Page 6 of The Work of Art

“But perhaps you like a gentleman to be fair?” Abigail pressed. “Like Lord Darly?”

“Of course she doesn’t think Captain Heywood is handsome.” Elizabeth lay down a card with a loud thump. “Who could, with that scowl of his?”

Abigail chanced a look at Philly. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. After the Worthings’ ball, you will be engaged.”

Philly raised a brow at her young cousin. “You have a great deal of confidence in me.”

“Why shouldn’t I have?”

“Because,” Philly said candidly, “I have a feeling that, despite Mrs. Vale’s efforts, I shall make an abysmal show of myself at the ball and no gentleman will think of me twice.”

Elizabeth and Abigail exchanged a look with each other from across the card table.

“Perhaps,” Abigail said, “there may be someone at the Worthings’ ball who will fancy you no matter how poor of a debut you make? Why, he may even be— Ouch!” She glared at her sister. “You kicked me, Lizzie.”

“I did nothing of the sort. You must have bumped your leg against the table. If you’d pay attention to the game and not indulge in silly gossip, then maybe you wouldn’t have these kinds of accidents.”

The two sisters shared another weighted look.

Philly cast a curious glance between the pair of them. From the moment she’d arrived in London, Elizabeth and Abigail Townsend had been fighting with each other like two cats. Philly had made it a rule never to involve herself in their petty quarrels. Nevertheless…

“Is there anything you wish to tell me, Abigail?” she asked. “Elizabeth?”

“Nothing at all,” Elizabeth said.

Abigail remained silent.

Philly sighed. “In that case…” She lay all her cards down before her. “I believe I shall retire.”

“Phyllida,” Elizabeth groaned. “You can’t do that. Now you’ve ruined the whole game.”

Philly rose from the table. “I’m so weary, I can be of no use to either of you. If you will excuse me.”

“It’s all right, Phyllida.” Abigail gathered up the cards. “Now Lizzie and I can play piquet.”

They both bid her goodnight, and Philly swiftly made her exit. She could hear them bickering softly as she stepped out into the hall.

“You know we aren’t supposed to mention him,” Elizabeth said.

“I didn’t say his name,” Abigail retorted.

A flicker of uneasiness traced its way down Philly’s spine. Her cousins were keeping secrets from her. Secrets about something—and someone. A mysterious him. A gentleman Philly was to meet at the Worthings’ ball.

She wondered who in the world he might be.

The next few days were spent in earnest preparations for the Worthings’ ball. Philly remained alert for the slightest hint on who her mysterious suitor might be, but her cousins made no more mention of the man. They had little opportunity. Mrs. Vale was a constant presence. She sat in on Philly’s dancing lessons, played cards with her every evening, and forced her to model various combinations of gowns, slippers, and wraps so she could determine which ensemble would be the most impressive for Philly to wear when she was introduced into society.

Philly found it all stifling and anxiously awaited the brief moments she could escape with her dogs to the park.

It wasn’t complete freedom. Indeed, since she’d come to live in London, she’d never once been allowed to go out alone. Even when walking her dogs, Uncle Edgar insisted that she be accompanied by a vigilant maid.

Still, it was liberty of a kind. And Philly relished every second of it.

The Friday before the ball, she was just rushing down the front steps of the townhouse with Fox in her arms, her three larger dogs at her side, and Sara, the maid, hurrying behind her, when she saw Captain Heywood alighting from a carriage.

She resolved immediately not to acknowledge him. He seemed a proud sort of man, and she didn’t like to remind him of how she’d lent him her arm. She started to walk past him, her eyes averted.

“Good morning, Miss Satterthwaite,” he said.