“If you don’t want to eat, we will sit with Violet and Beatrice. Your elderly companions will then give our sage advice on what is bothering you.”
Violet and Beatrice were the Amble sisters, who now lived with the Duchess of Yardley after their perfidious nephew had kicked them out of their home when he inherited his title.
They were not as terrifying as the duchess but coupled with her could be loud and intimidating when in company like they were this evening. Mary had no wish to be the center of attention in her current mood. In any mood actually. She quite often just found a corner and observed.
“Ah—”
“Move your feet, gal!”
She was dragged to the sofa the two women were sitting on.
“Can we all fit on that?” the duchess asked.
“I think it will be a squeeze, but yes, it could work,” Violet Amble said, moving to the left. Well, she thought it was Violet. It was hard to tell as the sisters looked alike.
“Mary can sit in the middle, as she needs our advice,” the duchess said.
“Does she? How wonderful for you, dear, that we know so much then,” the other sister, Beatrice, said.
Unlike the duchess, the Amble sisters looked regal in ivory. The only difference was one had a rose scarf around her neck and the other lemon.
“Ah, I really do not need your advice, but it is lovely to be in your company of course,” Mary added quickly.
“Mary, I hope you don’t mind if we call you that,” Beatrice or Violet said.
“No indeed.”
“I’m Beatrice,” she added.
“Hello.” Mary found a tight smile.
“Now, if you don’t mind me saying so, my dear, that dress is quite hideous. The duchess wears her hideous clothes as a talking point, but you, Mary, should not,” Violet said.
“What my sister said may sound forward, Mary, but we did not always live this life and vowed that if we did again, we’d take every opportunity to enjoy it. Are you doing that, dear?”
“Doing what?” Mary felt like a cat with her fur rubbed the wrong way. Unsettled and out of control. Mary liked to be in control.
She shot the duchess a look, but she was just nodding.
“You need a new modiste, Mary,” Beatrice added. “I don’t believe your sister wears quite the fashion disasters you do. Does she have a choice?”
Mary knew that Phillipa did indeed have a say in her clothing, whereas Mary had tried and failed to change her mother’s mind about what she wore.
Looking around the room at the elegantly dressed women dancing and chatting, Mary thought she would love to wear gowns like them.
“But your mother has decided that this is how she will outfit you,” Violet added. “Now, take it from us, my dear, it is never wise to stand back and be dictated to. You must be strong.”
Mary laughed. It came out a touch more high-pitched than she’d planned. Almost panicked and bordering on hysterical. Mary was never hysterical, and she blamed it entirely on him. The perfidious Zachariel Deville.Fiend.She was now in this situation because he’d nearly made her cry. Which wasn’t entirely his fault as she’d been rude to him, but his barbs had hit the raw spots inside her tonight.
“Do you wish for change, Mary?” the duchess asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.
“I—pardon?” The thought of new dresses and hairstyles had always been so far beyond her reach she’d never dared to contemplate the notion.
“Change, gal. Are you hard of hearing!” the duchess roared. Clearly she’d imagined her gentle voice.
“Do you believe I would dress like this by choice?” Mary found herself saying.
“It’s my hope you don’t,” Violet said.
