“They are, and I have kent them both for some time,” Elspeth agreed, her voice full of emotion. “It is like… they just ken whatI am thinkin’, what I am feelin’. They daenae even have to ask. They just show up with tea and scones and a perfectly timed bit of advice, encouragement.” She shook her head in wonder. “And they are so different. Verity, with her books and her wild imagination, and Marion, so grounded, so real. They both have given me the confidence to stand up for meself in a world that would rather see me on me knees.”
“That is friendship for you,” Abby said simply. “A rare and precious thing, especially in this city. I am lucky to have my sister, Meg. It is hard to find people who see you for who you truly are, not for who your husband is or was, or how much coin you have.”
Elspeth nodded, a lump forming in her throat. She took another sip of milk. “I miss them already. I think I will write them a letter first thing in the mornin’, to thank them again. And perhaps invite them to tea here. A proper, quiet tea.”
“A fine idea, My Lady.” Abby smiled.
Elspeth nodded and took another sip from her cup. She’d had a long day, and tomorrow was a whole other beast. She’d need her strength to face Hugo again.
Though perhaps she was not so opposed to that, now that she had her friends to help her.
Chapter Twenty
“Lady Paddlefoot has truly outdone herself,” a simpering voice purred beside Elspeth, whose patience had dwindled to an all-time low.
Old Lady Wickdale, a woman whose smile rarely reached her eyes, stood with two equally disdainful companions.
Elspeth cursed her bad luck for being snared in a conversation with them. She had been hoping for an appropriate lull in conversation to make her escape from the three vipers.
“Such exquisite taste in décor, refreshment, and entertainment. One can hardly imagine anyone else coming remotely close to this level ofperfection,” Lady Wickdale continued, her gaze flicking pointedly to Elspeth.
“Indeed,” Lady Markham chimed in.
She was a middle-aged woman with a perpetually pinched expression and tired eyes, with a penchant for meddling and gossip.
“And look at her dress. The lavender hue looks so feminine against her coiffed blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She is such a vision! Surely, she will have her pick of the most eligible lords and dukes.”
“You are right, Lady Markham! She seems to do well in choosing everything, from planning a perfect occasion to her appearance to her charity,” Lady Corsley remarked as she sipped her champagne.
She was a wisp of a woman with a loud gown and even louder voice, the sound of which made Elspeth’s spine stiffen.
“Some charities lend themselves more readily to grand displays,” Lady Markham pressed. “A struggling orphanage, for instance, offers little in the way of fashionable appeal, does it not, Lady Inverhall? A most unnecessary challenge you have taken on, when you already have somuchto overcome.”
So much to overcome.I would like to make ye overcome me foot in yer mouth!
The air in Lady Paddlefoot’s ballroom was thick with the scent of lilies and what Elspeth could only describe as the cloying sweetness of triumph. She had to fight the nausea that assaulted her each time she took a turn about the lavish ballroom, the confidence that shone from their haughty smiles.
While the scene seemed perfect to most, the summer heat was unkind. The room was absolutelysweltering.
Tonight was Lady Paddlefoot’s charity event, a fanciful affair for the Society for the Preservation of English History. Every surface gleamed, every guest was impeccably dressed, and the quiet hum of self-congratulation filled the gilded rooms.
Elspeth felt a growing sense of dread as they continued their exaltations, sweat beading on her brow.
The event was, by all accounts, a resounding success. The chatter around them suggested it was already the clear frontrunner for Benefactress of the Year.
How is all this frivolity meaningful? Aye, it is just another excuse for a party. Where is the heart of it all? In fact, I see no trace of anythin’ pertainin’ to the bloody Society for the Preservation of English History anywhere. It may as well be any other ball.
Elspeth felt a familiar wave of irritation rising in her chest as she drained her champagne flute, hoping the drink would cool her. Unfortunately, it only fueled her fire. She had endured weeks of these veiled insults when passing through a shop in town or down the cobblestone streets.
She forced a polite smile, willing herself to heed the Dowager Duchess of Tarwood’s advice, as she endured their conversation.
Ye catch more flies with honey than vinegar,she told herself again and again as she chose her words carefully.
“St. Jude’s, while perhaps nae as glamorous as other charities, serves a vital purpose for London’s most vulnerable children. And I say, the children are quite remarkable. I have spent these last few weeks gettin’ to ken them. Really ken them. They are worthy of yer support. There are truly needy children out there, starvin’ for a meal or someone to show interest in them.”
“Oh, I am sure they are most unfortunate souls, Lady Inverhall,” Lady Markham said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. “But one does wonder, how another young lady possibly could compete withthis? Why bother at all?”
“Indeed!” Lady Wickdale agreed, a slight slur in her voice, leaning too close to Elspeth for her liking. “Perhaps, Lady Inverhall, you might consider a different strategy altogether.”
