And so, lacking the ability to chastise her husband, Lady Best had turned her critical eye on Clarissa.
Clarissa sighed and wilted under her mama’s scrutiny, but would say nothing other than that her mother only wanted the best for her. It seemed none of the earls, baronets, etc. would do – only a marquess or duke, or a future marquess or duke, was good enough for the daughter of Lady Best. So Clarissa remained unwed.
Etta wasn’t on close terms with anyone other than Clarissa, but she soon found out the full story behind theTon’s disgust of Lady Best’s high-handed ways. It seemed being Maria Marley’s enemy could yield as much information as it could being her closest friend.
‘You might want to reconsider your friends,’ whispered Miss Marley, as their mothers gossiped in the park one morning. ‘Everyone knows Lady Best was an …actress… before she met Lord Best and got With Child. She is said to haveblackmailedhim.’
She sounded absolutely scandalised. Perhaps she even was.
‘Well, at least she’s done somethingexcitingwith her life,’ Etta said. ‘Acting is quite a skill. You can’t even act like a pleasant person.’
Their mothers had finished their conversation, so Miss Marley was forced to depart before she could give any kind of reply. Etta smiled as she clocked her wide eyes. She wouldbet any number of first edition Jane Austen novels that Maria was seething.
She turned to her mother, to whom she was feeling closer every day.
‘Mother … Mama. Miss Marley doesn’t seem to like me very much, or Miss Best,’ Etta began.
‘Well, dear, there’s not much to like about Lady Best, that’s for sure. But I really can’t be sure why she would have taken a dislike toyou.’
Etta paused. They hadn’t discussed Hetty’s childhood at all, but this felt like the right time. ‘Mama, the other women my age—’
‘Hardly women, Henrietta. Girls, really.’
‘Yes, well – they seem to think I’m … mad.’
Lady Bainbridge looked over at Etta, eyes suddenly sharp. ‘But you’re not, are you?’
‘No, of course not. But before … Well, I suppose I can understand why people might think I was.’
Her mother seemed to relax at this. ‘You’ve finally grown up, Henrietta, and come out of your shell. It was bound to happen eventually.’
Of course. Denial was not just a river in Egypt, as Etta well knew from these past few weeks. But there was one question she was determined to ask.
‘But they said – they’re all saying Charlie’s the one who’s been spreading it around. Why would he do that?’
Lady Bainbridge looked steadily ahead. ‘That’s a question I shall be asking him directly. Now look at these roses – aren’t they beautiful?’
Etta spent a while considering how she was going to punish Charlie. In the end she decided to confront him head-on. Hetty had not deserved this, and Etta would certainly not tolerate it.
It took a random family dinner at the house of one of her mother’s many interchangeable distant relatives for Etta to decide the exact form of her revenge.
They were at the modest (huge, by Etta’s standards) home of someone who was apparently her Great Aunt Maude, and for once Charlie had been dragged along. It was a golden – and rare – opportunity to pin down her elusive brother, who seemed to spend the vast majority of his time out of the house.
It wasn’t long until Etta discovered why he’d deigned to join them on this occasion. Great Aunt Maude was, despite her dusty and tattered house, ‘rolling in lard’ according to Charlie.
‘Got to do the pretty every now and then so she doesn’t forget us,’ he said.
It was a small gathering – just her mother, her aunt and Charlie – and Etta, who was seated next to Charlie, soon learned that Great Aunt Maude was almost completely deaf, so Etta finally had her brother to herself.
As her mother made painstakingly slow conversation with Great Aunt Maude, who seemed far more interested in her meal than her companions, Etta turned to her brother and gave him a wide, dangerous smile.
‘So good to be able to spend some time with you at last, you absolute arsehole.’
‘Oh, of course – hang on,whatdid you say?’
‘I called you an arsehole, Charlie. For that is what you are. A pestilent boil on the arse of my existence.’
‘Now hold on here—’
