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Fanny wasn’t surprised to see the dark shadows beneath her sister’s eyes when she found Antoinette prostrate on a striped chaise longue in the yellow drawing room the day following the grand Christmas Ball.
“I don’t wonder you’re exhausted, my dear,” she remarked, drawing back the curtains to let in a little more of the weak early afternoon sunshine.
“Please, Fanny; I was trying to sleep!” Antoinette exclaimed, sitting up. “I’ve just farewelled our three most vexing guests who insisted on early departures.
“Afternoon departures, nevertheless, Antoinette. Here! Drink this!” Fanny poured them both a cup of tea from the little tea tray resting on the sideboard and handed one to her sister before taking a seat opposite.
The yellow drawing room generally was filled with guests sitting in clusters of chairs arranged artfully around the cavernous space, but this morning, Fanny saw that only Lady Indigo had managed to be up before noon. She was sitting by the fire, a rug over her knees, while Venetia sat at her side, darning yet another of the old woman’s stockings. For it certainly wasn’t a dainty article belonging to a young person.
She checked herself. Since Venetia was again wearing the drab lace cap she favored, so that she bore no resemblance to the radiant creature who had been transformed by Antoinette’s silver net gown the previous evening, perhaps it was her stocking.
“Wasn’t last night the most marvelous success?” Fanny leaned forward, eager to solicit Antoinette’s opinion. “Goodness, there were so many rapturous compliments about the food and the decorations. That alone should bring the color to your cheeks. Come and be merry with me, Antoinette. You do love a good compliment.”
With a groan, her sister straightened before putting down her teacup with a sigh.
“I do. But I’m too exhausted right now to go into any of it.”
“But Antoinette! We had dancing; we had love affairs that were begun. No doubt a few that were ended too, but we won’t know about those, and it doesn’t matter,” she added as an aside. “And we had two betrothal announcements! Miss Libby Wells and her young man, Mr Clayton. They’ve waited more than five years to get her father’s approval. Why, wasn’t it too marvelous?”
“I don’t know, Fanny.” Antoinette yawned before saying with more energy. “Was it marvelous? Maybe it was for Libby. And maybe it is for Arabella. But since I orchestrated neither betrothal, I don’t know how marvelous it can really be.”
“Well, you can’t pretend to know why it didn’t happen!” Fanny said sharply. Since Antoinette’s scandalous behavior had been even more inappropriate than usual—Fanny had heard the story a little while later—she’d been prepared to be charitable; after all, it had precipitated what Fanny considered the most marvelous betrothal news.
But Antoinette was behaving like a spoilt child. “The reason why it didn’t happen was because of your carryings-on with Senor Boticelli,” Fanny went on, and perhaps too loudly, she realized only afterward. “Really, Antoinette. You can’t have it both ways!”
“Oh, all right then! I don’t approve of Arabella’s betrothal, but you think it will make her happy so...good luck to her.”
Fanny was interrupted from making a rejoinder by what she thought was Venetia wishing to say something; but when she glanced at her, the girl looked away as if she had no wish to be noticed. Which was a pity really, because Venetia had the potential to be quite an engaging beauty, if she only took the trouble.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” It was old Mr Wells, stomping into the room and looking surprisingly benign as he was joined by his daughter and prospective son-in-law. “I had intended staying longer, but Libby is anxious to start making preparations and, since I seem to have become too soft in my old age, I shall indulge her.” He scanned the company, nodding at the other ladies. “Didn’t realize how much easier it was to have a happy daughter. But the jury is deliberating,” he added fiercely, turning to Mr Clayton. “You had better keep my Libby happy, otherwise you’ll wish I hadn’t been so lenient in allowing her heart to rule her head.” He turned, paused, then considered Venetia for a long moment.
When he said nothing, and when Venetia simply bowed her head to concentrate on her darning, which Fanny thought a trifle impolite, Fanny interjected brightly, “Venetia looked very lovely last night. It was kind of you to arrange for a gown she could wear.”
The old man harrumphed, still staring pointedly at Venetia, who refused to meet his look. “A trifle. Not nearly as much as she is owed.” He cleared his throat again. “Good luck to you, Venetia. I’m sorry I won’t see you again. It was a great pleasure to be reunited for this short time and...and I’m sorry, young lady.”
Fanny was surprised both by the intensity of his words, but also by the lack of enthusiasm in Venetia’s response when the girl was generally so deferential.
“Good day, Mr Wells.” Venetia hesitated, then added, “Please tell Sebastian I wish him all the best for the future.”
“I’ll do that. He’s seeing to the travel arrangements. Libby and her young man are traveling together, which means Sebastian will bear me company home.”
After murmuring their thanks and compliments, the young couple departed in Mr Wells’s wake, just as the parlormaid entered the drawing room with a silver salver bearing the afternoon’s correspondence.
“This one is for you, Antoinette, from your even more scandal-prone friend, Mrs Brice,” Fanny said, handing her sister a scented letter covered in an elegant scrawl. “I hope you can decipher it, for she seems to have written it in a particularly exuberant mood.”
“And this one is for you, Fanny, from our brother, who no doubt is in need of being bailed out again.” Antoinette traded envelopes, opening her letter as she adopted a pose of great relaxation, turning the pages with a great deal of oohing and aahing.
Until she cried out, “My goodness, Fanny! Mrs Compton has been delivered of her baby! Oh my! A full three months early, Mrs Brice tells me! No one was expecting it, least of all Mrs Compton’s husband. He’s livid, apparently!”
“Really Antoinette, this is not the place…” Fanny tried to remonstrate with her sister, who now had her hands to her cheeks and was laughing, while Lady Indigo stamped her cane on the floorboards and demanded to know what was so amusing.
Not surprisingly, Venetia continued to sew with stolid determination, looking like she barely cared what the excitement was about. Restrained at the best of times, the girl looked like she was inhabiting a different plane today. Poor thing. There was no fire in her, Fanny decided. No wonder the gentlemen didn’t take to her if she showed such habitual lack of enthusiasm.
“It’s too shocking, Lady Indigo,” Fanny said, reluctantly returning her attention to Lady Indigo who continued to demand that she be apprised of the facts. She was embarrassed to be asked to divulge the details to a no-doubt disapproving old woman, much less an innocent young lady like Venetia. Not that Venetia looked like she was paying attention.
“Shocking it no doubt would be if you’re talking about that...designing creature, Mrs Compton.” Lady Indigo appeared to be shaking with rage, and Fanny watched, fascinated by the way her hands shook, and her nostrils flared. “Is it the same woman? I don’t wonder her husband wanted to divorce her! Oh, but she likes the gentlemen!”
Fanny saw that Antoinette, like herself, was taken aback by the extent of Lady Indigo’s spleen.
