It turned out that the three sisters were not very experienced in the field of keeping promises. The entire week was a mental battle for Elizabeth. Just one trip into town would not hurt, her brain would think. And the dresses in that catalog you found...they are only sold in downtown Manhattan. And father would not ever have to find out!

For Angelica, the struggle was a hundred times worse. She loved disobeying her father; that was her one goal in life: do not be like daddy. Plus, he already had a mini version of himself: Margarita. Wasn't one daughter enough? Why was it always the eldest of the three? Why was Eliza the only one with freedom?

Peggy, however, was perfectly happy with the situation. She desperately wanted to attend the ball, and was opposed to lying to her father anyway. Who cares if we cannot go downtown? Margaret would think to herself, drawing quietly in her sketchbook in the garden. What does it matter?

Meanwhile, the maids at the Schuyler mansion were in a frenzy; the sisters were so particular about what they wore and how they looked that prepping them for a ball was something quite close to hell. The sisters were not helping; every morning, the three would meet the maids downstairs to consult them on their dresses, chiding them for uneven stitching or a hem that was just a little bit too loose.

And Peggy—Margarita Schuyler was a nightmare. Everyday there was something new for the youngest sister to complain about: her dress were a fraction too tight, the corset a fragment too small. Her shoes pinched her toes. There was a gather in the satin that wasn't supposed to exist. And why in the world would you put a ribbon there of all places? It was supposed to go in the back!

Needless to say, by the end of the two months of work the maids were relieved to see them off.

"Goodbye!" Margaret called from beside Elizabeth, waving to her father from the back of the carriage. She was wearing a simple yellow silk gown, a matching bow in the back, and the white slippers they had purchased in town. Her hair was tied up in an elaborate braid prepared by the maid Rosalind.

"Behave!" Phillip Schuyler called back. "And have a good time!"

Eliza smoothed her blue silk gown, patting down her dark, braided curls. "We will, father!"

Angelica rolled her eyes from her seat at the front of the carriage, a post she had taken in yet another act of rebellion. Her father had insisted she be a safe, sensible, mature young lady and sit in the back with her sisters.

No one likes a woman who takes risks, Mr. Schuyler had chided.

Angelica had replied by gathering up her rust-colored skirts, climbing dutifully into the carriage beside the driver, tossing Phillip a stubborn glare, and saying, I shall not conform to the likes of society.

This had caused her father to rant about how young ladies should not read books, especially those by Thomas Paine, as they give women false views on what was right and wrong. Meanwhile, Angel ignored him, denying him even her usual frown and letting him speak simply to the void until he fell silent.

The carriage pulled slowly away from the Schuyler house. "Remember to greet any men warmly if you are introduced to them! Make good first impressions! And don't forget to—"

Their father's voice was cut off as another, quicker carriage rolled past their own and splattered the girls' dresses with flecks of mud, causing all three to scream. And then of course they had to stop and Rosalind had to clean the silk with her handkerchief and it was quite a while until they were able to depart again.

"Just—be good," Phillip said finally as he finished his list of dos and don'ts. "Promise me."

"We promise," the three chorused back.

The old man eyed his daughters warily, but let them go after the sisters managed to muster innocent-enough faces. They were quite good at that, he decided with a quiet sigh, momentarily questioning whether or not they got that from him and, if so, why in the world did God decide to give the three that gene?

The sisters climbed back into the carriage and waved 'goodbye' to their father. Phillip noticed that the corner of Angelica's dress was still speckled with a bit of dry mud that Rosalind hadn't noticed. Peggy was biting her nails. Eliza was fiddling absentmindedly with the pearl necklace she had received from her mother, slowly smudging each polished silvery bead with fingerprints. He thought about stopping them, fixing everything until his daughters looked perfect, but thought the better of it. He waved goodbye. And then they were gone.