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Ezra laughed softly to himself and turned his own gaze to the three very thin letters left to him. Two revealed handwriting so well known to him, there was no need to open the letters and read the name at the bottom. The first was from his man of business and the second from an old friend. But the third caught his eye.
He reached for it and picked it up between two fingers. He didn’t recognize the handwriting at all. More still, it looked quite feminine. Why the blazes would a woman write him?
He studied the words closer and sighed. Lowering it, but not dropping the letter completely, he stared over at Frances. “You missed one.”
“Oh?” Her eyes never left the letter she was currently inhaling. “Who’s it from?”
Ezra turned the letter over, but there was no name other than his sister’s. He broke the seal and shook it open. His gaze jumped to the bottom. “Miss Grace Stewart,” he read aloud.
Frances said nothing. Ezra lifted his eyes and looked at her over the top of the letter. All her focus was still upon the letter in her hands.
“Frances?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
He held the letter out toward her. “Miss Stewart has also written you.”
“All right.” She still did not look up.
Ezra waited a minute, but when his sister placed the letter she had been reading aside and took up the next one, he shook the one he held in her direction. “Frances.”
“What?” Her tone was instantly high-pitched and annoyed.
“Miss Stewart has also written you.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor, and she shrugged, angling away from him a bit. “And what if she has?”
Ezra’s brow creased. Frances seemed not the least bit interested in reading what one of her friends had to say, which was odd in the extreme.
He thought back on the many ladies Frances had collected as friends. Had he been introduced to Miss Stewart before? No, he didn’t believe so. He may not have felt comfortable speaking much around others, but he almost never forgot a name. He hadn’t been introduced to her, but now that he thought about it, he was certain she’d been pointed out to him once. He’d been standing across the room at the opera. It was during intermission, and he’d gone to get refreshments for himself, Frances, and Mother. A rather pretty young lady had smiled their direction and Frances had smiled back, then identified the woman as Miss Stewart.
At the time, he’d been rather overwhelmed at being in the middle of a veritable crush, but now that he thought back on the night, it struck him as odd that Frances, for once, had not rushed off to greet an acquaintance. He leaned forward, his eyes on his sister, and tapped the letter gently against his lips. Did she not like this Miss Stewart? He’d only seen her for the briefest of moments, but there had been nothing haughty or arrogant in Miss Stewart’s expression, at least not that he’d noticed.
“Then I take it,” Ezra said, his words coming out slowly, “that you are not on friendly terms with Miss Stewart?”
“I didn’t say that, exactly.” Frances was on the last letter in her stack; she’d rushed through them far too fast to enjoy any of the carefully written words.
“Is she an unkind woman?”
Frances let out what sounded surprisingly like a snort and looked his direction for the first time in many minutes. “Why do you care?”
Ezra held up his hands. “I only want to know why this letter is not to be devoured with the rest.”
“Ezra.” Frances swung his direction and spoke in her “mother voice,” the one she used whenever she believed he was being particularly dense and needed the most rudimentary aspects of life explained to him. “She isMissStewart. I would think the answer is obvious. Her father may be a gentleman, but there hasn’t been a title in their family as far back as Alexander the Great. She was raised in the country with little or no society about. I’ve seen her wear the same dress two or three times at least. Her performance on the pianoforte desperately needs polishing, and her dancing is hardly graceful. She is not at all the kind of lady with whom one wishes to be associated.”
Ezra was dumbfounded.
Granted, he could never be called a man of many words, but this was different. He didn’t remain silent now because he was nervous or among strangers. He remained silent because he had never known his sister’s vanity to extend so far.
“Are you saying,” he said, “that because Miss Stewart is not likely to propel you upward among society and provide you with promising connections, you won’t even take five minutes to respond to a letter from her?”
“If you care so much, why don’tyouwrite her?”
“What utter rot.” He couldn’t believe Frances was turning her nose up in such a way. “Very well.” He shook the letter out again and held it open with both hands. “If you can’t be bothered to read Miss Stewart’s letter yourself, I shall have to read it to you.”
Frances only coughed out a disbelieving chortle.
“Lady Frances,” Ezra began. “It has only been a single week since I left London, and I find myself quite conflicted over being back home. I do miss you and several other ladies of our acquaintance there, but I cannot help but confess I find it a relief to be away from the crushes and ever-judgmental stares. How hard it always was to find the right thing to say, the right topic of conversation. You were always so much better at that sort of thing than I.”
