Page 24 of The Siren of Sussex

“Never mind it. It’s you I came to see. Fielding tells me I’m to have a hand in launching you.” Lady Arundell withdrew a silver-filigree lorgnette from her reticule and held it up to her eyes. “Step forward, my girl. Let me see what I have to work with.”

Evelyn’s lips compressed. She didn’t care to be commanded by anyone. She nevertheless crossed the room to join them. Being stubborn and contrary to those who might help her cause would achieve nothing. Better to be quiet and obliging.

At least, for now.

Coming to a halt in front of the low table that held the tea tray, she silently submitted to Lady Arundell’s perusal.

Lady Anne resumed her seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“You’ve been too much in the sun,” Lady Arundell pronounced at last, lowering her lorgnette. “If you don’t take care, you’ll ruin your complexion.”

“I do wear a hat whenever I—”

“And what about these spectacles of yours?” Lady Arundell plowed on. “Not becoming at all. They only serve to emphasize the unfortunate shape of your nose. Rather too aquiline for my taste. Never looks quite right on a younger gel.”

This time, Evelyn absorbed the criticism without comment. It wasn’t the first time someone had told her that her nose wasn’t right, or that her spectacles were unflattering, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. There was no point in taking it to heart.

Lady Arundell waved her lorgnette. “Get yourself one of these. You can wear it on a silk cord about your wrist. Use it on those occasions you wish to see clearly, and then slip it into your sleeve the remainder of the time.”

“But I always wish to see clearly, ma’am.” Evelyn sat down in her chair. “And as for my complexion—”

“I shall give you a recipe to whiten it.” Lady Arundell settled back beside her daughter on the sofa. “Anne uses it nightly herself. Don’t you, Anne?”

“Yes, Mama,” Lady Anne replied. There was a starchy undercurrent in her voice at odds with her submissive demeanor.

Evelyn glanced at her, intrigued. For all that she deferred to her mother, Lady Anne didn’t appear to be a shrinking violet. She exuded a visible confidence, evident in both her countenance and in her posture. One had the impression that, if she was in her mother’s shadow, it was precisely because she chose to be there.

And her skin was quite flawless, now Evelyn looked at it. Rather like alabaster. A shade Evelyn had never achieved, or aspired to.

“Add to that a rotation of strawberry water, lemon juice, and Gowland’s lotion,” Lady Arundell went on. “That’s what I recommend.”

“I thank you for your advice.” Evelyn poured out their tea. It was still hot, thank goodness. “Do you take milk, my lady? Or lemon?”

“Lemon, if you please,” Lady Arundell replied. “And for Anne.”

Evelyn passed them each one of the painted porcelain teacups Mrs. Quick had arranged on the tray. There was a plate of sugared biscuits, too. Lady Anne eyed them with a vague expression of longing. However, when Evelyn offered some to her, Lady Arundell declined for the both of them.

“We don’t hold with sweets,” she said. “Bad for the teeth and for the figure. A lady can’t be too careful.”

Evelyn returned the plate to the tray. After such a pronouncement, she could hardly take a biscuit for herself. She consoled herself with a sip of tea. “I hadn’t considered.”

“You haven’t a mother to advise you. You must allow me to fill that office while you’re in town.”

Evelyn’s fingers tightened reflexively around the handle of her teacup. She willed them to loosen. “You’re too kind.”

“Not a bit of it. Fielding and I are friends of old. It’s the very least I can do for him.” Lady Arundell drank her tea, continuing to examine Evelyn. “I didn’t have the opportunity to meet your older sister during her come-out. We were away at the time, else I might have taken her in hand. She was a great beauty, I understand.”

“People have always said so,” Evelyn acknowledged.

“And you . . . Not very much like your sister, are you?”

“Not in that respect, ma’am,” Evelyn said. “Nor in any other, I trust.”

Lady Arundell’s gaze narrowed. “Fielding tells me that you’re a horsewoman, with a stallion or some such beast you’ve brought up from the country.”

“Yes, ma’am. I intend to ride a great deal while I’m here.”

“Pity. If marriage is your goal, you’d be wise to desist. Gentlemen don’t like sporting girls, although they might pretend to. Anne can attest.”