‘Thank you so much, Hargreaves,’ Phoebe replied gratefully, ushering her sister towards the drawing room and closing the door.
‘In truth, I’m not sure who’s looking forward to Aunt Higglestone’s arrival more, Hargreaves or myfurious French cook!’ She added with a chuckle.
Yet Sophie was far too distracted by the impressive receiving room to give Phoebe an answer.
‘Oh gracious, Phoebe!’ Sophie gasped, darting forward to inspect the floral displays crowding every available surface.
‘Gracious indeed!’ Phoebe returned admiringly, ‘Hargreaves mentioned some deliveries but I certainly didn't expect Kew Gardens.
‘Congratulations dearest, I thought your dance card filled quickly at the Beaumont Ball!’
Sophie whirled to face her sister, her eyes aglow with excitement.
‘Yes, butallthe debutantes had full dance cards! I guess this just means that…’
‘Yours filled fastest?’ Phoebe laughed, walking forward to pick up the nearest calling card.
‘The Covent Garden Flower Sellers extend their compliments to the “newest toast of the season”!’ she read aloud, before leaning forwards to sniff some pale pink tulips.
‘They’re so very beautiful!’ Sophie exclaimed rapturously, darting forward to pick up another of the accompanying cards.
‘My goodness, there must be fifty ivory rose stems in this vase alone! “With the compliments of Lord Endercott”,’ she read aloud, before pulling a face.
‘Itisvery generous,’ Phoebe reminded her.
‘That may be, but Isabella says he spends every weekend at prizefights, with rarely a win to show for it.’ Sophie wrinkled her nose. ‘And he has dubious whiskers,’ she added. ‘But just look, Phoebe,’ she said, before her sister found some other redeeming feature to promote. ‘Surelyoneof these must wish for a real love match? I can’t believe that all these blooms indicate is a desire to marry sensibly– though many could be forgiven for thinking that is all a Fairfax requires with Thomas at the helm.’
‘Dearest, you know a Fairfax can look?—’
‘I must write and tell Aunt Higglestone at once!’ Sophie declared, interrupting her sister’s ready list of reasons why a Fairfax could marry anyone at all. And wouldn’t Mama be in rhapsodies?!’
‘With the flowers, or your talent for hypnotising their senders?’ Phoebe smiled in defeat.
She settled on her favourite window seat, and placed a small pile of post on her silk lavender skirts.
‘In truth, Mama would have expected nothing less. She always said you couldn’t have been “born so pretty without good reason”. Phoebe imitated their mama’s indulgent tone perfectly, and they both started to laugh.
‘Though I’m certain Aunt Higglestone will be beside herself, when she hears of your success,’ she added kindly. ‘In truth, I had no idea there werequiteso many hopeful bachelors in London, although only one, it appears, with the sense to pick a flower that actually blooms in March!’
Phoebe leaned forward to pick a card out of the most modest affair in the room; a pretty arrangement of budding daffodils, tied with a matching ribbon. ‘“For the flower that puts these in the shade, Sir George Weston”,’ she read aloud, her brow wrinkling. ‘I will never understand the need for such laboured sentiment though. When will gentlemen learn we are no more flowers or songbirds than they are?’
‘Well, I happen to think it’s romantic,’ Sophie replied with a smile, taking a seat on a gold jacquard chaise longue.
‘And you haven’t so much as a milk stool to stand upon anyway. I’ve seen the nauseating notes Alexander leaves for you.’ Sophie paused to clutch her hands to the corset of her pink muslin dress overlaid with flounces of pale chiffon that complemented her fair complexion perfectly. ‘“I’m counting the hours… no minutes—in fact, make that seconds my love—until I can gaze upon you—Actually, why is there always so much gazing in love? We were always taught it’s rude to stare!’
‘Sophie!’ Phoebe squeaked, throwing a cushion embroidered with a peacock at her laughing sister. ‘Need I remind you that anything addressed to me isprivate? My letters and notes aren’t for your eyes– or anyone else’s, especially considering you’re…’
‘A debutante?’ Sophie finished, rolling her eyes.
‘Need I remindyouthat you’ve only been married for a few short weeks yourself Phoebe Fairfax, so don’t go acting like an old married lady of the ton with me! Besides, what am I supposed to do when the pair of you carry on like lovelorn heroes in your very own novel?’ She tucked the cushion beneath her with a long sigh. ‘An advantageous love match, fine houses in the town and country, a high-perch phaeton with lavender seatsanda ridiculously romantic husband… Quite frankly Phoebe, if you weren’t my sister, I might have disowned you already!’
‘Promises!’ Phoebe retorted.
‘And you still haven't shared any particularlylevellingaspects of matrimony with me either.’
Phoebe sighed at her persistent sister. As the eldest Fairfax girl, she was certainly no prude, but she also drew a line at describing the intimacies of marriage to an inquisitive sister who was not long out in society.
‘Sophie,’ she tried to reason. ‘You know it’s not appropriate for me to say, and besides, you’re about as reliable as a parasol in winter!’
