Volanta

It was a fairly new sensation for Pippa Glasswell, to look into a mirror and not feel disappointed with what she saw. Her whole life the whispers had followed her everywhere.

"The poor dear. Her mother was such a stunning beauty."

"She diene look much like Helena, does she?"

"That's Helena Glasswell's daughter? Gracious, I never would have guessed. They do have the same eyes, I suppose."

But now Pippa would silence them all, and they could take their whispers and their doubts and swallow them whole. Somehow it seemed all her late mother's grace and looks had caught up with Pippa all at once. After spending the summer with her Aunt Tilda in rural Sommerset, she was returning to Highgate no longer the awkward teenager she had been. She had spent so much time staring at portraits of her mother, memorizing every feature and wishing on every shooting star she saw to grow up and be just like her.

"Miss Pippa, I've never had you sit so still while I styled your hair before," Marlene laughed. She had been Pippa's personal maid for several years, and had become a good friend. She was the only one who knew how much the comparisons to her mother frustrated and hurt Pippa, and therefore was also the only one who understood how excited Pippa was for her combination welcome home and birthday party.

Normally Pippa would have begged her father not to throw a party for her, but for once she was actually excited at the idea.

"I've never wanted to get my hair done," Pippa replied to Marlene, watching the girl's fingers expertly pin Pippa's glossy red locks into an elegant twist. "You know I've always hated parties."

"Well you have to at least enjoy this one, Miss Pippa. It's your eighteenth birthday. And your dress is so beautiful."

Pippa couldn't argue with that. It was sapphire blue, with a velvet bodice cinched right around her tiny waist and a full, silky skirt. It made her blue eyes pop and accentuated the red of her hair. Her father had spared no expense for his daughter's birthday. Pippa knew he had missed her terribly while she'd been gone for the summer, and she was just as happy to be home as he was to have her back.

"I hope he invited those dreadful Ingersons," Pippa said. "I want to see the look on Lydia's face."

Lydia Ingerson was generally acknowledged as the most beautiful young woman in all of Highgate, and she'd always been horrible to Pippa; teasing her mercilessly and always looking down her nose at her. Now it was Pippa's turn to use her finely crafted look of contempt on Lydia.

"The Ingersons never miss a party," Marlene assured her. "They'll be here. There, you're all finished. Let's get you into this dress; you're late for your own party."

"The birthday girl can arrive fashionably late," Pippa replied, letting Marlene cinch her into the dress. The full effect was quite stunning, and Pippa knew it was vain to think so. But she felt like a butterfly who had remained an ugly little caterpillar for too long and had finally broken free of her chrysalis. She could be a little vain tonight.

She felt a faint flutter of nerves in her stomach as she made her way to the ballroom, but she straightened her shoulders and jutted her chin out defiantly. She didn't need to be nervous. She had spent her whole life mastering graceful movements, and the ability to cut someone down with just an arch of her eyebrow. Now she could finally put it all to good use. She paused before going into the ballroom, clasping the locket around her neck that had once belonged to Helena. It was Pippa's good luck charm.

"Wish me luck, Mama," she murmured.

Then she pushed open the door and stopped at the top of the stairs, clapping and beaming delightedly. Her clap caught people's attention and they turned to look at her; she noticed more than one double take and a few slack jaws.

"So sorry I'm late," she said, practically floating down the stairs. "Thank you all so much for coming."

She spotted Lydia Ingerson, her dark hair bouncing around her rosy cheeks in tight ringlets. Her doe brown eyes were comically wide as Pippa embraced her and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Lydia, darling! So pleased you could make it." Pippa squeezed her harder than was necessary, making the other girl wince slightly. Then she went gliding through the crowd to where her beaming father stood waiting for her. Dr. Nigel Glasswell had a tendency to wind up looking disheveled no matter how hard he tried to fix himself up. But he was a certifiable genius, and he was Pippa's entire world. Her mother had died when she was only five, and Nigel had loved her and doted on her enough for two parents in her absence.

"Daddy," Pippa said warmly, embracing him and kissing his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. "For the dress, and everything."

"Anything for you, my angel," he whispered back. Pippa discreetly fixed his tie as she pulled away, noticing that her father's long-time friend, Harry Lambert, and his family were headed toward them. Pippa felt a tangle of emotions at the sight of them, but she smiled when Colette Lambert hugged her.

"Pippa, my goodness! You look radiant, positively beautiful! I was sure I was seeing dear Helena's ghost for a moment."

"Thank you," Pippa murmured, her hand automatically fluttering up to clasp her locket again.

"This can't possibly be our own little Pipsqueak Glasswell, can it?"

Pippa's lips pursed in annoyance as soon as the Lamberts' eldest son opened his mouth. Elliot had always reminded her of a peacock, strutting around and flashing his signature crooked grin. He'd always been popular and athletic, growing up with dashing good looks. Pippa hated him. He had called her names and teased her for being pudgy when she was younger.

Now he was giving her his most flirtatious smile and bowing gallantly, planting a kiss on the back of her hand before she yanked it back. Disgusted, she snatched his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her hand on it, tossing it back at him. Elliot only looked the tiniest bit crestfallen, but it didn't stop him from proceeding to spew a lot of poetic compliments, no matter how bored Pippa looked with them.

Instead, her eyes were narrowed at the figure behind Elliot. His younger brother Oliver was just as infuriating as Elliot was, even if it was for entirely different reasons. Pippa had known the Lambert family her entire life, and she had developed a hopeless crush on Oliver when she was six. She had tried to tell him one day; had carefully braided her hair and worn her prettiest dress. Before she could get around to the business of confessing her childish love for him, he had promptly informed her that her braids looked stupid, and she had fled to her room; devastated.

Oliver almost never even noticed her, and when he did it was just to inform her of how vexing she was. And yet no matter how hard she tried to ignore the feelings, she had never been able to get over her childhood crush. Even now, Oliver was staring intently into his glass of brandy.

"Otter, I'm rather surprised you made it," Pippa said, feeling a glimmer of satisfaction when he frowned at the nickname. She had stated calling him Ollie Otter when they were young, just to irritate him.

"I wouldn't have missed it, Pips," he replied. He barely glanced at her and Pippa carefully maintained her calm expression to hide her disappointment. She shouldn't have expected Oliver to notice her any more than he ever had, even if she was even prettier than Lydia Ingerson now.

But plenty of other people noticed her, and even if she felt yet again deflated by Oliver's complete disinterest in her, she still counted the night a success because she had so many people vying for her attention that she thought her feet might fall off from dancing so much. She was flushed and exhausted by the end of the evening, sprawled across a sofa in the parlor with her shoes kicked off. She made a small noise of protest as Nigel scooped her up.

"Daddy, you can't carry me all the way to my room," she said sleepily, trying in vain to squirm free.

"You're my little angel, and I'll always be able to carry you," Nigel said. He set her on her bed, still in her elaborate gown and kissed her forehead.

"Good night, Daddy."

"Good night, angel."

Pippa forced herself to at least change out of the dress before she ruined it, toppling back into bed face first. She pulled out her locket, flicking it open to look at the picture of Helena Glasswell, smiling softly.

"Good night, Mama," she murmured. Then she buried her face in her pillow and was asleep in seconds.