1897
"Oooh, look at that one over there!" Ingrid nods towards a handsome, fair haired young man. "Yes, he is quite handsome, isn't he?" Amy giggles. My two best friends are gazing at him adoringly. "I think I'm in love!" Ingrid says, fanning herself with her fan, directing her flirtatious gaze at the man.
I used to be jealous of the way my friends drew men like honey draws bees. But once I became a beauty myself I found it dull. Not that I am anything compared to my friends.
Tonight Ingrid is stunning. Her white-blond curls are piled on her head elegantly, and her wide blue eyes are sparkling. Her skin is clear and pale and smooth except for the rosy spots on her cheeks. She wears a pale pink gown that floats about her. She looks like an illustration of Aphrodite in one of my books. In the book, Aphrodite is gowned in flowing pink mist, and her hair is long and curly. In the picture, however, Aphrodite's hair is loose and unadorned, and her eyes are violet. But still, I believe Ingrid rivals her tonight.
"Oh, but look at that one, Ingrid, don't set your cap at one too soon," and Amy points out another young man from behind her lacy fan, a man as dark as the other one is fair, but just as handsome. But I find the blonde-haired youth more handsome…I'm partial to light-haired men.
Amy flutters her eyelashes at the dark one, and he approaches, allured by her soft brown hair, below her waist when loose, and he finds her almond-shaped hazel eyes inviting, as they all do. And tonight she wears a golden gown, bringing out the warm golden flecks in her eyes.
He sweeps her away to dance, introducing himself as Jack Green, just as the blonde haired man comes to Ingrid and I, bowing to both of us, kissing her hand first, but lingering over mine, and I feel myself blush.
Ingrid looks at me, smirking. She doesn't really have her cap set at him; she and Amy have great sport pointing out the most dashing men behind their fans. And they giggle and titter like silly girls when the men come over, but Ingrid's eyes have a very well disguised look of contempt when they come to ask her to dance without having spoken a word to her, and Amy can be quite cold if she finds a man with a big head.
Ingrid frequently makes good-natured jibes that I am just not meant to be married, since I seem so unattracted to even the most appealing men. But frankly, no man has caught my fancy and held it: either they are handsome and dull-witted, or handsome, intelligent, and arrogant. Those are the two categories of men. Oh, and then there are the plainer men, but Ingrid only ever invites handsome ones to her balls…and I am shallow in this, for I do want a handsome husband. Imagine spending the rest of one's life gazing at a man you found quite unattractive!
I am brought out of my reverie by the man's voice, a deep Southern drawl.
"My name is George Green," he says, addressing me, "Would you like to dance?"
I look at him for a moment, and then Ingrid jumps in with a flutter of her lashes and a flirtatious smile, "This is Elizabeth Smith. Are you related to that Jack Green over there?"
He nods, saying with a smile, "He is my younger brother."
"They do say good looks run in families," she says, flirting lightly. He smiles at her, eyes appraising her from her feet to the top of her elaborate hairstyle. His eyes are appreciative, but he turns back to me after a few moments of looking her up and down, his head cocked, waiting for my answer.
Ingrid says, "Of course she would!" and pushes me into him. I blush, and then look over my shoulder to glare at her. She smiles mischievously.
My mind whirrs at top speed as we twirl and spin about gracefully. Yes, he is nattering on about himself and his many sporting awards…I must get out of this.
Managing to slip my heel out of my satin dancing slipper, I pretend to stumble, and fall to the floor, groaning. He drops down beside me and says, "Oh, Miss Elizabeth!"
I say, making my voice as weak as possible, "I am afraid, Mr. Green, I will be unable to continue dancing with you…I believe I have injured my ankle." And before I can protest, he sweeps me off my feet, carrying me easily to the side of the room, blue eyes gazing at my face, and heaving bosom, and making my cheeks grow hot and my indignation rise. I am angry at myself for wearing the green silk against my mother's advice. It does look so lovely on me, and I like to dress up, much as I might scorn the snobby girls my age who spend hours on themselves before balls and such. But now it's low neckline is a bother. Can the man not control his eyes?! If I were the fainting type I'd be limp with shame.
Ingrid is staring at us from where she dances with her older, shorter partner, as is Amy (who is still whirling with Jack Green), and both politely disengage themselves to see if I am alright, for they both know I would not let George Green carry me back to a chair if I had any choice in the matter.
He explains to them, and then walks rather disconsolately off. Amy bursts into loud, unladylike laughter at my trick that earns her a glare from her mother. Ingrid scowls playfully and says, "Lizzie, however am I to find you a husband if you keep scaring all the good men away?"
Suddenly she grins and says, "But oh, you won't be able to resist this one. Amy have you seen him yet? No, but of course you haven't, for every girl who has is speechless. I was too, at first. Oh, Lizzie, you won't be able to disengage yourself from this one! When he talks…oh, he isn't the least bit conceited, but he's been to Harvard, and he's so handsome…the handsomest man I've ever seen, and I do mean that. Wait until you meet him!"
"Ingrid," Amy says rather crossly, "Stop bandying about words and get to his name!"
"Samuel," Ingrid says, seemingly in rapture at the thought of him.
"However can I be courted by a man you are in love with, Ingrid?" I say, still grumpy from my escapade with George.
"Don't be stupid, Lizzie. He's just so very handsome. But his philosophical talk is rather dull, but you love such things. I tell you Lizzie, he's perfect for you!"
"I'm certain such a wonderful man is already courting a young lady," I say, tired of her Ingrid and Amy's tireless enthusiasm for men for me.
"Oh but he isn't! I knew he was perfect for you the minute he began to speak of Plato's teachings, for you've been talking of little else since you read that book on them. And Lizzie, he's agreed to do a waltz with me, which is all part of the plan. Afterwards, I shall lead him over here and introduce you to him."
I waited, not the least bit eager to meet this Samuel. But then Ingrid, flushed and smiling, began leading a truly amazing man to me.
His hair was dark and thick. His eyes were like butterscotch, and his skin white as marble. He was tall and strong, but still lean. He was perfect.
A voice like deep bells reached my mind. And, looking into his eyes, I realized Ingrid had finally found the man for me.
