The wallflowers had been acquainted for approximately a year, always sitting against the wall during the dances. In retrospect, Lillian couldn’t decide why it had taken so long for them to strike up a friendship.
Perhaps one reason was that Annabelle was so beautiful, with hair the color of dark honey, and brilliant blue eyes, and a voluptuous, neatly turned figure. One couldn’t imagine that such a goddesslike creature would ever condescend to be friends with mere mortals. Evangeline Jenner, on the other hand, was appallingly shy and possessed a stutter that made conversation incredibly difficult.
However, when it had finally become obvious that none of them would ever transcend their wallflower status by themselves, they had banded together to help one another find husbands, starting with Annabelle. Their combined efforts had succeeded in winning a husband for Annabelle, even though Simon Hunt wasn’t the peer that she had originally set out to catch. Lillian had to admit that despite her initial misgivings over the match, Annabelle had made the right choice in marrying Hunt. Now, as the next oldest unmarried wallflower, it was Lillian’s turn.
The sisters bathed and washed their hair, and then occupied separate corners of the room as the pair of maids helped them to dress. Following her mother’s instructions, Lillian donned a gown of pale sea-green silk, with short, full sleeves and a bodice that was held together at the shoulders with gold clips. A detested corset had reduced her waist by two inches, while a bit of padding at the top enhanced her breasts until they formed a shallow cleavage. She was guided to the vanity table, where she sat wincing and flinching, her scalp smarting as a maid brushed the snarls from her hair and pinned it into an elaborate coiffure. Daisy, meanwhile, was subjected to similar torture as she was laced and padded and but-toned into a butter-colored gown with ruffles at the bodice.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Their mother hovered over them, anxiously muttering a stream of instructions about proper behavior.
“…remember, English gentlemen do not like to hear a girl talk excessively, and they have no interest in your opinions. Therefore, I want the both of you to be as docile and quiet as possible. And do not mention any kind of sport! A gentleman may appear to find it amusing to hear you go on about rounders or lawn games, but inwardly they disdain a girl who discusses masculine subjects. And if a gentleman asks a question of you, find a way to turn it back to him, so that he will have the opportunity to tell you about his own experiences…”
“Anotherthrilling evening at Stony Cross Manor,” Lillian muttered. Daisy must have heard her, for a muffled snort of amusement came from the other side of the room.
“What was that noise?” Mercedes asked crisply. “Are you paying attention to my advice, Daisy?”
“Yes, Mother. I couldn’t breathe properly for a moment. I think my corset is too tight.”
“Then don’t breathe so deeply.”
“Can’t we loosen my stays?”
“No. British gentlemen prefer girls with very narrow waists. Now, where was I—oh yes, during dinner, if there is a lull in the conversation…”
Grimly enduring the lecture, which would undoubtedly be repeated in various forms during their stay at Westcliff’s estate, Lillian stared into the looking glass. She felt agitated at the thought of facing Westcliff this evening. An image flashed through her mind, of his dark face lowering over hers, and she closed her eyes.
“Sorry, miss,” the maid murmured, assuming that she had pinned a lock of hair too tightly.
“It’s all right,” Lillian replied with a rueful smile. “Tug away—I’ve got a hard head.”
“That is a monumental understatement,” came Daisy’s rejoinder from the other side of the room.
As the maid continued to twist and pin her hair, Lillian’s thoughts returned to Westcliff. Would he try to pretend that the kiss behind the hedgerow had never occurred? Or would he decide to discuss it with her? Mortified at the prospect, she realized that she needed to talk to Annabelle, who had come to know a great deal more about Westcliff since her marriage to his best friend, Simon Hunt.
Just as the last pin was being prodded into her coiffure, there came a tap on the door. Daisy, who was tugging on her elbow-length white gloves, hurried to answer it, ignoring Mercedes’s protest that one of the maids should see to the door. Flinging it open, Daisy let out a happy exclamation at the sight of Annabelle Hunt. Lillian stood from her seat at the vanity and rushed over to her, and the three of them embraced. It had been a few days since they had seen each other at the Rutledge, the London hotel where both families resided. Soon the Hunts would move into a new house that was being built in Mayfair, but in the meanwhile the girls visited each other’s suites at every opportunity. Mercedes objected occasionally, airing concerns about Annabelle’s bad influence on her daughters—an amusing assertion, as it was clearly the other way around.
