“Mellie! Mellie, is that you? Come here at once!”
Amelia froze and glowered at her feet, cursing memories and her new, too-large shoes for apprising her eldest sister of her presence. She may have also cursed that sister for hearing her, not that she’d ever admit to that.
“Yes, Edith? Whatever do you need?” Amelia called without moving, except maybe to shuffle her feet ungracefully an inch or two away from the drawing room.
“Oh, come here, Mellie. No need to disturb all of London for a small chat.” Edith sounded particularly cranky today. What luck.
Amelia and her too-large shoes made their way down the hall, leaving nostalgia behind. Edith’s demanding voice had cleared her mind of that sentimentality.
In far too few steps, Amelia reached the drawing room. Her sisters sat primly on the golden couch in the middle of the room surrounded by floral arrangements, dark hair piled atop their similar faces and clear blue eyes focused on her entrance.
Where the twins were striking, Amelia was forgettable. With hair that could not decide if it wished to be dark or light, eyes that could not settle between blue or green, and height that allowed her to be overlooked entirely if the viewer were above five and a half feet. As if that were not enough, her sisters often helped her remember her scars—hidden though they were beneath Amelia’s high-necked dresses.
Amelia stamped down her poor self-evaluation and met Edith’s eyes.
“Well, that certainly took you long enough,” Edith drolled. Then her eyes floated down Amelia’s person. “And that is not one of the new dresses we had made. Is it, Henrietta?”
Henrietta glanced at her twin, then back at Amelia, brows knit together as she swept the youngest sister with her gaze. “No, it does not appear to be.”
Was every conversation they were to have this Season destined to be about Amelia’s attire? She held in a sigh and could just read the note on the floral arrangement closest to her:
To the woman with ebony hair and eyes as blue as the sky. Yours, Sir Frederick.
The admirer could be referencing either of her sisters with that description, but it was almost certainly for Edith. The flowers were always for Edith.
“Mellie, are you even listening?” Edith huffed.
Amelia winced, less at Edith’s ire as at that horrid nickname her sisters insisted on calling her. Mellie. It was a mere sound fromsmellyand was always said with the same disgust.
“Of course I am. You disapprove of my dress.”
Edith pulled her cheeks in, making her features even sharper. “Yes. I had thought you rid yourself of those terrible things. It is quite terrible, is it not, Henrietta?”
Henrietta’s eyes slid the length of Amelia’s dress again. “Your others are so much more beautiful.” There was a great deal of passion behind her words, and she glanced to Edith after speaking as if to confirm she had gotten it right. Edith did not spare her a glance, eyes narrowing on Amelia instead.
“Yes, much more beautiful,” Edith confirmed.
That was not true in the least. The dresses Edith had ordered for Amelia were overly flounced and in hues that clashed horribly with her coloring. And then there were the shoes, at least a size too large despite the shoemaker having measured them precisely. The thought had crossed Amelia’s mind that her wardrobe had been purposely undermined by Edith, but she had no proof of it. Only the knowledge that Edith had grown more and more sour toward Amelia in past years.
Still, vexing her oldest sister would not do. “You will see I wore my new shoes,” Amelia peeked her half boots out from under her skirts. Ridiculous, overlarge things. “And regarding my dress, I did not wish to sully one of my nicer ones.” A plausible reason.
“What were you doing that you may sully your clothes, Mellie?” Edith said, retaking control of the conversation as she did.
Drat.“Well...”
Edith pounced on her lack of response as a lion might on its prey, except, perhaps, with more gusto. “We spoke of this, Mellie. You are no longer in the country. This is your first Season, and youmustmake a good impression if you wish to marry well. And it will already be difficult enough for you. With... everything.” Her lips pursed as she indicated Amelia’s neck.
“Neither of you have married after two Seasons.” Amelia could not help the goading remark, though she regretted it immediately. The very room seemed to darken with Edith’s withering stare.
“I, personally, have received no fewer than five declarations of love, two requests for courtship, and even an unsolicited proposal. But as you are well aware, I will not marry lower than a marquess or heir to such. There is only one such gentleman of an eligible age, and he has yet to arrive for the Season.” Edith’s words were clipped, forceful, and said in no uncertain terms that this line of commentary would not again be allowed.
Then, as unpredictable as the weather surrounding their country estate, Edith’s expression cleared. It was replaced with a placid smile. She extended a graceful arm, indicating Amelia should sit.
Amelia hesitated only a moment before complying, her pale-blue morning dress contrasting nicely with the golden couch. The dress was one of her favorites—likely because it did not have an overabundance of lace and flounces.
Edith raised an eyebrow at Amelia, and Henrietta hurried to mimic the expression, forever trailing after the sister who was less than a quarter of an hour older.
Inwardly sighing, Amelia prepared for a lecture. If she did not interrupt, she may escape quickly. She might have been able to quit the room already, had she not allowed her tongue to get away from her.
