A Sisterly Regard

By

Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon
2007

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events
described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual
events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

Copyright © 2007 by Judith B. Glad

ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-016-8
ISBN 10: 1-60174-016-6

Cover art and design by Judith B. Glad

All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic,
mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden
without the written permission of the author or publisher.

Published by Uncial Press,
an imprint of GCT,
Inc.

Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

For my sisters of the heart: Sandy, Marya, Joyce,
Genny, Elinor.

And once again, for Neil.

For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or
stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To
fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters
down,
To strengthen whilst one stands.

~Christina Rossetti

"I wish it were not to late to change our minds about going to
London for the Season."

Lord Gifford, dozing in a chair in the corner of his wife's
comfortable dressing room, snorted, then sat straighter and gaped at her.
"What! What?"

"I am afraid we have made a terrible mistake, George. I have an
unshakable premonition of disaster every time I contemplate the girls'
London Season." Lady Gifford watched his reflection in the ornate mirror
over her dressing table as she drew a brush through her prematurely grey
hair.

"Nonsense! The girls'll go on marvelously. They've charm,
beauty, and manners."

"My love, Chloe expects to take the
ton
by storm and
will settle for nothing less than a rich and handsome husband. Phaedra
dread the whole experience and claims to be uninterested in finding a
husband of any sort." She set down the silver-backed brush and turned to
face him. "Chloe is certain she will be declared an Incomparable,
surrounded by young, wealthy beaux, the toast of the
ton
."

"Well, and why should she not?" her husband replied, pride in
his voice. "Is she not the most popular young lady in the neighborhood? I
swear, I have to plow my way through the callow sprigs hanging about the
house, bringing her posies and poetry. Tiresome, that's what it is."

"Oh, George, please do try to understand my concern. Chloe
may be the most sought after girl in the neighborhood, but she is merely
one of a few, not one of many. Her present popularity--and her reaction
to it--. It has given her too great a sense of her own attractiveness."

"First time I ever heard of a mother fretting about her daughter's
social success. You're off the mark this time, I tell you, Isabella," he said.
His impatience with the subject of conversation showed clearly in his
tone.

"I greatly fear that she will disregard those rules of Society she
finds too confining." She put her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, George, what
if she should gain the reputation of being a hoyden...or even fast? Just
think how her Season would be spoiled. She would never receive an offer
from anyone respectable. Even with your aunt's support, think of what
might happen should one of those malicious old cats take her in
dislike."

"Enough, wife." He came to stand before her, a stocky man of
middle years with laugh lines about his mouth and strong, capable hands,
which he held out to her. "Our girls will do handsomely, you'll see. With
you to guide them, they'll neither put a foot wrong. Come to bed, now,
love, do."

Stifling a series of yawns, Lord Gifford drew her to her feet and
led her to the adjoining bedchamber with its huge bed canopied in
blue.

In spite of his reassurances, Lady Gifford continued to worry to
herself after the candles were extinguished. When one was the mother of
daughters about to make their debut in London, one had a right to be
concerned.

"How can you be so calm, Phaedra? Our whole lives are in the
balance, and you sit there with your usual blasé air. Are you not
excited that tomorrow we leave for London?"

"You know I am more than a little reluctant to partake of the
Season." Phaedra replied, setting aside the book she had been attempting
to read. "My whole being is revolted by the concept of the Marriage Mart.
One might as well be stood upon a platform in the green and auctioned off
like a black slave. Mama and Papa would save a small fortune if they were
to advertise us in the newspapers."

Chloe evidenced shock. "Advertise us. What do you
mean?"

"Why sister, cannot you see the advertisement? 'For sale, two
daughters, middling attractive, having moderate dowries, and complaisant
personalities. Only handsome, wealthy men need apply.' I vow, it would
cost much less than a Season and would, in my case at least, have as much
chance of results."

A sidewise glance caught her sister's wide-eyed face. "If a
likeness were to accompany the advertisement, the response might be
better. We are not uncomely. 'Twould be even better if the prospective
buyers could meet you. Your vivacity and spirit would immediately show
them what a good buy they were getting. If we only let them see you; I
might be sold as well. But no, that would be dishonest. Only think, the
poor gentleman would think he was getting a pearl beyond price, then he
would discover he had got only me."

"Phaedra, you are incorrigible. You must know I do not believe
for a second that you are serious."

"Of course not, silly. I realize that you always know when I am
funning," Phaedra lied, being aware that her sister did not share her
peculiar turn of mind. "However, sister dear, you must know I am not
nearly so sanguine about our Season as you. I do not expect us to be
immediate successes, bursting upon the
ton
like the legendary
Gunning sisters. I wish you would view the experience with a little more
realism."

"Well, perhaps you are not hopeful of being a success," Chloe
replied with some smugness, "but I intend to take London by storm.
Why, with Mama's excellent taste, our wardrobes will be beyond anything
beautiful. We are not unattractive. Just yesterday Edgar, the Squire's son,
said I was an incomparable beauty, and everyone says we are alike enough
to be twins." She rose from the window seat and crossed the room to peer
at her dim reflection in the pier glass. A pleased smile showed that she
liked what she saw.

Without turning away, she said, "We are well mannered and
accomplished in all the feminine arts. We will, I promise you, be mobbed
with admirers, as I have always been."

