“Neither good breeding nor gentility, it appears.” Lady Bleckingham sniffed. She was too tall and too thin to be beautiful but looked magnificent in silk and gold. A flush of shame shot through Lucy.
“Surely you are mistaken, Mama,” said a gentle voice. “I daresay if she is Lady Arabella’s friend, she must be in possession of gentility and good breeding.” Lady Bleckingham’s daughter, Jane, smiled apologetically at Lucy.
Lady Bleckingham dropped her quizzing glasses. “You are quiteright, Jane. She must be of the Durham Bells. Somewhat impoverished family, but of good stock. It would be inconceivable of Ashmore, of all people, to tolerate anyone who is less than the best of quality to associate with his sister. He would never countenance it. He wouldn’t care to be seen with such a person in the same room, least of all in the same house. I saw once how he cut—in a most magnificent manner—Harriet Westington when she tried to approach him in Drury Lane.”
The group of women gasped collectively.
“You mean—TheHarriet Westington?”
Lady Bleckingham nodded. “The actress. It is commonly known how His Grace would never deign to lower himself to talk to one of her kind.” She bent forward and whispered, “So utterly unrespectable a person.”
Lucy curled her lips and turned away. No wonder the Dowager Duchess didn’t care for such conversations. She liked the dowager and disliked Arabella’s brother somewhat more.
Arabella motioned for Lucy to join her. Lucy crossed the room, attempting not to stumble over her feet, relieved she had something to do, even if it was just walking across the room with half a dozen pairs of eyes on her.
“Lady Whitehall, may I present Miss Lucy Bell, my dearest friend. Miss Eloisa Stilton and her older sister, Miss Emma Stilton. They’re Lady Rawleigh’s nieces.”
Everyone curtsied. The Stilton sisters looked like the two bad stepsisters from the fairy tale. One in garish pink, the other in baby blue, both with bad-tempered, haughty expressions.
But Lady Louisa Whitehall! Goodness, she was beautiful. White silk, white ribbons, white gloves, white satin slippers. Even her blonde hair was light to the border of being silver. She looked like a Meissen porcelain figurine that would be best stored in the china cupboard. Perfect, frail—and cold. So, this was to be the future Duchess of Ashmore. One could not account for tastes, but if the duke had a penchant for that type ofwoman, well. It wasn’t any of her business.
Lady Louisa looked her upand down with watery pale eyes, and Lucy almost triumphed. Ha! Here was an imperfection! Her eyes were too light for warmth, and she had short eyelashes and no eyebrows at all. Her forehead was revoltingly smooth, like a skull.
“How do you do.” Lady Louisa barely nodded at her and then turned back to her conversation with two other ladies, who did likewise. It was not exactly rude behaviour, as they had greeted her, but she still felt snubbed. Suddenly, she was tired of being ignored.
“I’ve some indigestion but otherwise I’m fine, thank you. I probably just need to get more fresh air. Take a walk. Did you enjoy your walk in the wet grass at the Abbey?” She flashed a bright smile at them.
Lady Louisa, who’d considered her interaction with Lucy to be over, turned her head in astonishment. “Walk?”
“Indeed.” Lucy nodded. “It’s so very good for one’s complexion. I daresay you could do with some more fresh air as you seem rather white around the mouth.”
“I beg your pardon?” If looks could freeze, Lucy would be an ice statue now.
“They say fresh air brings some healthy colour to one’s face.”
“So one ends up looking like a farm girl?” Louisa twisted her mouth into a line of disdain.
“That’s always better than having the hue of a corpse, don’t you think?” Lucy put on an innocent look.
The trio gasped.
Arabella’s laughter trilled into the awkward pause. “Lucy and I, we love to walk. There’s nothing better than a natural blush and not having to pinch one’s cheeks to get them to look red.”
“Quite so, Lady Arabella. However, one wouldn’t want to overdo it. It is neither genteel nor attractive to have the reddish complexion of a farmer’s help. This afternoon’s walk,” Louisa wrinkled her dainty white porcelain nose, “was already quitede trop. I ruined my new satin slippers.”
“Oh, I always take along my sunshade,” Arabella said cheerfully. “A shame I couldn’t join you on the outing to the Abbey, but you know, my headache.” She pulled Lucy away.
“Am I white around my mouth?” Louisa asked the other girls.
Lucy stifled a giggle.
“She’s like that with everyone. They’re somewhatexclusive.” Arabella took her arm and walked her to another group. Exclusive! Lucy somehow doubted it. Snobbish was more like it.
“Oh, I wish the men would return from their hunting,” Miss Stilton, the one in the garish pink dress, exclaimed.
“It is quite a bore that His Grace isn’t present – again- for supper.” Viscountess Rawleigh’s enormous purple plume sticking in her turban almost touched the chandeliers when she walked underneath them.
“I daresay he has pressing matters to see to. He is such a busy man.” Aside from Arabella, Miss Jane Weston seemed to be the only sympathetic woman in the entire room.
