Chapter 3

My London clothier was adamant. Not only had the style of men's formal dress not basically changed in the last four years, but in my opinion, it had grown worse. Men at high society functions were required to wear snug fitting tights and flashy waist coats. A cod patch was required to mold the man's equipment so that only the outline was visible, not the individual parts. That style had come into vogue four years ago. I had been a little too embarrassed then because of my larger than normal equipment. But now the refinement had been to tighten the pants to the point where the ass cheeks and their cleavage was also pronounced. I much preferred that women be put on display, not men. Of course, that was my personal preference.

I was in a quandary. My old fancy dress was too old for Abby's debutante ball and quite too small. At eighteen, I had grown quite a bit. I was over six feet and well-built. And, my equipment was even bigger. If I had started earlier trying to find decent clothing, I probably could have solved the problem. But now I was stuck with only these clothes. The other men would be wearing essentially the same thing so I'd probably not stand out too much. At least I hoped not.

The Dean's House

The night of the ball found the Dean and I sipping a brandy. We were commiserating with each other about men's clothing in general and the present style in particular. Because the Dean was chunkier and shorter, he was even more distressed than I was. Diane was still fussing with Abby's last minute dress details. I had already looked the other girls over and given them my approval. Every one of them told me that my new clothes looked wonderful. About some things, you just couldn't believe a female, regardless of age.

But at least they were appropriately dressed for the dance and weren't trying to out-dress Abby. Finally we were able to don our cloaks against the night air and leave for the ball.

A coming-out ball for a society member, as was the case with Abby, was always heavily attended by society members. At least that was what I had been told by Diane, who should know. Any member with eligible aged son's was sure to be there. I viewed it as a form of in-breeding but doubted any one of them would have cared what a non-member male thought.

The Dean escorted Diane, and I was given the honor of escorting Abby into the ballroom. She was positively glowing, and I was very happy for her. The other four girls were in two's following us. We were met by the hostess of the event and her entourage who helped us with our cloaks. And, the surprise of the evening was that Ann was there and helping by handing out the folded dance cards. She had on a stunning dress, was beautifully coiffured, and had nicely applied make-up. She was very attractive.

I leaned forward in greeting to touch cheeks and whispered, "You're beautiful. You look good enough to eat." I had said it without thinking of our one night-time meeting. When I pulled back and looked at her, I realized that we were both flushed.

The cards were attached to ours wrists so we could keep track of which dances were reserved and by whom. It was strange how pleased I felt in seeing Ann. I had missed her the last few weeks. We exchanged genuine smiles.

Debutant dances are a complicated process. As we entered the main ballroom area, our names were called out.

"The Honorable Dean and Diane Warton."

"Sir Donald Moore and Abby Warton."

"Beth and Cathy Warton."

"Dawne and Ester Warton."

We all bowed or curtsied in turn to the waiting crowd.

I was surprised that my newly acquired title was used. As far as I knew no one knew about it. But it made me suspect that Lady Lucinda was somewhere in the hall. At eight sharp, the attendees could mill around and finish filling in their dance cards. Abby's, of course, had been fixed to reflect the most eligible young men in the room in reverse order, the best being saved for last.