As usual Annabelle looked ravishing, in a pale blue satin gown that was tightly fitted to her shapely figure, with matching silk cord that laced up the front. The color of the gown deepened the rich blue of
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
her eyes and flattered her peaches-and-cream complexion.
Annabelle drew back to look at both of them with glowing eyes. “How was your journey from London?
Have you had any adventures yet? No, you couldn’t possibly, you’ve been here less than a day—”
“We may have,” Lillian murmured cautiously, mindful of her mother’s keen ears. “I have to talk to you about something—”
“Daughters!” Mercedes interrupted, her tone strident with disapproval. “You haven’t yet finished preparing for the soiree.”
“I’m ready, Mother!” Daisy said quickly. “Look—all finished. I even have my gloves on.”
“All I need is my reticule,” Lillian added, darting to the vanity and snatching up the little cream-colored bag. “There—I’m ready too.”
Well aware of Mercedes’s dislike of her, Annabelle smiled pleasantly. “Good evening, Mrs. Bowman. I was hoping that Lillian and Daisy would be allowed to come downstairs with me.”
“I’m afraid they will have to wait until I am ready,” Mercedes replied in a frosty tone. “My two innocent girls require the supervision of a proper chaperone.”
“Annabelle will be our chaperone,” Lillian said brightly. “She’s a respectable married matron now, remember?”
“I said aproper chaperone—” their mother argued, but her protests were abruptly cut off as the sisters left the room and closed the door.
“Dear me,” Annabelle said, laughing helplessly, “that’s the first time I’ve ever been called a ‘respectable married matron’—it makes me sound rather dull, doesn’t it?”
“If you were dull,” Lillian replied, locking arms with her as they strode along the hallway, “then Mother would approve of you—”
“—and we would want nothing to do with you,” Daisy added.
Annabelle smiled. “Still, if I’m to be the official chaperone of the wallflowers, I should set out some principal rules of conduct. First, if any handsome young gentleman suggests that you sneak out to the garden with him alone…”
“We should refuse?” Daisy asked.
“No, just make certain to tell me so that I can cover for you. And if you happen to overhear some scandalous piece of gossip that is not appropriate for your innocent ears…”
“We should ignore it?”
“No, you should listen toevery word, and then come repeat it to me at once.”
Lillian grinned and paused at the intersection between two hallways. “Shall we try to find Evie? It won’t be an official wallflower meeting unless she’s with us.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“Evie is already downstairs with her aunt Florence,” Annabelle replied.
Both sisters exclaimed eagerly at the news. “How is she? How does she look?”
“Oh, it’s been forever since we’ve seen her!”
“Evie seems quite well,” Annabelle said, sobering, “though she is a bit thinner. And perhaps a little dispirited.”
“Who wouldn’t be,” Lillian said grimly, “after the way she has been treated?”
It had been many weeks since any of them had seen Evie, who was kept in seclusion by her late mother’s family. She was frequently locked away in solitude as punishment for minor transgressions, and let out only under the strict supervision of her aunt. Her friends had speculated that living with such harsh and unloving relatives had contributed no small amount to Evie’s difficult speech. Ironically, of all of the wallflowers, Evie was the one who least deserved such stern regulation. She was timid by nature, and inherently respectful of authority. From what they could gather, Evie’s mother had been the rebel of the family, marrying a man well below her station. After she had died in childbirth, her daughter had been made to pay for her transgressions. And her father, whom Evie seldom had the opportunity to see, was in poor health and probably hadn’t much longer to live.
“Poor Evie,” Lillian continued moodily. “I’m strongly inclined to give her my turn as the next wallflower to marry—she needs the escape far more than I do.”
“Evie’s not ready yet,” Annabelle said with a certainty that betrayed previous thought on the matter.
“She’s working on her shyness, but so far she can’t even bring herself to have a conversation with a gentleman. Besides…” Mischief glimmered in her lovely eyes, and she slipped her arm around Lillian’s narrow waist. “You’re too old to put it off any longer, dear.”
