Esmée pressed her paper flowers to her nose in a fit of whimsy. Just ahead were Eliza and her friends, returning to tea at the Cheverton townhouse. They’d had a delightful stroll about town, mindful winter would soon set in with an icy vengeance. The autumn wind was rising, pressing against them as they passed Bruton Parish Church and continued toward Nassau Street. Eliza was laughing, spirits high on so lovely an afternoon.
Esmée warmed to the sound after a fretful two days. Upon her arrival, her sister was complaining of pains and the physic was sent for. With the baby not due till January, any trouble was unwelcome. Still, Eliza had insisted on entertaining friends and walking about and now presiding over tea. She waited on the steps for Esmée to catch up as her guests went over the threshold into the townhouse.
“Sister, how you dally!” Appearing amused and exasperated, Eliza gestured her inside, clearly ready to sit down. “What fuss over paper flowers!”
All six ladies swarmed into the parlor like colorful butterflies, removing hats and gloves before settling around a tea table. Esmée felt like the odd woman out. The present company did not make her feelunwelcome, but neither had they common ground, with their talk of parties and French fashion and the latest gossip to be had.
“What have you in hand there?” Lady Griffin asked her, leaning in and enveloping Esmée in a cloud of toilet water.
“Paper carnations and roses.” Esmée held them out so she could see the painstaking care with which they were crafted.
“Clever.” On Esmée’s other side, Miss Cartwright wrinkled her pale nose. “But I prefer silk flowers from the milliner. Nothing so common as paper.”
“Common? ’Tis artistry to me,” Esmée replied. “Look at the parts of the flower from stamen to petals, all dyed such lovely hues. The child—Lottie is her name—would make a botanist proud. I asked her for a whole nosegay of them to last me through the winter.”
“Well, they shan’t wilt, truly,” Lady Griffin said with a chuckle, eyes on the refreshments being brought into the room. “Though I fancy they won’t retain their color either.”
Across the table, the governor’s eldest daughter, Rebecca Dinwiddie, took out her fan. “The flowers are lovely, though I’d rather talk chocolate, Miss Shaw. Your sister says you may well open a shop right here in Williamsburg.”
Esmée opened her mouth to naysay it once again, then bit her tongue lest it only stir up Eliza’s zeal for the plan. Would her sister never let go of the notion?
Eliza simply smiled, pouring tea into prewarmed cups for those who wanted it, making a great show of it with her Wedgwood tea service. The maid stood by with a porcelain chocolate pot new to Esmée, twisting the molinet between her hands to blend the beverage.
“Enough about chocolate,” Miss Cartwright said, her color high. “You know what’s said.”
“Indeed, I do,” Lady Griffin replied. “The fair sex is to be particularly careful how they meddle with romances, chocolate, novels, and the like.”
“TheVirginia Almanac, for one.” Miss Cartwright’s capped head bobbed. “Especially in the spring, as those inflamers are very dangerous.”
“My dear sister, which is your preference?” Eliza asked, clearly amused by the conversation. “The very tepid-in-reputation tea? Or the more passionate and provoking hot chocolate?”
Esmée replied unashamedly, “Chocolate, please.”
Smiling, Miss Dinwiddie raised her own chocolate cup. “I’m especially partial to Shaw’s dark cocoa with orange essence, as is my father.”
“Speaking of your father, our respected governor”—Lady Griffin fingered the opal choker about her neck—“do tell us about the next function he and your mother are rumored to be planning.”
“Indeed, the new ballroom and supper room will host a splendid assembly this January.”
“A holiday ball?” Miss Marriot exclaimed. “Enchanting!”
“Miss Shaw, will you join us, or have you other reasons to stay in York?” Miss Dinwiddie asked.
Another assembly. The frivolous cost of which could feed and clothe the almshouse till next Christmastide. What could Esmée say to this?
Judge not that ye be not judged.
Eliza pouted when Esmée failed to answer. “I shan’t attend, for obvious reasons.”
A tittering of sympathy went round the circle. Esmée sipped from her cup in silence, glad the conversation had gone another, less inflammatory direction. In the foyer she could hear her father and Quinn about to go out. They’d been summoned to the palace. Some sort of meeting that involved maritime matters. They wouldn’t return till after supper, they’d said that morn, which left her and Eliza to their own devices.
“And you, Miss Shaw?” Lady Griffin seemed determined that Esmée answer. “Are you not fond of dancing? I believe I saw you at Lady Lightfoot’s ball. And in the company of Captain Lennox, I daresay.”
The room stilled. The ladies were looking at her over the rims of their cups. Heat climbed from Esmée’s tightly laced stays to her powderless cheekbones. What could she say?
Eliza set her cup down. “My sister and Captain Lennox do not belong in the same sentence. They simply happened to be thrust together at Lady Lightfoot’s table and later when dancing.”
“Quite a shame, as he is soveryeligible,” Lady Griffin whispered, brows arched as if privy to inside information. “Though his detractors are many.”