She set her mouth in a pretty pout, one Phaedra knew had been
carefully rehearsed. "If only you will be a little less serious, and cultivate
light conversation. I vow, Phaedra, if you insist upon prosing on about
your flowers, no eligible man will have a second look for you. Please, dear
sister, try to behave more like a young lady and less like some fusty old
don at University, just for the Season."

"Will it satisfy you that I am determined to behave less
seriously, for your sake, while we are in London?"

"Oh, yes, I know you will try," Chloe said, but her brief,
responsive smile quickly returned to the pout. "I know you, though. You
will forget yourself and begin to query someone about the wild plants to
be found at his home, or some other subject equally tiresome. Before you
know it, you will have the reputation of being a bluestocking."

She began to whirl about the room, her feet moving in time to
the waltz tune she was humming. Stopping to gaze once more at her
reflection, she said, "I wish my eyes were green and my hair golden, like
Marianna Knight's. Brown hair and blue eyes are so...so common! Oh,
well, I shall think instead about our lovely gowns. I vow, my pale lavender
lawn, which Mama embroidered with silver oak leaves, is positively
dashing."

She sketched another curtsy, gave one more whirl, and
gracefully sank onto the window seat. "Or at least it would be, if it were
not so demure. It is outside of enough that girls in their first Season have
to look so...so maidenly!"

"And how would you prefer to appear, sister? Worldly? Brazen?
Loose, even?" Phaedra asked, smiling.

"Well, I would not mind being just a little dashing. After all, I
wish to be noticed and not to be merely another shy young thing amongst
so many. It would not harm my reputation to be noticeable, I
think."

"You will be noticed," Phaedra said. "In spite of your merely
passable looks, you have a sparkle about you that will bring you to the
notice of all the Season's most eligible bachelors."

"Passable! I am not merely passable! Oh! You are funning
again."

Chloe clasped her hands under her chin and opened her eyes
very wide. This expression, Phaedra knew, was calculated to evoke
feelings of protectiveness in the masculine breast.

"Seriously, Phaedra, I do want to make a splash in London. I
cannot abide the thought that I will not be married before the end of the
Season. I will not come home after our Season and languish here in the
country. I was made for London, or perhaps even Paris."

"You would certainly make a splash in Paris, Chloe. Why, you
might even last a full five minutes before you were clapped into gaol as a
spy. Or had you forgotten that Boney is still in control in France?"

"Well, this horrid war cannot last forever, you know. Someday I
intend to go to Paris, and I must have a husband who can take me there, in
style."

A yawn interrupted her. "We should go to bed. If we do not,
we will have circles under our eyes when we arrive in London and I do
want to look my best."

"For that eligible bachelor who will be awaiting you upon our
doorstep when you arrive, I suppose. But you are right and I am sleepy.
Tomorrow will be tiring." Phaedra ignited a spill in the fire and used it to
light her candle. As she pulled the door closed behind her she said, "Good
night, Chloe. Dream of your handsome prince."

"And you will, I suppose, dream of flowers," came the tart
rejoinder.

* * * *

The February morning was cold and crisp, a perfect day for
traveling. It was not yet sunrise when the family broke their fast together,
then departed to their various rooms. Shortly a wail from Chloe's room
broke the silence.

"It's gone, it's gone. Oh, where is it? I can't find it," she cried.
"Oh! My Season is spoiled. I cannot go!"

Her mother came running into the room. "What in the world?"
she exclaimed. "Chloe, what is the matter? What can you not find?"

"My pink reticule. The one with the gold embroidery, to match
my favorite gown. I cannot leave without it. Mama, we will have to
unpack all my trunks, because I must be sure that I have it. No, we must
search the house, for I am certain that dreadful boy has stolen it and
hidden it away."

"What dreadful boy?" Lady Gifford asked, while swiftly opening
and closing drawers in a golden oak tallboy.

"Tom, the wretch. He has been taking my things and hiding
them all week, just to plague me. He does not wish me to have a Season.
He wants me to be an old maid and never have any happiness."

"Nonsense," Lady Gifford replied. "Your brother may be a
rascal, but he is not unkind. Where is Peggy? Did she not help you pack
your things? She will know--" She broke off as a young maid entered the
room. "Oh, there you are, Peggy. Where have you put Miss Chloe's pink
reticule with the gold embroidery? Did you pack it?"

"No'm, I didn't. Miss said as how she wanted to be sure she had
it and would put it in her bandbox," the maid replied.

"Well, Chloe?" said Lady Gifford.

"Oh, I forgot. Let me look." The girl upended a bandbox and its
contents fell upon the bed. She pawed through them. "Yes, here it is. I am
sorry Mama," Chloe said. "I just wanted to be sure that I had it. It is so
beautiful, with all your embroidery upon it."

Lady Gifford, not responding to the flattery, gave her daughter a
long look. "Chloe, if you will continue to fly into such a passion, perhaps
you will not go on well in London. No one likes to see a young lady lose
her composure. Try for a bit more civility, my dear, if you please."

"I will, Mama, I promise."

"Now, you may repack your bandbox, since you were the one
to disorder its contents. Come, Peggy." Taking the maid with her, she left
the pouting girl alone.

* * * *