Lillian feigned a sour look in response, making her laugh.
“What was it that you wanted to tell me?” Annabelle asked.
Lillian shook her head. “Let’s wait until we join Evie, or I’ll end up having to repeat everything.”
They made their way to the circuit of public rooms downstairs, where guests were milling about in elegant groups. Color was fashionable this year, at least for ladies’ attire, and so the array of rich hues made the gathering appear like a flock of butterflies. The men were dressed in traditional black suits and white shirts, the only variation being the subtle differences in their soberly patterned vests and neckties.
“Where is Mr. Hunt?” Lillian asked Annabelle.
Annabelle smiled faintly at the mention of her husband. “I suspect he’s visiting with the earl and a few of their friends.” Her gaze sharpened as she caught sight of Evie. “There is Evie—and fortunately Aunt Florence doesn’t seem to be hovering over her as usual.”
Waiting alone, her absent gaze fixed on a gold-framed landscape painting, Evie seemed lost in private contemplation. Her shrinking posture was that of an apologetic cipher… it was clear that she did not feel herself to be part of the gathering, nor did she wish to be. Although no one ever seemed to look long enough at Evie to really notice her, she was actually quite beautiful—perhaps even more so than
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Annabelle—but in a completely unconventional way. She was freckled and red-haired, with large, round blue eyes and a mobile, full-lipped mouth that was utterly out of fashion. Her well-endowed figure was breathtaking, though the excessively modest gowns she was compelled to wear were distinctly unflattering. Moreover, her slump-shouldered posture did little to advertise her attractions.
Stealing forward, Lillian startled Evie by grasping her gloved hand and tugging her away. “Come,” she whispered.
Evie’s eyes lit with gladness at the sight of her. She hesitated and glanced uncertainly at her aunt, who was talking with some dowagers in the corner. Ascertaining that Florence was too absorbed in her conversation to notice, the four girls slipped from the parlor and hurried down the hallway like escaping prisoners. “Where are we going?” Evie whispered.
“The back terrace,” Annabelle replied.
They went to the rear of the house and exited through a row of French doors that opened onto a broad flagstoned terrace. Stretching the entire length of the house, the terrace overlooked the extensive gardens below. It looked like a scene from a painting, with orchards and beautifully kept walks and beds of rare flowers leading to the forest, while the Itchen River flowed below a nearby bluff that was defined by an ironstone wall.
Lillian turned toward Evie and hugged her. “Evie,” she exclaimed, “I’ve missed you so! If you only knew of all the ill-conceived rescue plans we thought of to steal you away from your family. Why won’t they let any of us come to visit you?”
“Th-they despise me,” Evie said in a muffled voice. “I never realized h-how much until recently. It started when I tried to see my father. After they caught me, they locked me in my room for days, with h-hardly any food or water. They said I was ungrateful, and disobedient, and that my bad blood had finally risen to the fore. To them I’m n-nothing but a dreadful mistake that my mother made. Aunt Florence says it is my fault that she’s dead.”
Shocked, Lillian drew back to look at her. “She told you that? In those words?”
Evie nodded.
Without thinking, Lillian let out a few curse words that caused Evie to blanch. One of Lillian’s more questionable accomplishments was the ability to swear as fluently as a sailor, acquired from much time spent with her grandmother, who had worked as a washwoman at the harbor docks.
“I know that it’s not tr-true,” Evie murmured. “I mean, m-my mother did die in labor, but I know that it wasn’t my fault.”
Keeping one arm around Evie’s shoulders, Lillian walked with her to a nearby table on the terrace, while Annabelle and Daisy followed. “Evie, what can be done to get you away from those people?”
The girl shrugged helplessly. “My father is s-so ill. I’ve asked him if I could come to live with him, but he refuses. And he is too weak to keep my mother’s family fr-from coming to take me back with them.”
All four girls were silent for a moment. The unpleasant reality was that even though Evie was of an age to leave her family’s custody voluntarily, an unmarried woman was in a precarious position. Evie would not inherit her fortune until her father’s death, and in the meantime, she had no means to support herself.