hallway outside of the main ballroom. The atmosphere was excited, a buzzing nervousness. Among all this, Christine paced the hallway; nervous.

"Calm down, it's not that bad," Daria said, trying to soothe her tense cousin.

Christine stopped, spun around to face her, and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"All right. Maybe that bad…but once you start talking, as I'm sure you will, you'll forget all these nerves."

Christine breathed deeply and closed her eyes. She squeezed Daria's arm tightly and said, "Oh Daria! I'm so glad you're coming with me. You don't know how much this means to me!"

Daria growled inwardly. How had she gotten herself into this knot again? Oh yes, Christine had asked. Nicely. And she had been pestering her for a good part of the day before. Daria had always known she was too soft. The sad fact was that, try as she might, she could not change. She was a doormat, to put it bluntly.

"Well, it doesn't matter really. I mean, it's not going to be that difficult is it? All we're going to do is go in there, talk for a few minutes and you two will dance and then we'll leave."

Christine snickered.

"You make it sound like we're going to war," Marsha said from her spot on the other side of Daria.

Christine's hands were balled now. "This dress makes me look like vomit!"

"It does not!" Daria exclaimed, highly affronted. She had been the one to pick out the gown. Christine had been too nervous to pick out a gown from the wide selection her seamstresses had made, so it had been left to Daria. The gown was a light green that was low-cut and had delicate diamond-encrusted flowers dotted around. Simple yet elegant. A diamond chain encircled Christine's neck.

"I honestly don't know why you're so bothered," Daria said, folding her arms over her chest. "I thought you didn't like the Prince in that way but by the way you're acting…"

"Is it so wrong to want to make a good impression?" Christine asked snappishly.

Her question was left unanswered because a trumpet sounded.

All the young girls in the hallway gave a collective gasp.

Daria blanched. "It can't be time! It's barely nine o'clock!"

Christine put a hand to her forehead as if she were about to faint.

Marsha fanned herself calmly.

"Move along Christine. Come what may, we will stick together and prevail," Marsha said in her know-it-all voice. Marsha looked stunning in a white satin gown that tapered at the hips and then flared out. Her hair had been curled and gleamed in the gentle light that poured in from the outside.

"Oh do be quiet," Christine muttered, fretting over herself. Daria sniggered at her cousin's antics. A line had formed and was slowly, but somehow too quickly, moving towards the double doors that led into the ballroom.

Daria could hear the herald announcing the debutantes as they entered a formal gathering for the first time in their lives. Christine and Daria both tugged on her arms and pulled her forward. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

"The Lady Christine Mauva Ellios, daughter of Lord Jeffrey Gordon Ellios and the Lady Henrietta Sharona Ellios!"

Daria saw Christine smile radiantly from the corner of her eye. Daria was not announced. The duo descended the stairs together while Marsha waited for the herald to announce her. It felt like history was repeating itself. She thought to four years back, to when she had walked down these same steps and onto that ballroom floor. Only she hadn't gotten there without the embarrassment of being tripped over; by the Prince no less. Daria could safely say that he was the most childish person she had ever met and she knew he had not changed.

The ballroom was gleaming and white. The chandeliers emitted a gentle, yellow light. The room had been aired out the smell of flowers wafted into her nose. Daria smiled slightly in awe of it all, feeling sorry for all the effort the servants must have went through to have made tonight perfect. Daria looked over the crowd that was on the ballroom floor, watching the debutantes descend. She felt self-conscious and removed her gaze to the floor. The journey down the steps was taking rather long in Daria's opinion but Christine seemed to want to take all the time in the world. Daria's eyes were drawn across at the thrones on the dais on the opposite side of the room. Her eyes met Jerrold's. She blinked. No, he must've been looking at Christine. She thought she saw a smirk on his hateful face, but brushed the thought away. She must've been seeing things; he was all the way across the room!

"Now that wasn't too bad was it?" Christine asked quietly, a relieved smile on her glowing face.

"And you were the one making it out to be our death day," Daria answered.

Christine was saved from replying as a group of ladies glided over. They immediately started a conversation with Christine and Daria found herself left out. It was nothing new. Why did she insist upon torturing herself like this? Was it so hard to refuse Christine?

Yes.

She pushed herself out of the group that was fast closing in and left Christine to the mercy of the sharks as they asked her questions like "My son lost his wife to a horrid illness. Do you know of any young lady who would want to make my son happy again?" How blunt could they get? She found Marsha standing around close by with a blank look on her face.

"Not your type of ball either?" Daria asked her before Marsha was asked to dance by a handsome young man and she answered delightedly in the affirmative.

