Page 4 of Bloodlines and Birthright

The rare admonishment from her usually placid nephew made the dowager stiffen more. “Charity is of an age to join the Hanover Square Society, that esteemed club for ladies. Your Aunt Letitia has been a long-time member. I was too busy to apply after my husband passed, but I think it will do Charity some good.”

“Is that the club for spinsters and widows?” India asked.

“From good families, yes. Its members are involved in fundraising and perform benevolent acts for the poor, if they are so inclined.”

“And if they are not?” India asked with a glance at Charity.

“They meet once a week for tea and social engagement. I believe Letitia has made many friends there, and it gave her a focus to ease the pain of never marrying and having children of her own.” It was a barb directed at both her sister-in-law and her own daughter who must be approaching the age some of their ilk considered too old for marriage.

Fortunately, Miss Glass seemed to have descended into one of her fogs where her mind drifted off, so she didn’t absorb the comment.

However, Charity’s lips pinched together so hard they went white. She picked up another piece of cake. For one awful moment, I thought she was going to throw at her mother, but she simply lowered it to the plate. “I could marry if I want to, but why would I willingly enter an arrangement that gives all the power to one party and renders the other little better than an indentured servant?”

That stunned the room into a silence that stretched my nerves thin.

Matt coughed politely and steered the conversation back on course. “Aunt Letitia hasn’t been to a Society meeting since we moved to the country. I doubt she has any influence anymore.”

Miss Glass made no comment so it seemed she hadn’t comprehended he was talking about her. She stared down at her hands, linked together in her lap.

“She’s barring Charity from entering,” the dowager said, snippily. “She must be. Why else has Charity’s application been ignored? I asked them and they said they’d lost it, so Charity sent in another. When there was no response, I confronted the chairwoman of the membership committee again. She admitted there’d been some opposition to Charity joining.” Her hazel eyes sharpened as she glared daggers at her sister-in-law. “Who else would object?”

Matt looked as though he was scrambling to think of something polite to say, but before he could respond, Miss Glass rallied and emerged from her fog.

“Is your turban too tight again, Beatrice? It seems to be making your brain smaller.”

The dowager gasped then self-consciously touched the turquoise turban wrapped around her head. The accessory had been the height of fashion years ago, and some women her age still wore them to hide their graying hair. She did tend to wear hers very tight, forcing the skin on her forehead back and slanting the corners of her eyes upward. “Honestly, Letitia, you do say the oddest things these days.”

Miss Glass smiled at India. “Would you pour me a cup of tea, dearest?”

India picked up the teapot. “Will you stay for tea, Beatrice?”

The dowager pushed herself to her feet. “We’re too busy. Come along, Charity. Matthew, see us out.”

They said brisk goodbyes then strode to the door. Charity turned before leaving and winked at Oscar, but no one other than he and I noticed. Her mother was ahead of her and Matt was exchanging a rueful smile with India who rolled her eyes. He followed his aunt and cousin out.

“It’s time to put Letitia in an asylum, Matthew,” the dowager said, her shrill voice carrying clearly, which I suspect was her intention.

Matt’s response was a firm, “No.”

A collective breath was expelled by those of us remaining in the drawing room. India invited Oscar and I to sit on the sofa vacated by Charity and her mother.

“I do apologize,” she said with a sigh.

“No need,” Oscar said. “I know how families can be. Unfortunately, we can’t choose our relatives.”

“Trouble with your brother again?” she asked as she handed him a cup of tea.

Oscar gave her a flat smile. “You know me well, India. Isaac is being his usual overbearing self. He thinks I was a fool to resign from my position at the newspaper, a fool to rely on the income from my books, and an even bigger fool for galivanting around the world, as he puts it. Up until that argument, my visit was going splendidly. I like his children a great deal.”

What Oscar did not tell her but had told me was that Isaac asked Oscar to leave early and return to London. According to Oscar, Isaac was still jealous that his wife once had feelings for Oscar and worried that perhaps she still did, even though Oscar made sure he was never alone with her. I found it rather sad that the brothers had fallen out over a woman that Oscar had never been interested in.

“Speaking of children,” I said to change the subject, “is Gabriel napping?”

“He’s helping Mrs. Bristow in the kitchen.” India’s eyes danced with merriment. “In other words, he’s licking the mixing bowl clean. He’s too young to do more, although he tries. He gets into everything.”

“He’ll be able to do more in another year or two without creating a mess,” Oscar said with an authority that reminded me he liked to play with his nieces and nephews, not just pat them on the head and send them back to the nursery.

Matt re-entered the drawing room. It was a signal that seemed to rally Miss Glass. She suddenly sat up straighter and fixed an earnest stare on him. “Tell Willemina to seize the day.”