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Pippa swallows hard. "May I also present Mr. Bartleby Bumble, Esquire?" The next part comes out like a quiet cry. "My fianc?."
Ann and I are too astonished to speak.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintances." He looks down his nose at us. "I do hope they serve tea soon," he says, glancing at his pocket watch with impatience.
This rude old man with the fat face is going to be lovely Pippa's husband? Pippa, whose every waking moment is consumed by thoughts of a pure, undying, romantic love, has been sold to the highest bidder, a man she does not know, does not care about. She stares at the Persian carpet as if it might open up and swallow her down whole, save her.
Ann and I extend our hands and make our subdued greetings.
"It's good to see that my fianc?e is acquainted with the right sort of girls," Mr. Bumble sniffs. "There's so much that can taint the young and impressionable. Wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Cross?"
"Oh, absolutely, Mr. Bumble."
He deserves to have his head on a spike for all to see. Warning: If you are insufferable, do not walk here. We shall eat you down to the marrow.
"Oh, there is Mrs. Nightwing. She will need to know our news. She might even want to announce it today." Mrs. Cross swans across the room with her husband in tow. Mr. Bumble smiles at the back of Pippa's head as if she were the biggest prize on display at this carnival.
"Shall we?" he says, offering his arm. "May I have a moment with my friends, please? To share my news?" Pippa asks in a sad, quiet way. The idiot thinks he's being flattered.
"Of course, my dear. But don't be too long about it."
When he's gone, I reach out for Pippa's hands. "Please don't," she says. Tears pool in her violet eyes. I can't think of anything to say.
"He seems quite distinguished," Ann offers after a moment of silence.
Pippa gives a short, sharp laugh. "Yes. Nothing like a wealthy barrister to wipe away Father's gambling debts and save us from ruin. I'm nothing more than a marker, really." She doesn't say it bitterly. That's what hurts. She's accepted her fate without fighting it.
Behind her, Bartleby Bumble, Esquire, is anxiously waiting for his future bride. "I've got to go," Pippa says with all the enthusiasm of a woman meeting her executioner.
"Her ring is lovely," Ann says, after a moment. Above the crowd, we can hear Mrs. Nightwing offering her loud congratulations and others chiming in.
"Yes. Very lovely," I agree. We're both trying to put a good face on it. Neither of us wants to admit the enraging hopelessness of the situationor the guilt at not having drawn that short straw ourselves. Not yet, at least. I can only hope that when my time comes, I'm not foisted off on the first man who dazzles my family.
Felicity breezes by. She's got a handkerchief in her hand that she's twisting into a messy lump.
"What is the matter? You look as if the world has ended."
"Pippa is engaged to Mr. Bumble," I explain.
"What? Oh, poor Pip," she says, shaking her head.
"Has your father come?" I ask, hoping for happier news.
"Not yet. Forgive me, but I'm far too nervous to wait around here. I'm going to stay out in the garden till he comes. Are you certain I look presentable?"
"For the last time, yes," I say, rolling my eyes.
Felicity is so anxious she doesn't come back with a snappy reply. Instead, she nods gratefully and, looking as if she might be unable to hold her breakfast a moment longer, dashes off toward the lawn.
"Well, if it isn't the lady Doyle."
With a great flourish and an exaggerated bow, Tom announces his arrival. Grandmama is beside him in her best black crepe mourning clothes. "Is Father here? Did he come?" I'm nervously craning my neck, searching for him.
"Yes," Tom starts. "Gemma"
"Well, where is he?"
"Hello, Gemma."