Daria sighed. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. She had that awful feeling that she was being watched. She brushed it off; sure she was being paranoid and marched off to the drinks table and stood around looking like a lost sheep. Christine was surrounded by such a large group that Daria could not see her. She brushed down her pale blue gown idly and smoothed her dark hair down for lack of anything better to do. Christine had chosen it; she had yelled profusely at the choice Daria had made for her but would not change it to something she liked better because she claimed it would be too rude. She had then gone on to pick out a gown just as plain for her cousin, but Daria loved it, much to the annoyance of Christine.

Daria was not thirsty but when she saw none other than Freidman strutting over to her and realised she had no means of escape that would not seem rude, her stomach did a horrible lurch and she downed a glass of wine.

"Lady Daria, how nice to see you again. As usual, you look beautiful," he said smoothly. His green eyes gleamed as they looked over her and Daria coughed, uneasily. His aging hair had been oiled and slicked back, to cover the bald patches, no doubt. Daria smacked herself mentally for thinking such horrible thoughts. She was not sure how to take all these compliments, most of which she was sure were lies.

With a smile and a thank you, you're too kind… Madam Blythe's words filtered into her train of thought. Daria didn't even remember learning such words.

She smiled, not caring how false it looked. "Thank you, you're too kind." Again Daria felt his probing eyes on her like before, it was like he could see right through her. She hated those eyes. They saw too much.

"Not at all, not at all…" He said with his silky smooth voice. He shook his head and they were left in an awkward silence.

Daria scanned him. He was dressed in rich velvet britches and a silk shirt, his belly protruding.

The orchestra started up for the first time that night.

"Lady Daria, would you give me the great pleasure of accepting me for this dance?" He held out an arm.

Daria hesitated; he did, after all, only come up to somewhere below her shoulders. Wouldn't that look slightly strange?

"Of course," she said. The words had tumbled out of her mouth before she'd even thought of saying them.

He led her to the floor where other couples were dotted about. She spotted Christine not too far away, with the Prince. They were speaking, with love-sick expressions on their faces. She wondered how long it would take for them to realise that they were in love with each other.

Freidman pressed his hand against hers and Daria grimaced slightly as she felt his sweaty hand under her cool one. And she had been right about the fact that they would look an odd couple, for Freidman barely came up to her shoulders and Daria was disgusted with where his eyes lingered while they danced.

"I hear your father is deceased, I'm terribly sorry for your loss," he said. He didn't sound too sorry. Daria's heart clenched.

Daria nodded gravely. The steps to this dance were difficult and it was taking her utmost attention. She could not remember the last time she had practised her steps.

"How did he die, may I ask?"

Daria hated it when people asked if they could ask, hadn't they already asked by asking if they could ask?

"It is quite all right to ask. It was an illness; it took him from us very suddenly," Daria said quietly, tears misting over her eyes.

"I've upset you," he said, watching her carefully. "It was wrong of me to bring up the subject."

"I'm quite all right," Daria said, not blinking so that the tears wouldn't fall.

"Let us speak of happier things," he said, and Daria wondered when the dance would end, it seemed to go on for hours.

"I understand you like to read books." Daria wondered where and from whom he had heard all these things about her. "I have first edition copies of the Ellman Quartet," he said.

Daria didn't let the excitement show on her face at his words but asked instead,

"You do not disapprove of women reading books?"

"I do not. But I would disapprove of you if you did not read them once I loan them to you for a time."

Daria wondered what he wanted. He didn't seem like the type of man who would like women reading. But she had heard of how excellently-written those books were so it wouldn't hurt to get her hands on them.

"Then who am I to refuse?" Daria said finally, but she couldn't help the niggling sensation in the back of her mind.

-

Five dances later, and with very sore feet Daria sat down on a cushioned seat in a corner. Try as she might, it had been a monstrous task trying to get rid of Freidman. That man would not take 'no' far an answer; it was only when she claimed that she could feel her feet blistering did he let her go. Daria was partly flattered for his interest in her but a greater part of her was annoyed and frustrated as his clinginess. She had realised as soon as he asked her to dance for the third time that people were starting to talk.

"Punch?" A hand laden with a glass of punch appeared before her.

"Thank you," she said, even though it had been Prince Jerrold who offered it. Daria gulped the icy cool drink down, it seemed ages since the wine. She sighed and brushed some hair away from her face. Jerrold sat down at a seat beside her. She felt his gaze on her and she raised her eyes to meet his laughing one defiantly. She laughed mentally; he hadn't really made an effort for the ball, his usual messy hair had been left uncombed, his breeches were a deep blue and creased, his silk shirt was the purest black, nothing special. She felt sorry for those debutantes who had spent all day getting ready for this.

"You and Lord Freidman make quite the couple," Jerrold said, the laughter was evident in his voice.

Daria glared. "If you're just here to make fun, of your own subjects no less, I suggest you leave." It was his immaturity that got on her nerves. And anyway, what did he mean by couple? Not in his wildest dreams.

He laughed and it grated on Daria's nerves. "I wasn't being serious…" He thought for a moment. "Come, dance with me."

