The ballroom was packed with young debutants and their mama's, clamouring for attention of the so called eligible suitors. Emily checked over her shoulder, sure she had lost aunt Margaret.
The older woman had been insistent they attended tonight, even though Emily had barely recovered from the ocean crossing. 25 days trapped on a rolling ocean had left her weakened. Anna, her lady's maid, had had to take in her dress for tonight, having lost a significant amount of weight during the journey. It was only in recent days that the earth seemed to have stopped moving.
Pausing to collect herself, she edged closer to a small gathering at one side of the floor. Better to take cover in a group else her aunt would introduce her to more men.
"I heard she is virtually a wild woman!", one young lady exclaimed, as the group leaned in to partake in the gossip. "They say she grew up in the county riding horses and -" the young woman dipped her voice, "shooting!".
A look of horror spread around some of the more gentle looking ladies in the group. Two young men in the company shared a glance, and hid their grins.
Another woman, not wanting to be outdone on her insider knowledge, added: "I heard that she converses like a church bell. So boorish and loud those colonist's."
The friend smiled, slyly, adding, "Now, now, Henrieta, those rebels now wish to be called Americans." A tittering of laughter rang out around the circle and it was then Emily realised they had been talking about her.
A small smile played at the corners of her mouth, as she slid further towards the group, breaking into their circle.
Clearing her throat, she adopted the English accent of her last governess the best she could.
"Are you talking about that new Hawthorn girl?", she asked, ignoring the stares of her unwanted interruption. "Mama told me the boor ripped a dress from another young woman's hands at the modiste this morning."
Emily cast a furtive look around the group, leaning in closer. This new piece of scandal had captivated her audience, as the ladies mirrored her movement. "Screamed that she must have the latest fashion for tonight's ball. Money," Emily said, lowering her voice to almost a whisper, "is apparently no object for that young lady."
She nodded sagely, straightening back up, while the ladies exchanged almost worried glances.
"I have also heard that she walks with a cane - such inbreeding in those colonies - that one leg is now shorter than the other."
There was a sharp burst of laughter behind her, as the taller of the two gentlemen no longer seemed capable of holding in his mirth.
The ringleader of the small group narrowed her eyes, suddenly realising that Emily had been making a fool of her.
"And who, pray tell, are you? To be offering your information so…freely?"
Emily smiled, her natural accent returning, "I am Emily Hawthorn, pleasure to meet your acquaintance."