Mama’s expression hardened. “How dare you make such an accusation? You will not be dining with us at the Weatherby’s tomorrow night. As far as they’re concerned, you have caught a cold.” Her eyes shifted to the leaves of music on the ground around the pianoforte. “And clean that up.”
I stood back, fighting a victorious smirk. Mama left the room shortly after, and Clara bent over the sheets of music, blinking back tears. Rain continued its patter against the roof, but Clara remained silent. I moved across the room until I stood beside her, picking up a page from the floor and extending it in her direction. I was notentirelyvicious.
Slowly, Clara lifted her gaze to mine. Her anger had faded into the depths of something heavier, a look I couldn’t quite place. But it did little to dishevel me. Mama had taught me that eliminating the enemy could mean many things. It was a war of sorts, and securing a husband of rank and fortune required an extensive arsenal. I figured that infliction upon family was merely part of the game. Mr. Weatherby had indeed seemed to favor Clara—which was quite difficult to comprehend.
I smiled at my sister in the dim light. “Forgive me if I steal his heart.” Then I turned away from her and smoothed back the golden curls that had fallen over my brow.
As I walked away, I yelled for Anna, my maid. It was late, and husband-catching required a plentiful night’s sleep. Just months before, my dearest friend Alice had captured the attention of my husband of choice, and a short time before that, a plain girl had stolen the heir to Willowbourne from me. I was tired of losing. My chest felt tight, my pulse beating fast. How many more opportunities would I have? How long would it take before Mama gave up on me?
I could not allow Clara to steal Mr. Weatherby. He was one of Mama’s top choices for her daughters, and I couldn’t bearthe thought of disappointing her again. Flirting came naturally to Lyons women, and if I was to win the heart of Harold Weatherby, then tomorrow night I would employ that great weapon to my advantage.
At breakfast, I pushed the food around my plate and stared out the tall windows. The rain had finally stopped, and tiny streaks of sunlight broke through the dark sky. I took a nibble of a biscuit, shifting my eyes between Mama and Clara.
“Where is Papa?” I asked, my voice nonchalant. “Was he not scheduled to return early this morning?”
Mama released a slow breath and straightened the pendant at her neck. It was a miniature of her own mother, who looked more like me than Mama did. We both had the same golden curls and pale blue eyes. I had determined that my skin was fairer though, because an artist rarely depicts blemishes.
When Mama’s breath was all the way out, she held it. “Yes, he was due to arrive.”
I studied her stoic expression. “I wonder what has delayed him.”
Clara looked up from her plate. Her puffy eyes avoided contact with mine. “Don’t you worry about him?”
Mama lifted her chin and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “What you must learn is that in a marriage, settlements must be made. Your father and I have agreed to allow one another a sense of freedom. What your father does or does not do is none of my concern.” She sipped from her cup. “He will arrive when he sees fit.”
I made a note in my mind of her words.
Clara’s scowl deepened. “He has been in London for months now. Don’t you wonder?—”
“Enough!” Mama barely concealed her glare. “A woman is much better off keeping out of her husband’s business. The same is true for her silly daughters.” After taking a huffed breath, Mama turned her attention to me. “Is your piece prepared for the dinner party this evening?”
I nodded. “I shall play more beautifully than any other lady there, I assure you.”
Mama clucked her tongue and folded her napkin into a neat square. “You must do far more than that if you wish to win Mr. Weatherby, Charlotte. Many eyes are trained on him. You must turn his to you.”
“I will, Mama. Your daughter will be the mistress of Candleworth Manor.” I chuckled deeply at the thought. “I will becomeCharlotte Weatherby. It sounds lovely, does it not?”
She shrugged. “I would prefer that you obtain a title…but he is wealthy. I suppose it will have to do.”
My face fell.
“Clara will be my last hope of further connections to theton.”
As soon as she said the words, I burst into giggles.What a preposterous idea.Mama soon joined me, our laughter cutting the air like birdcalls. Clara shifted uncomfortably at her isolated corner of the table.
“Regardless of your success with Mr. Weatherby, I trust that you, Charlotte, will make an advantageous match. And what I ask of you, Clara, is that you…surprise me. Impress me if possible.”
My sister’s grip tightened on her fork before she scraped the final scraps of food from her plate and excused herself to the gardens.
Finishing my food, I watched Clara’s retreating form out the window. She spent an unhealthy amount of time out of doors.I made it a firm endeavor never to spend more than one hour susceptible to sunlight or wind, even with my parasol. It was alarming the damage nature could do to a complexion.
There were still several hours before I needed to get ready for the dinner party, so I wandered the house, trying to decide on an entertaining pastime. The music room was available. And so was the library, but nothing intrigued me. With the dinner party approaching that evening, I found it impossible to focus on anything else. My nerves heightened, twisting my stomach as I entered my bedchamber.
Anna, my maid, kept the room in acceptable condition. She had replaced my inkwell, I noticed, and the stains were scrubbed clean from my writing desk. I sat down in the chair and placed a sheet of foolscap in front of me. Picking up the quill, I rubbed the plume over my lips, thinking.
At the party tonight would be several guests, similar in rank to me, and comparable in accomplishment. Every lady would be vying for Mr. Weatherby’s attention. If I was to win, I needed a plan.
I dipped the quill and positioned it at the top of the page. I would start with what I’d been taught.
