Page 63 of Regency in Color

Chapter Two

Thalia gave herself a once-over in the looking glass for the umpteenth time. Her mauve muslin evening gown was a few years out of fashion, but the strategic placement of some delicate lace and a ribbon beneath the bust had breathed new life into it. The paisley shawl hanging from her arms had been a gift from her father on the occasion of her twenty-first birthday. Unbeknownst to Thalia, it was the last gift she would ever receive from him. He had succumbed to a fever a few short months later, leaving her alone with an aging mother and a young, impressionable sister. With the profits from the bookshop and funds her father had tucked away, they were able to keep a comfortable home in the flat above the storefront.

The sister in question had flung herself across Thalia’s bed, nose buried in a worn copy of The Mirror of Graces. Theodosia peered at Thalia over the pages and smiled. “You look lovely, sister. Though, I do not think it is fashionable for a lady to wear her curling papers in public.”

Thalia rolled her eyes. “I was just about to ask you to help me take them out, Theo. I wanted my curls to be fresh.”

Setting The Mirror of Graces aside, Theodosia stood, pulling her worn dressing gown closed over her night-rail. The etiquette book for young ladies had been her constant companion ever since Theo had been old enough to dream of a world far out of her reach. Thalia had given up trying to talk sense into her, though their mother was never short on practical advice for her youngest daughter.

As she sat on the bed to allow Theo to unravel her hair—smoothed this afternoon with hot tongs—Thalia glimpsed their reflection in the mirror. They were similar in appearance—with the same gleaming dark skin and deep brown eyes as their mother. But Theo had their father’s face—round and pleasant, kissed by mischief. A sweet little divot added charm to Theo’s chin, and her smile was as sweet as the morning sun. By contrast, Thalia’s features were more chiseled, her cheekbones prominent and her cheeks nipping in below them before ending in the point of her chin. Full lips were turned pink by a light application of rouge.

Thalia supposed it wasn’t a bad thing for her sister to be so fanciful. She was the younger sibling, and therefore allowed to dream. Theo wasn’t irresponsible—she worked as a seamstress at a dress shop just down the lane from the bookshop. But while she hemmed gowns and stitched pleats, Theo’s head was in the clouds—where elegant gentleman twirled her about ballrooms, and candlelight turned the whole world into a hazy world of glitz and glamor.

Who was Thalia to tell Theo she couldn’t have the better life she dreamed of? Thalia was the one responsible for seeing to their family’s livelihood. Any man who might wish to marry her—and in all her twenty-three years there had never been a single one—he would have to understand that her mother and sister came along with her. Few men would want two additional mouths to feed, which was why Thalia had given up on her own dreams of marriage. But Theo … perhaps someday she could have all the things that Thalia couldn’t.

“You’re sighing,” Theo murmured, her fingers deft and gentle as she eased the papers from Thalia’s hair. Fat spirals fell down her neck, one tickling the shell of her ear.

“Am I?” Thalia whispered, blinking. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“What are you thinking about? The handsome gentlemen who will ask you to dance tonight?”

“I hardly think anyone will be lining up to dance with me.”

Theo gave one of her curls a light tug. “Don’t be silly. I wish I were going with you. We’d both drive the other women mad with envy, making every eligible man wish to dance with us.”

“You are too young!” called their mother’s voice through the open door.

Thalia smirked as she glanced up to find their mother in her customary place—a chair near the fire with a blanket draped over her lap, needle in hand, and basket of mending at her feet. Theo pulled a face, which Thalia saw in the mirror, sending her into a fit of muffled giggles.

“I saw that!” their mother bellowed, prompting Theo to gasp.

“You did not!” she accused.

“I did,” their mother insisted. “I am your mother, and I say you are too young for a night at Vauxhall.”

“I am eight and ten now,” Theo argued, her voice taking on a whining edge. “The girls of the ton who are my age are being considered for marriage.”

“You are not of the ton,” their mother argued. “You may attend Vauxhall at night when you are one-and-twenty, and not a day before!”

Theo muttered something unintelligible under her breath, and Thalia placed a hand over hers, stilling it. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Be careful what you wish for, Theo. The world is vast and beautiful, but it can also be dangerous and difficult to navigate. I want you to be happy, but I do not want you hurt.”

Theo sighed. “I’m not a child.”

“I know you aren’t. You’re a young woman now, with so much promise. Mother only wants to protect you.”

“From what? A life that is better than this one?”

“Our lives are far better other women like us,” Thalia snapped. At times she wearied of what she perceived as Theo’s ungratefulness. “Our father was able to apprentice for the previous owner of this book shop, and worked so hard and so diligently that it was left to him. It was better than a monetary inheritance, Theo … it was a way for us to survive without struggle or worry. It was enough to clothe us, feed us, send us both to decent schools. We are learned women with employment and a place to call home. Perhaps the next time you pass a starving beggar on the way to the dress shop each day, you will remember how fortunate we are and count your blessings.”

A tense silence fell between them, during which Theo finished removing the curling papers—though her touch was not as gentle as it had been before. Tossing the last of them at Thalia’s side, she snatched up her book and crossed the room to her own bed.

“There is nothing wrong with aspiring to more,” she muttered. “If you weren’t so satisfied with an ordinary life, perhaps you might understand that.”

Thalia ignored Theo, not wishing to further sully the evening with a row. It had taken her hours to decide upon attending Vauxhall, and she had even become excited at the prospect of encountering Westerfield. Now, her heart sank into her belly as she realized that she ought to take her own advice. If she happened to come face-to-face with the duke tonight, nothing of any consequence would happen. Her life would go on as before, and Thalia had already decided that she was pleased with things as they were.

Ignoring Theo’s pouting, she returned to the mirror and began pinning her hair atop her head. Thalia allowed her coiffure to take shape without much manipulation, arranging the curls in a cluster, then pulling several small spirals free at her temples and brow. A large, thick curl lay against her shoulder, slightly bared by the cut of her bodice.