***
Eva handed her shopping basket to the footman, who set it aside. Then she followed him into a pretty drawing room decorated in the incongruous styles of the two women who lived in this fine house. Jeweled tones mixed with pastels, and paisleys with florals. Pretty landscapes decorated the walls, right next to somewhat odd images reminiscent of Mr. Blake’s illustrations.
The sisters Neville received her from their respective perches. Ophelia sat in a diminutive upholstered rose-hued chair. Light from the window turned her blond hair into a haze, making it look like the pale ethereal seed head of a dandelion waiting for a strong breeze or breath. Jasmine lounged on a divan, her long curls following the same hills and valleys as her shapeless silk robe.
They had sent a letter yesterday, inviting her to call on them. They never had before. She assumed they wanted to discuss the same topic she had broached outside Mr. Duran’s shop, only in the privacy of their home.
Tea was served. Eva sipped slowly, enjoying the luxury. She never drank tea. Good tea was far too expensive, and cheap tea tasted like the adulterated bad bargain it was.
“We are so happy you have called,” Ophelia said. “We would have called on you, but your sister said you prefer if people do not.”
“As if we care how many chairs there are,” Jasmine intoned. “Life is what it is. There is no shame in a woman’s poverty, especially since it is almost never that woman’s fault.”
“How understanding of you,” Eva said. “All the same, Rebecca thinks it would prove awkward to ask guests to stand the whole time.”
“She is correct on that, Jasmine. You must admit it.”
Jasmine nodded, grudgingly.
“As for why we would have called,” Ophelia continued. “One reason would be to know you better. We have often commented that it was too bad you never came with Rebecca, so we could make your better acquaintance. While your brother was ill, it was understandable, of course, but since then—”
“You should be out and about more, and not only to shop,” Jasmine interrupted. “You never attend assemblies or stroll along the lake. You took on some habits while you cared for him that you should endeavor to break now that your year of mourning is over.”
“I do not think Miss Russell needs our advice, sister.” Ophelia subtly rolled her eyes in Eva’s direction. “Even if she may understand it is only your good heart that causes you to offer it.”
Eva just smiled.
“We also wanted to speak to you about something else,” Ophelia said.
“Since you spoke so frankly with us the other day on the lane, we assumed you would not mind our doing the same in turn,” Jasmine inserted.
“I can hardly object, as you so neatly point out. Pray tell, what do you feel obligated to say?”
“I hope you know that we speak and act as friends,” Ophelia said.
“Of course. With good hearts, as you said.”
Jasmine righted herself on the divan. Her exotic robe made her appear like some foreign oracle. “We have friends in London. Old friends. Good friends. We wrote to them, to learn what we could about him.”
“Him?”
“Mr. Fitzallen. Gareth Fizallen,” Ophelia said. “Did you know he is the bastard of the Duke of Aylesbury? The third duke, of course.”
“His mother was the butler’s daughter. Aylesbury made her his mistress. Kept her for years. Decades. Until he died,” Jasmine said.
“Such arrangements are not uncommon among the nobility,” Eva said, lest the sisters think she was so provincial as to be shocked by the revelations. “Nor is a man responsible for his own birth, I think you will agree.”
Jasmine looked at her sister meaningfully. Ophelia appeared chagrined.
“I told you,” Jasmine said. “See how she defends him.”
“Only because I, too, strive to have a good heart,” Eva said.
Jasmine speared her with a knowing glare. “See here. Your sister said he called at your house. Brought a little gift. Erasmus says he has asked about your brother’s illness and other things related to your family’s history.”
“Other things,” Ophelia echoed quietly.
“So we wrote to our friends to see what he was.”
