What I had hoped would be a time of sweet anticipation turned rapidly into a nightmare, beginning with Kitty’s swoons over likely dance partners and Amanda Ashton’s incessant chatter about gowns, jewelry, wraps, slippers, and everything else one associates with such an occasion. When I could no longer bear it, I took to my room, pleading a headache. Jane was concerned. “Mary, you must lie down until it is time to prepare. We can’t have your evening spoiled by a megrim.” “No, of course not. I shall rest until dinner.” Instead, I paced in my room as though it were a prison cell. I wanted to be out of doors and walking. But that would never do for one who’d just complained of a headache. After a long while, I heard a light tapping on my door and dived onto the bed before Jane stepped in. “How are you feeling, dear?” she asked. Her arms were overflowing with gowns. I slowly raised my head, as though by great effort.
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