Willow's Mag 32
She came round to the pungent odour of ammonia. Desperately she turned her head from side to side, but the smell followed her; somebody was holding a bottle of smelling salts to her nose.
Slowly she regained her faculties and remembered where she was; she opened her eyes to see several concerned faces bent over her. Her sister was there, as was Mrs. Brownlow, their chaperone, and her best friend Melanie. Raising her eyes, she saw HIS face, towering over the women. looking down on her with anxious eyes. She shivered a little, HE was here, looking down at her. Dimly, she wondered, why were they looking down on her? All she remembered was being whirled about the room by HIM in a sensuous waltz, getting giddier and giddier with the excitement of it all. So why was she lying on the chaiselongue now?
Her eyes found those of her sister. Her sister came closer.
“What happened?”, she whispered.
“You fainted during the waltz”, her sister whispered back.
“How did I come to lie on the sofa, who carried me here?”
“HE did, he carried you in his arms. He carried you here, then he laid you on the sofa. I saw him put both his hands around your waist to adjust your skirts, but then Mrs. Brownlow stepped in and made him leave you”.
She shivered again. A delicious feeling came over her. It had all been worth it!
The time her sister and Melanie had spent pulling on her corset strings, pulling them tighter and tighter, until she could barely breathe, had been time and effort well spent. No matter that she had almost passed out on her way to the Ball, no matter that her ribcage hurt abominably, HE had noticed her tiny waist, HE had measured it with his hands, HE had carried her perfect hourglass figure.