A Sisterly Regard (11 page)

"So the gossips are at it."

"Oh, yes, we had three callers this morning, one after another,
who told us of Chloe's
shocking
behavior yesterday." She smiled
to show her opinion of the opprobrium.

"And who were they?"

"Two of them were old biddies who do not matter greatly, for
they have little influence. But the third does matter. Lady
Everingham."

"That harridan." muttered Chloe.

"Never say that where you might be overheard, Chloe," Lady
Mary warned in a barely audible tone. "Harridan she may be, but she has
incredible influence among the
ton
, and she also is very
possessive concerning her precious son. Grandmama told me that she has
in the past encouraged him to play the gallant with the debutantes, but has
pulled him up short in no uncertain terms if he seemed serious about
anyone. Grandmama is certain she has spread untrue rumors about several
girls. Even though she has said publicly that it's time he marry, I wonder if
she will ever allow him to. She certainly does not seem to intend that he
should become well enough acquainted with anyone to develop a tendre
for her."

Just then Edgemont announced Lord Everingham. Chloe
blushed and Phaedra looked to the doorway with curiosity. The slight
young man who entered had a high forehead and a long nose. She could
see where Chloe had conceived the notion of a sheep, even though his
appearance was not displeasing. His clothing was in the first style of
elegance.

As Lord Everingham was making his bow to Lady Gifford,
Edgemont reappeared to announce Mr. Farwell.

"Good," Lady Mary said softly to Phaedra. "I asked Reggie
particularly to come today. I thought he might cheer her up." Phaedra
smiled her gratitude, but was unable to respond because Lord Everingham
had joined them.

Chloe held out her hand. "Good afternoon, Lord Everingham.
Are you acquainted with Lady Mary Follansbee?"

"I have that honor. So happy to see you again, Lady Mary." He
turned back to Chloe immediately. "Miss Hazelbourne, I had come to take
you driving, but your mother tells me that you are unable to go with me.
Are you unwell?"

Instead of replying, she said, "May I introduce my sister, Miss
Phaedra Hazelbourne?"

This time his acknowledgement was just short of rude. "Miss
Hazelbourne, please--"

Chloe was clearly unwilling to allow him to suspect she was
anything less than perfectly happy to stay at home. "I beg your indulgence,
my lord. I have decided to rest this afternoon so I will be fresh for our
attendance at Almack's tonight. Do you attend?"

"I had not planned to do so, but knowing that you will grace the
premises, how could I be absent? Your presence will light Almack's as no
chandelier could, and the very floor will rejoice with the touch of your
slippers upon it."

Phaedra was biting her lip to keep from giggling at his stilted,
flowery compliments. She interrupted. "Lady Mary, Chloe, if you will
excuse me, I will join Mama and Mr. Farwell. Lord Everingham, it was a
pleasure to meet you." She suspected he hardly heard her, so intently was
he gazing at Chloe.

What a coil. He seems well and truly enamored of her.

She extended her hand to the tall, slim gentleman, resisting with
difficulty the impulse to laugh aloud at his choice of garb. "Mr. Farwell,
how good of you to call."

As she led him to a neutral corner, he spoke in a tone for her
ears only, "You sister is playing with fire. His mother will do everything in
her power to separate them. She has her eyes set much higher than the
daughter of as minor baron."

She smiled as if he had said something amusing. "Of course she
has, if she will allow him to wed at all. Papa may be the nephew of a duke,
but he is not in line for the title." With a gesture indicating he should seat
himself, she took the chair in the corner. "Lady Mary told me you came to
cheer up my sister, which was kind in you. As you see, she is not in need
of anything except some common sense. And you, I am sure, cannot offer
her that."

"My dear Miss Phaedra, are you so unkind as to insinuate that I
lack common sense?"

"Not at all. Or yes, perhaps I do. You must know that your
piffle does not go well with me."

"Ah, but my piffle is of the highest quality. I am quite the
favorite with hopeful mamas, and young ladies quite adore me, for I never
require that they stretch their poor little minds with political or
intellectual conversation."

"No, you prate of fashion and parties and indulge in light gossip.
Do you never, Mr. Farwell, have a serious thought?"

