Page 29 of A Sham Engagement

Frances was sitting on her bed in front of her open, but as yet empty, trunk, elbows on knees, chin in her hands. “And we’ve had so little time here in Town. I’d so wanted to see the sights. And Aunt Penelope was going to hold a soirée of her own with recitals and all sorts of entertainments and she said we could both come. I was going to play the piano for her guests.”

Augusta gave a snort. “I’m sure the people Aunt Penelope invites to her soirée will be immensely relieved they don’t have to listen to your piano playing. I, on the other hand, had prepared a song to sing, which I’m sure they would have liked. Papa says I sing like an angel.”

Elenora began packing Frances’s clothes, as it seemed evident her sister wasn’t going to do it herself. Unlike Augusta, she folded everything with care, mindful of how much work it would take for a servant to sort out crumpled gowns.

“An angel?” Frances retorted, getting into the swing of things. “He was being kind. No one would want to hear anything you sing as you bray like a donkey.”

Augusta threw a shoe at her, which missed and hit a vase on the dressing table. It fell to the floor with a crash.

“Stop it,” Elenora hissed. “Mama will hear, or worse, Aunt Penelope will. That was her vase and it might have been valuable. Stop arguing, both of you, and be assured, I would much rather be coming home with you than staying here.”

Augusta stopped her packing. “You would?”

Elenora nodded. “I’ve achieved what was required of me, haven’t I? A betrothal and a reversal of the family fortunes. You’d think Mama could let me abandon trying to fit into society. I feel like Cook’s cat at home in Penworthy, trying to squeeze herself into a mouse hole after her prey. I don’t fit.”

Frances, ever more sympathetic than Augusta, got to her feet and put her arms around Elenora. “And I would stay here in your place, if I could. You can have no idea how happy your engagement has made me. I’d feared with the way you are, Gussie and I would never have had a chance of coming out until we were ancient.”

Augusta scowled. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you not to call me Gussie.”

Elenora frowned at Frances. “Was that meant to be a compliment?”

With a shrug, Frances bounced over to her trunk. “Yes it was. Now where did I put my boots?”

Elenora picked them up. “I’ll put them in the trunk. I don’t want you throwing them and breaking something else.”

The carriage departed a little after midday, after numerous false starts when Mama or one of the girls decided they’d forgotten something essential. Elenora, Petunia and Aunt Penelope waved them off from the front steps of the house until the carriage vanished amongst the rest of the traffic as it headed toward the Great West Road.

Aunt Penelope, who shared her looks with Papa in that she was tall and had once been fair-haired, turned to Elenora with an acquisitive glint in her eye that even Elenora recognized. “Well, just us three now, Elenora.” She surveyed her new charge. “One could almost take you for my daughter and not Fanny’s, we are so alike. You and Petunia could be twins.”

Petunia, who despite being superficially like Elenora, was shorter and sturdier, shot her cousin a disapproving frown.

Elenora frowned as well. “You and I are not so alike, Aunt Penelope, for you are much older than me, your hair is nearly gray and you have wrinkles that I do not. And Petunia is fatter than me and her nose turns up at the end.”

Aunt Penelope tutted like Mama was wont to do. “Your dear mother is quite right about you, young lady. You speak your mind far too freely. It is quite impolite… no, very impolite to pass comment on someone’s looks. Especially in an unfavorable light.”

Elenora’s frown increased. “But you passed comment on mine.”

“That was something quite different. And it is not polite to contradict your elders, either. So kindly do not argue. Now, we have a tea party to prepare for in Portland Place. Shall we go in?”

Elenora sighed. Why was it she could never quite understand what was the right thing to say? Why did she always get it wrong? Papa had drummed into her the importance of being honest when she’d been small, and yet, it seemed in polite society one was expected to lie, and that was thought polite. But lying didn’t come easily to her, and she’d been unable to think of anything to say that would have pleased her aunt that hadn’t been untrue. Perhaps it might be better if she didn’t say anything. Yes, that was the wisest of moves. Silence, or at most, yes and no answers. How could that possibly go wrong?

Jack’s house in Portland Place was one of a row of splendidly appointed town houses, each with large, shiny front doors opening onto a walkway over the basement level to the pavement. As Elenora and her aunt, for Petunia, in a fit of jealous pique, had claimed she had a megrim and taken to her bed for the afternoon, approached the door, Elenora peered down into the area below, where no doubt the kitchens were hidden, as they were in Arlington Street. Someone was baking a cake, the delicious aroma twisting up into the wintry air. The urge to escape down those spiral steps to hide in the kitchen with Jack’s cook nearly overwhelmed her. Anything would be better than having to meet his mother.

Aunt Penelope tugged the bell pull, and the door immediately swung open to reveal an immensely tall, liveried footman. He bowed to them with an air of grandeur. “Lady Dandridge. Miss Wetherby.” Clearly he’d been expecting them. He stood back to let them enter the house.

Elenora struggled to curtail her instinct to stare around in wonder. Of course, she’d been to splendid houses before, but this one was somehow different. This was Jack’s house, and for some reason that meant something more to her. She needed to inspect it more closely.

Aunt Penelope tapped her arm. “Do not gawp, Elenora.”

Elenora dropped her gaze to regard her own hands, but her eyes slid sideways, taking in the marble tiled floor, the portraits on the walls and the sweeping staircase. All on a far grander scale than Aunt Penelope’s house, and of course, it went without saying more impressive than her own home at Penworthy.

“If you will come this way,” the footman said, indicating the stairs, which were of dark oak.

“Thank you.” Aunt Penelope followed the footman, and Elenora, indulging in her desire to stare while not under Aunt Penelope’s eagle eye, followed behind. What a very impressive house. Mama would have liked it a lot.

At the top of the stairs, the footman led them to a door, opened it and went in. “Lady Dandridge, milord, milady, and Miss Wetherby.”

Taking her courage in both hands, Elenora stepped into Jack’s parlor, staring around herself at the stately décor of pastel shaded walls, elegant ornaments and tasteful paintings. However, in its very stateliness, it was not a comfortable room. Too much of an air of no one daring to put a foot wrong in it. If she lived here, she would remove some of the ornaments, or even the furniture and make it altogether a simpler room. But she never would, as this was only a sham engagement. For a moment she experienced an unexpected sadness that she’d never be calling this house her own. Which was quite ridiculous.