Katie Fforde - Wedding Season

Elsa laughed, thrilled with the effect she'd had on him. 'I notice you're not in period dress, however.'

‘No. I thought I might not reach the required Colin Firth standard and we're allowed to get away with white tie and tails.'

‘I think that's cheating,' said Elsa. 'You could have hired an outfit – you were going to hire outfits for both of us!'

‘I know, but I remembered what you said about wearing curtains that smelt of sweat and opted for my own recently cleaned tails.’

Elsa laughed, suddenly feeling more happy than nervous. It was a glorious evening, she felt beautiful and Laurence seemed delighted to see her.

He was still looking at her. 'You know it's just possible that you might steal the thunder of the birthday girl, but don't worry, if she looks like wanting to tear your eyes out, I guarantee to get you away safely.’

Elsa laughed again. 'To be honest, I wasn't expecting to have quite so much time to spend on my dress. I'm still awaiting Carrie's orders. I turned down another bride, thinking I'd be too busy to do it. But that's quite handy because I'm doing Sarah's sister's dress now. Not from scratch, it's an alteration – or rather a complete makeover-job.'

‘Fascinating,' said Laurence, taking her arm. 'You must tell me all about it sometime. But now it's time for Cinderella to go to the ball. Are you bringing any sort of coat, apart from your pashmina?'

‘It's not a pashmina, it's a shawl!' insisted Elsa. 'Pashminas weren't invented then – or at least they didn't call them that.'

‘Well then, grab your reticule and let's hit the road. You'll be glad to hear I've put the hood up on the car.’

Elsa laughed. 'That's a relief. My hair will probably fall down anyway, but it would be nice to get to our destination first.’

Then, as she arranged herself in his Morgan, she said, 'I'm so glad your friend isn't seriously into Marie Antoinette and that lot, you'd never fit hoops and those wigs they wore into this car.’

The ball was at a country house hotel that was the perfect Regency period. 'Your friend – Natasha did you say? -must have chosen it specially. It's perfect!' said Elsa as they drove up and then round the back to park the car.

‘Actually, I think this hotel is owned by friends of hers and she fitted the ball round the venue. Now, can you walk in those shoes, or shall I carry you?’

Elsa put her head on one side. 'Supposing I said you had to carry me?'

‘I'd throw you over my shoulder in proper fireman style and off we'd go!' said Laurence.

‘OK, I'll share with you the fact that these shoes are very comfortable and stay on well. Although the heels aren't quite high enough for proper dancing.'

‘You don't need high heels for dancing, do you?' Laurence gave her a startled look.

Elsa tossed her head, enjoying the feeling of the fake ringlets against her cheek. 'You're the expert.'

‘Actually, I'm not sure about that any more. Terry was much better.' He frowned and took her elbow and handed her a glass of champagne he took from an offered tray. 'Take this and come on.’

Now they were actually here and about to face a room full of strangers, she felt her nervousness return, especially when she saw a group of people armed with clipboards who seemed to be inspecting everyone as they arrived.

‘I so don't want to do this!' Elsa muttered to Laurence from between gritted teeth. 'I would never have come if I knew I was going to be on parade!'

‘I'm sorry,' he muttered back, his arm round her waist, which although it felt rather nice didn't help her ruffled state. 'I wouldn't have done either. I never would have put you through this if I'd had an inkling there was any sort of costume competition. I agree it's totally barbaric.’

Mollified a little by this rather extreme language, she allowed herself to be inspected. As she and Laurence stood smiling gamely she muttered from behind her smile, "Judge not, that ye be not judged." We're not cattle – we shouldn't have to be scored on our points!'

‘But you're not on your pointes,' he teased, obviously trying to make her feel better, 'you're wearing ordinary shoes and you told me quite definitely that they're comfortable.’

She nudged him hard in the ribs. 'How do you know about pointe shoes?'

‘I have a sister who did ballet.'

‘I bet she could have waltzed without the lessons.'

‘Probably, but that's not enough reason to take my sister to a ball.’

Elsa didn't have time to work out if this was a compliment or not before the woman whom Elsa assumed was Natasha spoke.

‘Thank you, Elsa,' said their hostess, holding her score card so it couldn't be seen. Elsa relaxed her pose. 'I must say Laurence, you have picked the most lovely partner.’

Elsa could see the speculation in her eyes. She hoped Natasha wouldn't get her in the Ladies on her own and ask her about her relationship with Laurence – she wouldn't be able to help her. She didn't really think she could say they were 'just good friends' because she didn't know him very well and anyway, she hoped he saw her as a little more than that. It was all too new to be examined by someone else.

At last the party was allowed to start again and Laurence said, 'Come on, you need another drink,' and she followed him to the bar.

‘I could murder a large fizzy water,' she agreed.

They waltzed together afterwards, and it went better this time. Their first attempt had been a bit of a disaster and Elsa almost wished she could stand on his feet again like they had at Ashlyn's wedding. But now supper was over and they'd done some country dances since: that had helped Elsa relax a bit. She found it was hard to remain tense and worried about your feet when you're being whirled up and down and passed from hand to hand.

‘You're getting good at this,' Laurence murmured as they did a perfect left-hand reverse.

tried to practise on my own at home, after the lesson.' She looked up at him and he seemed lost in thought, then he glanced down at her, smiling. He really did have lovely gentle eyes. 'I know, I'm sorry, I should have come and practised with you. I've been dreadfully busy lately.’

‘It's OK, I didn't expect you to.’

They gazed at each other for a while and Elsa suddenly felt a little awkward. She was just wondering what to say next when the music stopped and Natasha's consort, who, unlike all the other men, was in Regency dress, went to a microphone.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to announce the winner of the costume competition.’

Elsa felt tense. She'd always dreaded hearing her name or her number, or indeed anything, called out. And while she didn't think she was in any danger now, she still felt anxious. Then Laurence took her hand and squeezed it, looking down at her encouragingly.

‘In reverse order…' A name was announced and Elsa relaxed; the woman who came forward for her bottle of champagne was immaculate. Elsa was fairly sure that her dress was an exact copy of a period costume from a painting. There was no way she was likely to be called for now.

The second prize went to another stunning creation, far grander than Elsa's gown – this one was suitable for a duchess. Elsa by contrast was very ingénue, her dress suitable for a girl in her first season. She was no longer in her teens but she felt sufficiently inexperienced in the ways of the world for this to be appropriate. Apart from anything else, she hadn't wanted to make anything too complicated in case she'd had to drop it to start on Carrie's creation.

‘And the winner,' called the man, who actually looked very smart in his tight pants, tail coat and exotically tied neckcloth, 'who wins a weekend for two here in this lovely hotel, is..

Elsa looked round for someone to step forward and then realised it was her name she had heard. Laurence was looking down at her, smiling. He mouthed, 'Ready?' and when she gave a little nod he took her hand and led her to the front. Everyone clapped like mad. In theory it was the worst moment of her life, being the object of everyone's gaze, in the forefront rather than the background. But from somewhere came a sense of theatre: spontaneously, she performed a deep curtsey and accepted a bottle of champagne and an envelope as if she'd been born to receive such accolades.