Page 94 of The Work of Art

Philly’s laughter faded. It had been only a week since last they’d called. She’d known they would return, but hadn’t anticipated it would be so soon. “Show them into the drawing room, Violet. I’ll be there directly.” When the maid had gone, Philly turned to Mrs. Ogilvy. “Will you join us?”

“It wouldn’t be wise.”

“What does that signify? You’re my guest here. You’re Lord Gordon’s dear friend, and I hope you’ve become mine. I’d be honored if you would join me in receiving my callers. Indeed, I fear I must insist upon it.”

Mrs. Ogilvy gave Philly a thoughtful look. “If you insist upon it, I suppose I cannot refuse.”

“No. Indeed you cannot.” Philly removed her apron. Arthur wouldn’t approve of her receiving Lady Eliot. Fortunately, he was out on the estate somewhere with Lord Gordon, and wasn’t likely to return for another half hour, at least. “Our guests won’t be staying long, but if you could endeavor to occupy my cousin…?”

“Ah. You’d like a word with Lady Eliot, I gather.”

“I would.” Philly smoothed the skirts of her sprigged muslin gown as they made their way down to the drawing room.

They entered to find the two visitors in polite repose.

Abigail leapt up from her chair. “Phyllida! Lady Eliot has driven me here in her new curricle!”

Philly greeted her exuberant young cousin, her gaze moving straight to Lady Eliot as she quickly dispensed with the introductions.

Lady Eliot was resplendent in a white sarsnet spencer robe trimmed with Chinese silk fringe. Her dark, indolent gaze drifted first to Philly, and then to Mrs. Ogilvy. Abigail clearly had no idea who Marianne Ogilvy was, but recognition registered immediately on Lady Eliot’s face.

“Madam,” she said stiffly.

“Lady Eliot,” Mrs. Ogilvy replied with a dimpled smile. “It’s been so many years since last we met that I’d almost forgotten your partiality for virginal white.”

Lady’s Eliot’s lips thinned so severely that they all but disappeared.

“The gentlemen have gone hunting all day with Lord Markham, and we’re bored out of our wits,” Abigail said. “Lady Eliot said we’d best drive into Heycombe and have a look about the shops, but the curricle only seats two, and Lizzy has an awful megrim for she was up until three playing piquet, and Lady Markham told her—”

“We cannot stay,” Lady Eliot announced.

Philly felt a surge of indignation on Mrs. Ogilvy’s behalf. Mrs. Ogilvy herself only twinkled with amusement.

“What?” Abigail’s brow puckered. “But I thought—”

“If you’ll walk us out, Mrs. Heywood,” Lady Eliot said, “you may see my new curricle.”

Philly readily agreed. As they all made their way down the stairs, Mrs. Ogilvy positioned herself by Abigail, engaging her in a discussion about the newest styles in autumn bonnets.

Lady Eliot fell in beside Philly. “Allow me to advise you, Mrs. Heywood. It’s one thing to entertain such a woman as Marianne Ogilvy in your home, but to introduce her to your guests—”

“Did you love him very much?” Philly asked.

Caroline Eliot stopped where she stood. She stared at Philly, at first with surprise at her quiet interruption, and then with smug satisfaction as she comprehended Philly’s question.

“Did I love him?” she repeated in a languid purr. “But my feelings are hardly important, ma’am. You are his wife now. You’ve no need to be jealous of me—”

“I’m not talking about my husband.”

The silence that met Philly was deafening. Lady Eliot’s expression grew cold, her eyes hardening to flint. It seemed as if she wouldn’t say anything. Then, at last, she answered. “Yes, I did.”

Philly’s gaze didn’t waver. “He treated you very badly.”

“You know nothing about it.”

“I know that whatever might have happened between you and the Viscount Carlisle has nothing to do with my husband.”

“Nothing to do with your husband?” Lady Eliot gave a brittle laugh. “My dear Mrs. Heywood, I suspect you’ve been getting an earful about the past from your infamous guest.” She cast a disapproving glance down the stairs at Mrs. Ogilvy. “Whatever fairy story she might have told you in an attempt to spare your feelings, the fact remains that Captain Heywood and I were engaged to be married. If I hadn’t lost my heart to Lord Eliot, we’d be married even now.”