"Never, Miss Phaedra. Why if a serious thought should enter my
head, I would cast it aside as I would a soiled handkerchief." The lacy scrap
of fine linen in his hand fluttered in illustration.

"What a waste. There is much more to life than balls and
fashion."

Phaedra awaited his reply. When none was forthcoming, she
looked more closely at him. His eyes were closed. Extravagantly long
lashes lay against his cheeks.
I would give my soul to have lashes like
those.
She shook him by the shoulder. "Mr. Farwell, I may not be a
sparkling conversationalist, but this is outside of enough. If you prefer to
nap, you should retire to your rooms to do so. How rude you are!"

"But serious conversation always sends me to sleep, don't you
know. Now, let us piffle, and I promise you I will remain awake."

"I have no talent for piffle. You may go ahead, and I will sit here
with an expression of interest on my face. I would not be so impolite as to
fall asleep while you are speaking."

"No, but you would bore me with your intellectual
pretensions."

"Pretensions? How dare you?"

"Well, are they not? You claim that you do not enjoy the
fashionable life, yet you partake of it. You profess to despise parties and
balls, yet once there, you give every appearance of enjoyment. I have
heard you condemn Almack's as a bride's auction--yes, I did, when you
were not aware I was present--yet you, I'll wager, are willing to allow
yourself be auctioned off in the Marriage Mart. If you did not, why did
you come to London? Surely there are prospective husbands in the
country? Miss Phaedra, you are only pretending to be above this social life
that your sister and I choose to lead."

"I never claimed to be above it. But I find so much of it a waste
of time. And yes, there are young men at home. But they are all so...so
uninteresting."

"Of course it is a waste of time. But a pleasurable one that every
member of the
ton
chooses to enjoy. You cannot have it both
ways. Either you are a part of the
ton
and participate in its life
style, or you are not, and you should not claim the benefits it offers. Your
choice, Miss Phaedra."

"I would have rather stayed in the country, Mr. Farwell. I do
not enjoy this frivolous life," Phaedra insisted, furious at his attack upon
her attitudes.

"Do you not?" he retorted. "Then you are a very good
actress."

"Oh, very well, I do enjoy some of it. But not so much, and not
all of the time. I cannot spend my life living like this."

"No more can I. But for three months each year, is it so
bad?"

"That is too much. If I could have a month of it, as my parents
have often done, I would be content. I am a country girl, Mr.
Farwell."

"As for your uninteresting young men in the country," he said,
as if she had not spoken, "had it occurred to you that they would be less
dull for a bit of Town bronze?"

"Perhaps," she was forced to admit.

"You may be certain. One cannot reap the benefits of Town
without paying the price."

"What do you mean?"

"Why Town is where the arts flourish, where life is varied and
exciting, where one may experience the highest intellectual stimulation.
Here is the opera, the theatre, the art galleries. These are as much a part
of the fashionable life as are Almack's and the Duchess' ball and your
presentation at Court."

"No, they cannot be. The
ton
is all that is silly and
wasteful. Those other things are meaningful. They give value to
life."

"And who do you suppose supports them? Would we have the
fine music or the Elgin marbles without the wealth and influence of
members of the
ton
? We are not all fribbles, you know. There
are many of the nobility who are engaged in intellectual or artistic
pursuits, but that does not prevent them from enjoying society as
well."

"I had not thought about it quite like that," Phaedra admitted
reluctantly.

"Well, if you are a true intellectual and honest with yourself,
you will think about it. Now, I have been serious quite long enough. What
will you think of me? Miss Phaedra, has anyone ever told you that the
dimple in your chin is an invitation to kissing?"

Phaedra was speechless for a moment. "Mr. Farwell, I will not
listen to such nonsense," she said when she found her voice.

"No, you wish only serious conversation, I recall." He sighed
feelingly, a hand pressed over his heart. "Forgive me, Miss Phaedra, I am
capable of no more. I shall, as you suggested, retire to my rooms for a
nap." He rose and bowed his farewell.

After he left, Phaedra sat and thought about his words. She grew
angry as she did so. How dared he call her a false intellectual? A hypocrite?
She had always been the practical, sensible sister. She was well-educated.
She could read Greek and Latin, was knowledgeable of scientific
principles, and knew a little about art and music. Cousin Louisa said she
was far better educated than most young ladies of her age and
station.

