“It wouldn’t be so tight if you stopped eating so many sweets.”
The line advanced as footmen led the guests through the gabled doors. A maid took their cloaks and smoothed out their skirts before handing their calling cards to a haughty butler, who raised an eyebrow at Eliza before ushering them into the receiving room. An escort came forward and took her elbow, leading her over the threshold of a half-timbered drawing room blazing with electric chandeliers.
“Miss Elizabeth Sullivan, grandniece of the late Lady Sherbourne. From America,” the butler announced in a booming voice.
Eliza snapped her fan shut, took a deep breath, and stepped forward. Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing at once. Monocles were raised, men coughed, and women whispered to one another. Her heart fluttered like an insect trapped in a jar.
Remember to smile, you look so unpleasant when you do not.Her mother’s voice was a ghost in her head, harsh and cutting as the posture board she’d fashioned to the back of Eliza’s chair, knife points ready to dig into her shoulder blades if she slouched.Mon Dieu, cher! Keep your blessed back straight.
Liveried servants stood at attention all along the red-and-gold-carpeted floor, presenting trays of champagne. A quartet playedatmospheric music at just the right volume to accompany conversation. Gardenias spilled from vases set upon plinths of marble, perfuming the air. The bouquet of colorful ball gowns streaming through the room was a decadent sight.
Eliza thanked her escort and made her way toward Polly Whitby, who was chattering away with a stunning woman dressed in violet shantung, her dark hair braided into a high crown over her valentine of a face. They turned as one. “Miss Sullivan.” Polly’s gaze raked over Eliza’s gown, pausing on the circlet of diamonds around her neck. “My, but you do show up well.”
Eliza inclined her head. “Miss Whitby. You look lovely yourself.” And she did, although Polly’s mauve concoction, with its exaggeratedballonsleeves and ruffled bodice, was decidedly four seasons outdated.
The dark-haired woman tilted her pointed chin to Eliza and offered her hand. “Una Moseley. Pleasure. Our men will be agog. Americans rarely come to Cheltenbridge.”
“Miss Moseley, you are too kind. But I assure you, American or not, I’m nothing extraordinary.”
Una’s brown eyes narrowed, though the crisply etched line of her pink mouth never wavered from a smile. “Indeed.”
Lydia was introduced and joined them, her escort placing a saucer of champagne in her gloved hand as he took his leave. Eliza noted the slight tremor as Lydia lifted her glass to her lips. She wrapped a comforting arm around her sister’s waist. Large gatherings among strangers always rattled Lydia.
“So, there’s two of you. Polly, you didn’t tell methat.” Una smirked, studying Lydia. “And this one’s even more exotic. What hope will the humble maidens of Hampshire have now?” Any pretense of friendliness had gone. There was nothing but icy disdain in Una’s voice. Eliza’s arm tightened protectively around her sister.
“Miss Sullivan! Miss Tourant!” It was Sarah, bustling up in penny-bright silk to save the treacherous conversation. “Getting acquainted,I see.” Her gaze lingered on Eliza’s hoisted bosom as she took her hand in greeting. “My goodness. Your gown certainly flatters your ... eyes. I just knew you and your sister would get all the attention tonight! People are positively abuzz. Let’s introduce you to Grandmama. She’s been anxious to meet you both. Come along now, let’s show you off.” Sarah crooked her arm through Eliza’s elbow, her grasp firm as she pulled her away from Una. “A pit viper in silk, that one,” she whispered. “Do be careful what you say around her. Both of them, rather. Polly has a gentle heart, but she can be swept away by envy and forget herself.”
They trailed to the end of the long room, the eyes of the mingling guests falling on them as they passed. In a recessed alcove, an elderly woman with gaunt features sat upon a carpeted dais, surrounded by small dogs that resembled miniature prancing lions. She was dressed in full mourning, a dark crepe bonnet shadowing her wrinkled face, though her eyes were lively and keen, and they lit up when she saw Sarah. “Ah, granddaughter. Look at your gown. So exquisite. I see you took my advice and finally saw my seamstress.”
Sarah gave a tight smile and dropped a curtsy. “Grandmama. You’re sharp as ever. This is Elizabeth Sullivan and her sister, Lydia Tourant, from New Orleans. Remember, I told you all about them. Eliza has inherited Lady Sherbourne’s estate.”
“Oh, yes.” Countess Gregory assessed Eliza and Lydia, an inscrutable expression playing over her face. “Lovely. Your gowns are from Worth?”
“Yes, my lady. We are honored to make your acquaintance.” Eliza gave the deep curtsy she’d been taught at cotillion, her knees nearly folding to the floor.
Lady Gregory erupted in a gale of high-pitched laughter. The tiny dogs echoed with shrill barks. “Easy, child. Save your court curtsy for the queen. I’m notthatimportant.” The dowager shifted in her seat, leaning forward. “Bertie loves girls like you—saucy, decadent Americans with your new money.” The dogs growled. “Oh, I know. I shouldn’t call him Bertie. He’s going to be our king soon, God save us.” She sighedand sat back. One of the dogs hiked its leg and pissed on the countess’s hem. Eliza bit her lip to stifle her grin.
“Eliza’s mother was French,” Sarah said. “Descended from Eleanor of Aquitaine.”
“I know all about Theodora’s French relatives and their supposed aristocratic ties, Sarah. It’s not at all unique or special.” Lady Gregory’s lips hardened into a line across her face as she turned to address Eliza. “You have a fine country house now, Miss Sullivan, and you and yourCreolesister may very well marry noble husbands as your kind seek to do, but I’m sorry. You’ll never be one of us.”
Eliza’s shoulders stiffened and her smile faded. She glanced at Lydia. Her eyes glistened at their corners, her round cheeks flushing as burgundy as her ball gown.
“Grandmama!” Sarah admonished. “You promised.”
Lady Gregory batted her fan. “Child, at my age, I’ll speak my mind. These American chits are ever crossing the pond to snatch up our bachelors. And the scandals they bring!”
“My lady,” Eliza said, her ears burning, “with all due respect, I did not come to Hampshire to seek a husband, but to collect my fortune. I am a businesswoman, not a debutante.”
Lady Gregory gave a condescending smile. “Ah, an entrepreneur. Agriculture? Mining?”
“Horses, ma’am. Fast ones.”
Lady Gregory laughed sharply. “Appropriate.”
“Ma’am.” Eliza bit the inside of her cheek and backed away. “I’m honored to have made your acquaintance.”
Once they were out of earshot, Lydia grasped Eliza’s hand. “I had no idea a member of polite society could be so rude.”
