“And your dance partners?”
“Are too polite to complain, so I must be right.” Octavia winked before turning back as the pianist stood and curtsied. “Brava, Eve, Brava!”
Verity blinked, having not recognized Octavia’s friend. She glanced around warily as she realized she was quite distracted indeed. While the musicale was certain to give her a headache by the time they took their leave, she would at least be amused by her sister’s antics.
The musicale carried on. Even after Eve joined them, Octavia chattered quietly all the while. They received countless looks of annoyance that did nothing to impact Octavia. But, as they all knew, nothing was said as the performance came to a close and everyone gathered in the next room for drinks and desserts.
“Not another chocolate cake,” Eve complained. “We must have the lemon.”
“I thought that was gauche now?”
“No, chocolate is gauche.”
The two young women turned to Verity who had been eyeing a cousin of the Qintby family. There were rumors about the family and she was curious if she might learn more.
But then she glanced back at the younger ladies, confused. “What is it?”
“What’s more gauche this season, chocolate or lemon?” Octavia asked with a smile of amusement.
“There is nothing gauche about dessert,” Verity retorted.
While that wasn’t necessarily what she might run in the journal––she’d overheard their hostess speaking to three dames of Society about the woes of orange blossom desserts––she personally didn’t care. She didn’t care that much for desserts as it was.
No, she wanted gossip. The secrets.
As Octavia and Eve scurried off with whispered giggles, Verity started slowly in the other direction. She had tucked away the sketchbook with a few notes penned down before greeting familiar faces one by one.
“As luck would have it, we were very clear about our investments last year. The new house in Venice would not come free, after all. I heard there was quite a loss last year in the market, or so my husband says.”
“How tragic,” replied Mrs. James, a daughter of a duke who had married a common banker. Intelligent and well-spoken, it wasn’t abnormal to find her on occasion or to hear such chatter. She didn’t attend many events but as her own daughter was having her first season, it appeared she was determined to appear where she could.
The daughter, Miss Rachel James, stood silently at her mother’s elbow with a wary gaze.
“Indeed. We could hardly believe there wasn’t a word said about…” Lady Smythe blinked as Verity arrived. Older and well-respected, she was wed to the Earl of Mendleton; they traveled often, Verity recalled, “Good evening, Your Grace. What a delight to see you in attendance.”
“I could say the same for each of you.” Verity paused, wondering if she could convince the countess to keep speaking on her topic. “You have a place in Venice, I hear? Do forgive me foroverhearing. Only my husband and I are hoping to visit soon, and I should like to hear from another where we might best rent a property.”
“Oh? How exciting. Yes, I shall send you my list of everything you must do and experience in Venice first thing on the morrow. I shouldn’t like to bore you through the details this evening,” the lady added graciously.
Verity’s smile tightened and she tried again. “That would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I hope you don’t mind, but I was curious about your mention of the market?”
“Tch, silly me. It’s awfully rude to consider such unnecessary talk on such a lovely evening. Do let it go. And be certain to try the champagne. Less classy, but very delicious,” Lady Smythe added neatly.
“Ah. Very well, thank you.” Without another way to continue the conversation, she nodded her farewells and made off to fetch herself a glass.
This didn’t deter her, however, and she listened further where she could. Something seemed amiss amongst the gossip this evening. More glances seemed to come her way this evening. No one had any particular topics to bring up, however, and she eventually left that evening wondering if her notes made any sense.
It was Octavia who helped piece it together with a heavy sigh and the proclamation, “I do wish people had less questions and more opinions.”
Verity shifted against her bench. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Weren’t people talking to you this evening? Perhaps not. You’ve been smiling less.”
“What?”
As she felt her lips with a frown, her sister opened one of her closed eyes where she was slumped back in a most unladylike manner. “You’re like a nervous hen. I haven’t seen it since Elowen’s first season. Say, you never worried over me like that, did you?”
“No, I think you’re doing splendidly all on your own. You’re… what is that supposed to mean? Octavia, what were people talking about?”