Mr. Farwell was nothing but a fop, a silly, vapid fribble. She
would avoid him whenever possible, from now on.

I am not a hypocrite.

Papa was standing at the bottom of the stairs when the sisters
came down the following Wednesday evening. He appeared far more
distinguished than Phaedra had ever seen him, for he never wore full
evening dress in the country.

"What a lucky fellow I am," he said, smiling widely. "I'll be the
envy of all when I walk into Almack's with my lovely ladies."

"Thank you, Papa." Chloe curtseyed. Her eyes sparkled as
brilliantly as the small sapphire in her necklace, a gift from their late
grandmother. Her sky blue gown was trimmed with gold tissue ribbons
that fluttered softly from a bow just under her bodice. Matching ribbons
were twined to hold her hair in a deceptively loose cluster of curls at the
back of her head. Phaedra could not recall seeing her sister look so
fine.

Her own gown gave her a sense of uncommon confidence. It
was an unusual combination of apricot muslin with a sheer peach
overskirt. Tiny green satin leaves trimmed the hem and were scattered
along the too-low neckline. Although her mama pronounced it perfectly
modest, she felt exposed.

"Save me a place on your dance cards, girls. Once the bucks get
a look at you, I won't have a chance."

"Oh, Papa, you will always have a chance with us," Chloe said,
slipping a red rosebud into his lapel. "I would rather dance with you than
anyone else."

Phaedra wished she had thought of giving Papa a rose.
Coquettish gestures did not come naturally to her as they did to her
sister.

Chloe chattered throughout the short drive to Almack's. Phaedra
was just as happy to be silent, for she continued to be troubled over Mr.
Farwell's accusation. She did enjoy some parts of Town life, but it still
seemed terribly superficial. Her ruminations were cut short when the
carriage pulled up at the doors to the assembly rooms.

She hesitated before stepping through the sacred portals, for she
had a sudden premonition of disaster.
Nonsense. Too much has been made
of a small lapse in judgment. With Mama and Cousin Louisa and me to keep an eye
on Chloe, how can she do anything scandalous?
With fingers crossed, she
walked into the room beside her mother, a determined smile on her face
and trepidation in her heart.

Lord Everingham, who had been standing just inside the doors,
quickly came to Chloe's side with a request for as many dances as she
would give him. At her mother's nod, she allotted him two. A few other
gentlemen came up to request dances, but again neither Hazelbourne
sister created any particular sensation.

Phaedra's partner for the first set was a young man whose name
she could neither remember nor read upon her dance card, so poor was
his handwriting. He was pleasant company and danced well, so she
enjoyed herself well enough. When he escorted her back to her parents,
she thanked him prettily, and immediately forgot about him. As she
acknowledged her mother's introductions to the ladies and gentlemen with
whom she had been speaking, Phaedra felt her heart leap into her throat.
Here, within the respectable walls of Almack's, was the nasty creature
who had captured her in Green Park.

He looked perfectly respectable, so why did her skin crawl when
he looked at her? Why did she feel her virtue was at risk?

Silly! He saved you from those others. Just because he tried to steal
a kiss, you've made him out a villain.

Nonetheless, a shudder of distaste scrabbled its way up her
spine.

Did he recognize her? His smile and bow were all that was
correct as he smoothly requested her company for a set. Wishing for the
first time she were so popular that her dance card had filled immediately
upon her entrance, Phaedra reluctantly allowed him to sign his name. Her
reluctance was noted by Chloe who quizzed her about its cause when they
were briefly alone a short while later.

"I cannot explain why I do not wish to dance with Mr.
Dervigne," she whispered, "but I will admit he makes me
uncomfortable."

"You are being excessively silly, Phaedra. Such polished
manners he has, and such presence. I vow, he puts all the younger
gentlemen to shame. I was quite impressed with him and allowed him two
sets, you know." She smiled at an approaching gentleman. "You are too
particular in your likes and dislikes, sister," she concluded, just before
laying her hand on the proffered arm. "Why Sir Harold, I have been
looking forward to this moment for quite the past hour."