Page 86 of The Work of Art

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Crofton. He entered the drawing room with uncharacteristic haste, bringing with him a silver salver on which lay a visiting card.

There had been few callers since Philly’s arrival in Heycombe. Mr. Fordham, the vicar, had paid a visit just three weeks prior, and following that she’d entertained three of the elderly churchwomen of Heycombe for tea, but no one who could be termed fashionable had yet come to call.

“Two gentlemen and three ladies have come, Mrs. Heywood,” Crofton intoned. “Shall I tell them you’re not at home?”

“My word,” Mrs. Ogilvy said. “Are you expecting visitors, Phyllida?”

Philly took the card from the salver and read the name engraved upon it.

Miss Elizabeth Townsend.

“It’s my cousin from London!” she exclaimed. “Crofton, with whom has she come?”

“Lord Darly, Mr. Forsythe, Abigail Townsend, and Lady Eliot, ma’am.”

Philly’s excitement evaporated in an instant. The specter of Lady Eliot still persisted in haunting her at her most vulnerable moments. She could think of no person in the world she’d rather see less.

Mrs. Ogilvy laid a hand upon Philly’s arm. “Come, now. You can’t consider turning them away.”

“I’m not at my best at the moment, I fear.” Philly looked down at her French cambric gown with its simple blue trimmings. It hadn’t a flounce or a frill. Little had she thought when she’d put it on only an hour ago in anticipation of her walk with Arthur that it was soon to be judged by the likes of Lady Eliot.

“You look lovely, my dear. There’s not the least need to fret.” Mrs. Ogilvy rose from the settee. “Now, if you will excuse me, I intend to follow your example and retire to my room for a little rest.”

Philly stood up quickly, her cousin’s card still clutched in her hand. “You can’t go!”

“I can and I must. If I were to remain, my presence would do nothing but offend the ladies and scandalize the gentlemen.”

“But surely—”

“It would reflect poorly on you, Phyllida, and I like you far too well to let your reputation be injured on my account.” Mrs. Ogilvy smiled, giving Philly a pat on the cheek. “Crofton,” she said as she exited the room, “see that refreshments are made ready for Mrs. Heywood’s guests.”

“Yes, madam.” Crofton turned back to Philly. “Mrs. Heywood?”

Philly watched Mrs. Ogilvy go with a heavy heart. She felt utterly alone. “Captain Heywood hasn’t come back yet, has he?”

“No, ma’am.”

Her eyes drifted over her dogs. They were in various states of repose all around the drawing room. “You may send my guests up, Crofton,” she said at last. “But first, you’d better have William come and collect the dogs. The last time Basil met Lord Darly, he attempted to remove his arm.”

“Very good, Mrs. Heywood.”

Elizabeth and Abigail Townsend had changed little in the nearly two months since Philly had left London. They were garbed in jonquil muslin with corresponding slippers and parasols, as expensively dressed and excessively quarrelsome as Philly remembered.

The gentlemen of the party were equally well turned out. Indeed, with their fair hair, double-breasted coats of corbeau superfine, and biscuit-colored pantaloons, they all but matched.

Lord Darly greeted Philly with a warm smile. Mr. Forsythe smiled too, but there was a guarded expression in his eyes.

“I’m relieved to find you well, ma’am,” he said, bowing over her hand. “And you are well, I trust?”

“Of course, she is,” Lady Eliot replied, laughing. In her flowing white embroidered muslin gown—complete with two rows of flounces and pleating to showcase her magnificent bosom—she looked every bit the sophisticated society lady. “Mrs. Heywood is a happily married lady now. Isn’t that so, Mrs. Heywood?”

Philly pasted on a smile. “Quite happily. But…what are you all doing here? I hadn’t expected—”

“We’re all come down for the Markhams’ house party,” Lady Eliot said with another crystalline laugh, “and your cousins couldn’t wait to call upon you.”

“We’ve brought a basket of fruit, Phyllida.” Abigail clasped Philly’s hand in greeting. “One of your maids took it from me else I would show you—”

“She knows what fruit looks like.” Elizabeth gave Philly a stiff kiss on the cheek. “The rhododendrons by the front steps are overgrown. Why does your gardener not attend them? It looks horribly untidy.”