“You look beautiful, Aunt. It suits you perfectly. I love it, I quite adore it.”
Aunt Florence hid a smile behind the rim of her teacup and glanced over Abigail.
“And you, Abby? Do you think this dress is the most beautiful one you’ve ever seen? Do you adore it?”
There was a pained silence. Harriet was glaring daggers at her daughter. Abigail bit the tip of her tongue. It would be the easiest thing in the world to lie, and not get scolded afterwards.
Unfortunately, Abigail had never had a great deal to say, and her tongue had never quite fitted in with the words shooting through her head. Lies did not come easily.
“N-No, Aunt,” she quavered. Harriet went purple, and Scarlett pressed a hand over her mouth.
“No?” Aunt Florence echoed, in mock surprise. “And why not?”
Better commit to it now,Abigail thought soberly. She drew in a breath.
“I… I think it looks a bit like a meringue, aunt.”
Harriet opened her mouth, doubtless to shout something at her daughter, but she was interrupted by Aunt Florence’s hoot of laughter.
“That’s my girl!” Aunt Florence chuckled, slapping one meaty knee. “Truthful as always. I ought to have known you wouldn’t fill my head with empty compliments, Abby! Honesty is a rare thing, sure enough. This is very good seed-cake, sister.”
Abigail dropped her gaze, but not before seeing the look of consternation and fury on her mother’s face. She was forced to swallow her anger back, of course, and the conversation carried on without Abigail.
She supposed that other women – Scarlett, for instance – would feel inclined to join in, rather than just listen, but Abigail had always preferred sitting back and staying quiet. People, as it turned out, were not like book characters. In novels, people said and did exactly the right – or wrong – thing. It was easy enough to work out their intentions, and the story unfolded in a satisfying and easily understandable manner.
Real life was a little more haphazard. In her mind, Abigail was a clever and eloquent person, but somehow that eloquence never quite translated itself to her actual words. If she was a beauty, gentlemen would flock around her regardless, and take her silence as sweetness.
But she was plain, and not particularly rich, and so they never even noticed her. She’d seen their gazes skip over her, again and again. It had hurt at first, but it wasn’t as if she hadlikedany of those gentlemen.
“I take it you intend to put out both girls into the Season this year?” Aunt Florence was saying now, voice jerking Abigail out of her reverie.
Harriet pressed her lips together. “Indeed, yes. I know it isn’t common to put out a younger daughter if her older sister isn’t married, but really, I am about ready to wash my hands of Abigail. Two full Seasons, and no marriage! I even sent her to a fine party about a month ago, and she entirely wasted the opportunity. She didn’t dance a single dance, can you credit it? Now, Scarlett, she would have set the ballroom on fire – wouldn’t you, darling?”
“I certainly would, Mama.”
Aunt Florence’s sharp little eyes glanced between them, revealing nothing.
“Well, the Season is starting in earnest, now,” she said neutrally. “We’re in the swing of it. I do hope you girls enjoy yourselves.”
“I shall, Aunt,” Scarlett promised, smiling winningly. Aunt Florence glanced at Abigail, who realized with resignation that she was expected to say something.
“I shall try my best, Aunt.”
“Try your best? What an odd thing to say, silly child,” Harriet said, with a glare and a forced laugh.
Abigail swallowed. “I…you know how I prefer my books, Aunt.”
Aunt Florence smiled, her round face crinkling up. “Indeed I do. There is nothing better than the company of a good book. I myself love Mrs. Radcliffe – her stories quite give me the chills.”
Before she could stop herself, Abigail was speaking again.
“Yes, I am reading the second volume ofMysteries of Udolpho, Aunt. Mama commented on it only an hour or so ago.”
Harriet’s gaze was boring into the side of Abigail’s face, but she firmly kept her gaze on her aunt.
Aunt Florence nodded, setting down her empty cup. “Well, I must hear what you think of the ending, when you get there. Where have you got to?”
“The black veil – Emily pulled it back and swooned.”
