The Witherwood Ball

The December ball season is getting off to a late start due to a late wedding engagement. I offer you an invitation to the Witherwood Ball:
         

Mr. Andrew Witherwood is pleased 

to invite you to a ball in honor of his 

newly affianced, 

Miss Sarah Marchmont 

on this Evening of the seventh day 

of December at the

Fezziwig Emporium in 

Hanover Street.

Sarah, or Molly as she was once known, dresses with care in a serviceable gown of blue serge, borrowed for the occasion from her sister-to-be. Almost she regrets her actions with the ruby. Almost, but not quite. For it would have been a very good thing to have at least one new dress in which to celebrate their upcoming nuptials. She gazes into the spotty glass, remembering the balls of yesteryear.

She remembers sitting on the steps to watch the guests arrive in their furs and jewels, to be met by Papa and Mama in a formal receiving line. Sarah closed her eyes, putting herself into the waking dream. The butler would have taken their wraps and she and Andrew would have proceeded down the line. When she came to Papa, she would have curtsied and Papa would have pulled her into a quick hug, while perusing Andrew over her head. 

She knew he would have looked askance at her beau, mainly because no man was good enough for his little girl. And Mama would have drawn her away in horror at the state of her shabby dress. They would have ascended to her rooms to don a more respectable gown and Amalie would have murmured over her hair. At the end of it, they would have descended, sparkling and resplendent.

Sarah stares at the shabby cuffs and hem. What she wouldn't give to be back in Mama's arms.

But then she wouldn't be engaged to Andrew, for he would scarcely have done for a Marchmont beau. She takes up her fan and reticule and proceeds downstairs to Andrew's arm. He turns her about and gives her the warmest of smiles.

"Never have I seen such a beautiful lady," he says, bowing over her hand. He draws it to his lips and she is lost again in the warmth of his kindness. Perhaps it is not only kindness which fills her with happiness this night?

The two proceed to Fezziwig's Emporium, laughing and conversing as they walk. They see the windows lit with cheerful candle light and Fezziwig himself holding forth in preparation for the dancing.

"Ah! The guests of honor!" he exclaims as Andrew and Sarah enter to the music of the ringing bell. "Everyone to their places. Let me take your wraps, Witherwood." Fezziwig bows and they all proceed into the room to be greeted by the guests. 

You too are invited. Enter and dance. And as you do, note that Andrew is much more handsome than his picture.

If you would like to read more about Sarah and Andrew, please go here or here and purchase the book, THE HEART OF FIRE by H. Linn Murphy