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“How are things between you?” she asked.
I licked my spoon, determined to get every last morsel of the cool iced confection. “Strange.”
“Is he still disappointed that you misjudged him?”
“I feel as though we’ve moved past disappointment, but I don’t know what we’ve moved on to. Whatever it is, it’s not the same. I miss him. His friendship, I mean.”
“And I’m sure he misses you.”
“You mean my friendship.”
“That too.”
The dinner partythat night was a more intimate affair than the recent ones we’d attended. It was hosted by the Digbys, good friends of my aunt and uncle, and included other mutual family friends. Although the adult children were approximately the same age as Flossy, Floyd and me, no one was attempting to pair us off in marriage, although they’d once tried to match me to Edward Caldicott. They’d failed and not tried again. Without that pressure, we were able to enjoy a more relaxed dinner.
Even so, Aunt Lilian must have taken some of her tonic before we left. She was bright-eyed and alert, her conversation free-flowing, her laughter infectious. Small things gave away her overuse, however—the busy fingers toying with her pearls, the twitch of facial muscles, the dilated pupils.
The alertness didn’t last long. By the time the women retired to the drawing room, she was listless, her energy waning, and the smiles were nowhere in sight. She refused to entertain an early departure, however, dismissing my suggestion with an irritated click of her tongue.
I joined Flossy and some of the younger women. Now that we were alone, without the hovering mothers and aunts, and after wine had loosened tongues, they were more inclined to gossip about girls they knew, and the gentlemen they liked.
Since they’d all liked Vernon Rigg-Lyon, and had begun to hear the stories whispered about him now that he was gone, the conversation soon gravitated in that direction. Flossy, bless her, encouraged it.
“I heard Miss Rivera, his mistress, showed up at the funeral,” she said with the self-important air of someone with knowledge of a good secret.
Cora Druitt-Poore gasped. “How terribly gauche.”
“Perhaps she remained outside.” Flossy shrugged. “The point is, she was there.”
Felicity Digby lifted a teacup to lips tilted with a sly smile, drawing everyone’s attention. “I heard several girls were there, crying as if they’d lost their one true love.” She lowered her voice. “Some were girls from good families; girls we know.”
I found myself leaning closer, along with the rest of the group.
“Who else was crying?” whispered Cora. “Don’t keep it to yourself, Felicity. Tell us.”
Cora’s younger sister, Mary, looked like she’d stopped breathing, she was so keen to know. “Yes, youmustsay, Felicity.”
“Victoria Canning,” Felicity said. “Harriet Winterbottom, and Anne Dunkley.”
A collective gasp from the group drew the attention of the mothers and aunts. All remained seated on the other side of the drawing room, however, except for Mrs. Mannering, eldest daughter of Lady Caldicott. Being married, she tended to gravitate towards her mother’s group of friends, but she was only a few years older than me, and sometimes she joined the younger set. Of all the daughters of Aunt Lilian’s friends, I found her the most sensible.
She wanted to know what we were gossiping about, so Flossy told her.
She promptly sat on the sofa, her grave face a contrast to those of the giggling girls around us.
“What is it?” I asked her.
She glanced at the group of older women, but they’d resumed their own discussion and paid us no mind. “Vernon Rigg-Lyon was an awful man. I was as guilty as anyone of placing him on a pedestal when he was alive, but now I’ve learned a few truths and I’ve changed my opinion of him.”
“What truths?” Cora asked.
Mrs. Mannering spread her fingers across her lap. “He took advantage of young ladies.”
“Who?” Flossy blurted out.
“It’s not my place to say.”
Mary gasped. “It was those girls who were crying at the funeral, wasn’t it?”
