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“Poor thing. Robbed of her ring and only a few weeks before the big day,” tsked one old matron.
“Mmm. A tragedy, to be sure,” said her neighbor. “My, how quickly the time passes. Can it have been a year already?”
Harriett ground her teeth as the pair began counting backward to ensure the proper number of days had passed to allow her to wear anything other than black bombazine. Unwilling to listen any further, she quickened her step.
Fusty old busybodies! Her attire, a modest lavender silk robe a la français, was more than appropriate considering it had in fact been almost two years. She looked down at her skirts and admired the color. Though in her heart she still grieved, she had to admit it was nice to finally doff the black. Gazing down at her hand, she smiled at the lovely gold mourning ring that bore a lock of William’s hair, the fair strands woven into a tiny braid to frame his miniature.
It was her most precious possession. His aunt had given it to her to replace the engagement ring she’d had no choice but to return. Papa had wanted her to sell it to pay for Arabella’s secret trip to Berkshire, but she had been adamant in her refusal. Instead, she’d scrimped and cut corners, even given up her portion of the meat for a month just to keep it. It never left her hand unless she was in her bath, and even then it was always kept in sight.
The eyes and murmurs continued to follow her, grating on her nerves like cats’ claws on slate.
I’m not ready for this...
“Harriett!”
“Lily,” she said, turning to greet her dearest friend with a warm smile. “It’s been ages.”
“It’s been weeks,” complained Lily, pouting. Half a second later she gasped and stepped back, looking her up and down. A smile split her face. “Well, thank the Lord! I take it you’re on the hunt again?”
Though she knew Lily meant well, Harriett wanted to crawl into a deep hole and hide. Instead, she dredged up a weak smile. “I suppose I am.”
“And high time, too. Society really ought to be more considerate of an unwed female’s predicament.”
“No one forced me to mourn him,” Harriett retorted a bit more sharply than she’d intended. It earned her a long stare and a raised brow. She softened a little. “I truly grieved his loss.” Did I just say that in the past tense? “I grieve it even now,” she amended.
“Of course you do, darling,” said Lily, all sympathy again. “But come!” She grabbed Harriett’s arm. “Let us peruse the pond and see if we cannot find something worthy of you.”
Harriett let her lead the way, grateful to let someone else pilot for a while the rudderless ship that was now her life. No one else had wanted to be the first to address the almost-bride of Manchester. Now perhaps, with Lily’s help, she could join a conversation without too much awkwardness.
It was her observation that people tended to avoid those either in or having just emerged from mourning, as though grief was a disease they feared to catch. Glances slid away, people excused themselves hurriedly. When they did engage her, they danced around the obvious, making it that much more omnipresent and uncomfortable for all.
“Do you remember Nanette Finchly?” asked her friend.
A snort escaped Harriett’s lips before she could stop it. “Who could forget her?” She looked askance at Lily. “Surely she isn’t here yet? The marrieds don’t usually begin to arrive until later in the evening.”
“She isn’t married yet,” said Lily, smirking. “And I have it on good authority she won’t be any time soon.”
Harriett’s jaw dropped. “But I saw the announcement in—”
“Lord Russell withdrew his suit.”
Her mouth fell open again. “What in heave
n’s name happened? I’ve been buried up to my neck these last few weeks. What did I miss?”
“Everything, as usual,” replied Lily, rolling her eyes. “I nearly came over this week to bring you the news—since I knew you hadn’t heard—but I didn’t wish to burden you further. I know you’ve been frantic with preparations for Cat’s coming out.”
Stopping, Harriett faced her, arms akimbo. “Lily Anne Seymour, I refuse to move from this spot until you tell me everything.”
Her friend grinned. “Well, it’s being said that the severing of their engagement was mutual, of course, but Nanette doesn’t seem to be reacting as though it were. She’s been staring daggers at you since you arrived.” She tilted her head to the right.
Harriett risked a glance. “She looks as though she’d like to have me drawn and quartered.” And she knew why. Lord Russell had at one time been keenly interested in her. So much so that he’d threatened to drown himself in the Thames if she accepted another man’s offer—which, of course, she had. Unsurprisingly, Russell had remained both dry and alive. He’d also remained a bloody nuisance all the way up until William’s death. A man could not court a woman in mourning. “But he cannot have known I would—”
“Darling, there are no secrets in London,” cut in Lily, giving her an arch smile. “Word began to spread the moment you ordered gowns for yourself that weren’t black. I heard the news myself when I went for my last fitting at Fisk’s.”
“You don’t really think—”
“Oh, I do.”
