It took quite some time.
The poet was reciting his long poem about the Battle of the Plains of Abraham. Ariana found any warlike topic unpleasant and this was made worse by a dramatic deliverance. Had the plump poet ever raised a weapon with intent in his life?
Finally the reading ended with a celebration of General Wolfe, who’d won the battle, but died in the fighting. After applause people rose to move about and perhaps go in search of refreshments. Ariana moved in on her brother’s party.
“Somewhat bloodthirsty,” she said.
“Stirs the blood!” declared Mifflin-Pole, causing Miss Weathersted to look at him adoringly. She was probablyjust the sort to unthinkingly urge her lover or even her husband off to the fray. Ariana truly did not want her for a sister-in-law, but if she was Norris’s choice, so be it.
Lady Phyllis said, “Though I respect our gallant soldiers who saved us from Napoleon, I don’t think it quite right to celebrate battle and death in such a way.”
“I say,” Mifflin-Pole objected. “What of Waterloo? Worthy of celebration, eh?”
“I think Lord Byron’s reflections on Waterloo much more deeply considered.” She spoke as quietly as she looked, but with clarity and purpose.
“Byron! That blaggard was a supporter of Napoleon!”
Norris intervened, annoyed, and with reason. “No need for that tone, old fellow. Especially with a lady.”
Mifflin-Pole flushed and apologized. “Carried away. Forgot myself.”
Lady Phyllis didn’t seem upset, but Ariana wanted to give her some support, especially as she agreed with her.
“Battle is battle,” she said, “no matter who has the right or wrong, or who is victorious. It is a bloody business and inherently tragic.”
To her surprise, Norris chimed in again to support her. “Didn’t Wellington say something about there being nothing worse than a battle won than a battle lost? Or something like that?”
He’d mangled it, but caught the gist.
“He did,” Ariana said, “and he would know.”
Miss Weathersted, clearly bored, said, “Weren’t we going to the refreshments?” She addressed that to Norris, so she knew what she wanted.
Ariana moved between her brother and Lady Phyllis, which put Lady Phyllis in the natural position to partner Mifflin-Pole. But Mifflin-Pole sidestepped to offer his arm to Miss Weathersted, and Norris did nothing toprevent it! Then Norris had no choice but to politely partner Lady Phyllis.
Ariana watched the two couples leave the room. Of all his many faults, she’d never suspected her brother of such spinelessness. Miss Weathersted was his for the taking, but he wasn’t taking command. Kynaston would never allow such...
No, she would not think of him.
A young lady sat at the harp. Ariana was in no mood for twanging strings, so she left. She was in no mood for company, either, and when she found her mother’s boudoir empty, she sat there to collect her thoughts.
Norris would be regretting his spinelessness by now and that should impel him to be more forceful later. Mifflin-Pole was supposed to be a friend. A word to him should sort it out, because Ariana had seen no sign that Mifflin-Pole was in love with anyone. He probably simply hadn’t wanted to partner Lady Phyllis because of her serious mind and lamentable appearance.
Lady Phyllis’s gown tonight was a particularly ugly shade of gray and excessively full and shapeless in the skirt so as to conceal any hint of her curves. It was equally nunlike in the bodice, which ended tightly around her neck with only a slender white frill for ornament.
How painful it must have been to have an Adonis for a brother and none of his looks or charm. She didn’t even have his curls. Ariana had always been grateful not to have to use a curling iron, but if she had such straight hair, she would. Everyone wore curls around the face these days. Everyone. Why wasn’t someone advising the girl about these things? Where was Mrs. Manners? Probably somewhere with North, neglecting her duties. Even Lady Cawle had failed to take the girl in hand.
Ariana realized her fretfulness rose from the lingering hurt of her first experience of London. Nothing could have altered her height, but she could have been more attractively dressed. Lady Phyllis would never be a beauty, but she could show much better than she did.
She remembered what the girl had said of her family. Her mother had been the earl’s second wife, and Kynaston’s father had died when Kynaston was quite young. About ten, she thought. Then Phyllis’s mother had remarried and, it seemed, abandoned her daughter at Delacorte.
It must have been a sad situation, but Phyllis had said her half brother kept an eye on her. That had been kind, but as he’d reached adulthood, he’d abandoned her, in particular by traveling abroad and neglecting all his responsibilities. Poor girl. But Kynaston was back in England now, and no matter how short of funds he was, he should spend on his sister, especially when he himself was dressing finely.
As if summoned, he entered the room. “More trouble?”
She regarded him wearily rather than with anger. “You said you’d cease your interference.”
“On the matter of your marriage. From your dismal pose I thought something was amiss with the entertainment.”