He held out his hand. Daria's mind went blank…and then questions engulfed her. Why was he asking her? Where was Freidman when she needed him? Where had Christine disappeared to?

"No," she answered finally, quietly. Were you allowed to say 'no' to the Prince?

He smirked, his eyes flashing, before saying "Don't be a spoilsport," and hauling her from her seat.

Her breath caught when she felt her hand slip into his warm, strong one, she suddenly felt very warm. They somehow ended up in the centre of the ballroom floor and for the first time Daria was aware of the music; it was soft and slow; most inconvenient.

There were only a few other couples on the ballroom floor. Jerrold was standing far too close, and he seemed to know she didn't appreciate it because he didn't move away. The music was torturously slow. She looked up into Jerrold's grey eyes and was shocked to see the pain registered on his face.

"Can you stop stepping on my toes?" He asked in exasperation, breaking the daze Daria had been in.

"What? Oh, sorry," she said. She moved a few steps back.

"You know, my arms aren't that long," he said.

Daria huffed. "Then why don't you move?"

"Because you're the one stepping on my toes." She hated the fact that he had an answer for everything.

Daria remained silent for a few minutes, trying her hardest to imagine Jerrold was someone else, anyone else. That at least, would make the situation a little easier.

"Why are you dancing with me anyway, your highness?" she said at last.

This was the first time, and would probably be the last.

He shrugged. "Christine asked," he said simply, glancing at her to gauge her reaction. Did he take pleasure from her discomfort?

"Oh," Daria murmured, trying to sound nonchalant. She ignored the feeling of disappointment that rose to the surface at his words. Why would she be disappointed? It was nothing…but why hadn't she thought of this earlier, why else would he ask her to dance? As usual, she thought too much of herself and then had to be pulled sharply back to reality.

Christine was standing on the sidelines, smiling and talking to a couple of women. She was watching them surreptitiously and Daria suddenly felt sick. She was sick of all of this, why should she dance with the Prince out of her cousin's pity? It made her feel small and worthless. Why should she dance at all? She could feel it from every direction, people watching her, looking at her and at her leg, that thing that set her apart from the rest of the crowd. What had made her think that coming here would've been any different from any other time? Of course it wouldn't be. People never changed. She looked up at Jerrold and blinked as she noted him gazing at someone over her head. She didn't need to guess at who it was. Christine. When he returned his gaze back to her, he smiled. Daria turned her face away. Her eyes flickered around the room and landed on Freidman. His face was a deep, angry red and he seemed occupied in thought. He was standing near an exit into a hallway rarely used; he looked around apprehensively before backing out of the ballroom. Daria's curiosity was peaked. Where was he going? As soon as the dance came to an end, which in Daria's opinion took gut-wrenchingly long, she pulled away from the Prince, bobbed a curtsey; ignored the Prince as he called after her, dodged out of the way as she noticed Marsha making her way toward her and surreptitiously followed the route that Freidman had taken.

The hall was empty; Freidman was nowhere to be seen. Daria's eyebrows furrowed, but with one last look back at the ballroom she made her way deeper into the hall, trying to guess what route he might have taken. The hall forked off a few seconds later and Daria hesitated, unsure. A voice in her head told her to turn back, that none of this could come to any good, but she brushed it off. A distant murmur caught her attention and Daria's feet seemed to have a life of their own, they lead her nearer and nearer to the murmur. Her feet moved slowly; cautiously, they were soundless on the thick carpet; she ran her fingers over the walls as she passed by.

"I told you not to come…" Freidman's angry hiss made Daria stop, frozen in her tracks. He was close by.

"Cestmir's getting impatient. He wants to know when," another voice said. It was quiet yet commanding. A chill ran up Daria's spine. If only she would lean over slightly and peer around the corner…But fear, or maybe even cowardice stopped her.

"As soon as the plan comes into play, that's when," Freidman said coolly, with finality.

Her heart pounding, Daria took a step back; sure she was going to be caught.

"…I'd better leave now, people will become suspicious…Make sure the next time Cestmir becomes impatient, it isn't on the night of a ball…"

Daria didn't hear the rest because she had turned around and rushed as quietly as she could back to the safety and comfort she never knew the ball could offer.

A/N: Yes, I know everyone hates me for the long delay. I'm disappointed in myself aswell. I hate it when someone doesn't update for a long time, and I've done just that. Worse still, is that I made a promise that I would update and I broke it :-(, this is about three weeks out:( So my apologies, but please forgive me. It was a case of writer's block and...laziness...Sorry...

Thanks to:

LDS-BLONDE, third class leper, ra-chan, Lady Emma, JustWriter2 (You know what? I don't know the answers to half your questions, but i will try to answer them in future chapters:), hiphop diva (loved the long review:)and SAPSPARROW13 (soooo sorry! forgive me!)...for your comments!

If you've read this please review because feedback would be appreciated:-) (even if it wasTHAT bad...)