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“I have had the most extraordinary week.” Phoebe made that announcement before Elspeth Weatherby could launch into a recounting of the same gossip Elspeth had shared last week.
And the week before.
Elspeth was not the brightest soul, nor was she welcome in exalted circles—her father had been a mere baron—but she did like to chatter, bless her, and Phoebe had known Elspeth would be making her weekly visit to the village subscription library on Wednesday afternoon.
“Extraordinary, my lady? I heard that your Sybil took Lord Ellenbrook to pay a call on Lady Althea Wentworth. Very gracious of your dear niece, when Lady Althea is such an unknown quantity.”
“Not unknown, my friend.” Phoebe leaned closer, though other than Elspeth, only deaf old Mrs. Peabody occupied the library. “Lady Althea isunaccepted.”
“But Lady Althea goes to Town every spring, and I have it on very good authority that she’s invited everywhere. I have been meaning to call on her, truly I have, especially now that her brother is biding with her.”
Elspeth had two daughters of marriageable age. Of course she’d be inspired to call on Lord Stephen Wentworth when she’d never bothered to more than greet Lady Althea in the churchyard.
“Let’s take a turn on the green, Elspeth.”
Elspeth tossed her book into the returns box. “Such lovely weather today, it would be a shame not to take the air.”
True enough. The village was finally donning spring finery, to the best of its hopelessly rural ability. The window boxes overflowed with heartsease and the walkways were lined with tulips. The row of four giant oaks down the middle of the green was leafing out from the pinkish stage into the luminous hue of new apples.
“Such a pretty time of year,” Elspeth said, linking arms with Phoebe. “And I hope your week was extraordinary in a good way, my lady.”
“Sybil is getting on very well with Lord Ellenbrook. I would not say they are smitten, you understand, but then, young people today are so serious.”
“Lord Ellenbrook seems a most agreeable gentleman.”
“You should invite him and Sybil to dine, Elspeth.” The more a young man was treated as half of a couple, the more he imagined himself as such. “Your girls would find him delightful and Sybil needs the company of other wellborn young ladies.”
“Was that why she called on Lady Althea? She’s growing lonely? Yorkshire is lovely, but it’s not London.”
Elspeth had had a London Season, though her girls had not as yet. Mr. Solomon Weatherby was a wealthy, much-respected solicitor who had the ear of many an influential family, but his choice of profession meant neither he nor his offspring could be presented at court.
Such a pity. Phoebe’s own husband was a solicitor as well, which situation had its consolations, meager though such consolations were.
“Your comment,” Phoebe said, as they rounded the end of the green across from the church, “raises the question of why Lady Althea did not fly south to London as she usually does. I have made inquiries.”
“Inquiries? Do tell.”
The curate waved to them from the church steps. He was a frightfully friendly young man, much in need of the civilizing influence of a wife. As with most curates, he could not afford a wife, alas.
“Like you,” Phoebe said, “I found it curious that the sister of a duke would choose to bide here in dreary old Yorkshire when she’s welcome in Mayfair, but Elspeth, I am shocked to report to you that Lady Altheadid not take. Rather spectacularly.”
Phoebe managed to inject a note of dismay into her tone, as if London had no business turning up its nose at Yorkshire aristocracy.
“Society can be so unfair,” Elspeth replied, “though sometimes, society’s censure is warranted.” A touch of hope colored that last observation.
“I am told Lady Althea’s behavior in London has been above reproach, but the poor woman is simply not suited to genteel entertainments. She’s clumsy, she laughs too loudly, she has no grace with the fan, glove, or parasol, and her dancing has an unnatural quality of enthusiasm.”
Phoebe had made up that last part, though what was clumsiness, besides ungainly enthusiasm? Apparently Phoebe wasn’t the only hostess to consider a judiciously spilled beverage appropriate in Lady Althea’s case.
“We cannot all be paragons,” Elspeth observed as they passed the blacksmith’s shop. The acrid stink of the forge was unavoidable, but must every idle male in the shire stand about chattering and smoking the afternoon away? Several of them touched their hat brims as Phoebe and Elspeth passed, and Elspeth nodded at them in response.
We cannot all be paragons, indeed.“I am inclined to believe that Lady Althea simply met with the natural reception society reserves for the less genteelly reared. She might be a duke’s sister now, but her upbringing was most unfortunate.”
“So I’ve heard,” Elspeth said, “and yet, you won’t seemesnubbing a ducal family. Mr. Weatherby would say they have a way of snubbing you back at the worst moments.”
“Elspeth, I applaud your pragmatism and know you to be the most charitable of women besides. An awkward fit with London society alone should not see a woman judged harshly here in the shires, but then I happened to glimpse Lady Althea on my way home from York the other morning.”
“Was she out riding with Lord Stephen? I’ve heard he manages quite well in the saddle despite his infirmity.”
