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died of a broken heart. The father was always useless and signed her away without so much as a care. His own daughter."
Felicity has gone pale."What do you mean? She's to live with us? With you and Papa?"
"Yes. And Mrs. Smalls, the governess, of course. Your father is so happy to have a little princess in the house again. Felicity, dear, not too much sugar in your tea. It isn't good for the teeth," Lady Worthington chides without losing her smile.
As if she hasn't heard, Felicity drops two more lumps of sugar into her tea and drinks it. Her mother pretends she hasn't noticed.
A woman as soft and overstuffed as a settee waddles to our table."Good afternoon, Mrs. Worthington. Is it true that your distinguished guest is to sing for us today?"
Lady Worthington looks startled. "Oh. Well, I can't say . . . I . . ."
The woman prattles on. "We were just discussing how extraordinary it is that you've taken Miss Bradshaw under your wing. If we might borrow you for a bit, please do come and tell Mrs. Threadgill and me how the czarina's long-lost relation has come to be with us."
"If you'll excuse me," Lady Worthington says, gliding to the other table like a swan. "Are you all right, Fee?" I ask."You look pale."
"I'm fine. I simply don't like the idea of some little beast underfoot while I'm at home."
She's jealous. Jealous of someone named little Polly. Felicity can be so incredibly petty at times.
"She's just a child," I say.
"I know that," Felicity snaps. "It isn't worth discussing. We have more important matters at hand. Follow me."
She leads us through tables of elegant ladies in grand hats sipping tea and gossiping. They glance up but we are unimportant, and they resume their discussions of who has done what to whom. We follow Felicity up wide, carpeted stairs, past ladies in stiff, fashionable dresses who seem to take a keen, if discreet, interest in these brash young ladies storming the barricades of their genteel club.
"Where are you taking us?" I ask.
"The club has private bedchambers for members. One of them will surely be empty. Oh, no."
"What is it?" Ann asks, panicked.
Felicity's peering over the banister to the foyer below. A solid-looking woman in a purple dress and a fur stole is holding court. She's a commanding presence; the others hang on her every word. "One of my mother's former friends, Lady Denby."
Lady Denby? Could this be Simon's mother? A lump forms in my throat. I can only hope that I will be able to slip away undetected, so that Lady Denby will not form an unfavorable opinion of me.
"Why do you say former friend?" Ann asks, looking worried.
"She has never forgiven my mother for living in France. She doesn't like the French, as the Middleton family can be traced to Lord Nelson himself," she says, mentioning Britain's great naval hero."If Lady Denby likes you, you are set for life. If she finds you wanting in any way, you are shunned. Mind, she's still cordial, but very cold. And my foolish mother is too blind to see it. She continues to try to win Lady Denby's favor. I shall never be like that."
Felicity moves slowly, daringly, along the balcony, watching Lady Denby. I'm doing my best to keep my head down.
"Is she Simon Middleton's mother, then?" I ask.
"Yes," Felicity answers."How do you know Simon Middleton?"
"Who is Simon Middleton?" Ann asks.
"I met him just yesterday at the train station. He and Tom are acquainted."
Felicity's eyes widen. "When had you planned to tell us about it?"
Ann tries again."Who is Simon Middleton?"
"Gemma, you're keeping secrets again!"
"It is not a secret,"I say, blushing."It is nothing, really. He has invited my family to dinner. That is all."
Felicity looks as if someone has dropped her in the middle of the Thames. "You've been invited to dinner? That is certainly something."
