Chapter
One
HYDE PARK, LONDON, EARLY SPRING, 1817
Asage had once said there was nothing new under the sun.
Or they’d said something to that effect, at any rate. Phee couldn’t recall the precise words, but the sage had claimed there wasn’t a single thing to be seen or heard that hadn’t been seen and heard before, and then they’d gone on to lament the wearisome nature of human existence.
The name of this grim prophet escaped her now, but there was only one thing that could have led to such gloomy reflections.
The London season. What else?
Nothing—nothing—could be more tedious, more wearisome, more apt to elicit such hopeless melancholy than the London season. Of all the things under the sun guilty of tiresome monotony, the London season was the guiltiest, and nowhere was that more evident than Hyde Park during the fashionable hour.
An entire year had passed since she’d last ventured here, yet aside from a few new faces, these were all the same people who’d appeared on the promenade last season, and all of them as eager as ever to be seen in their sleek carriages, or mincing along the promenade in their most fashionable clothing.
The costumes were different this time. If she could judge by the ladies’ walking dresses, this season’s color appeared to be celestial blue, as opposed to last season’s fawn— but not the mincing.
That never changed. Thetonremained as pleased with themselves as they’d always been, and as eager to parade about showing off their finery.
“My goodness, Euphemia.” Lady Fosberry nudged her. “Do stop grimacing, won’t you? You look as if you’ve been stuck with a hatpin.”
“Grimacing? Whatever do you mean? I’msmiling, my lady.” Why, anyone could see she was utterly delighted to be here.Delighted, dash it. There wasn’t a single thing she’d rather be doing than riding in endless circles around the Ring during the fashionable hour.
She shrank back against the squabs, but short of throwing herself down upon the floorboards, there was no way to avoid the disapproving gazes of theton. It wasn’t like a ball, where a lady could duck into an alcove or retreat to the ladies’ retiring room when her skin began to prickle from the weight of all the prying eyes on her.
Here, there was no place to hide.
“Would we call that a smile?” Lady Fosberry studied her, then shook her head. “No, I think not. Come now, Euphemia. Lady Ellsworth’s carriage is approaching, and we don’t wish to give her any reason to gossip about you.”
Ah. That, right there, was proof of her theory. Lady Ellsworth had been a spiteful gossip last season, and the season before that, and now here she was again, as much a spiteful gossip as she’d ever been. “Nothing good ever came of attracting Lady Ellsworth’s attention.”
“No, but you can’t escape such unpleasantness entirely, my dear. Life is a messy business. The best you can do is take your chances, and face it when it comes.”
“How reassuring you are, my lady.” Still, Phee did as she was told, and stretched her lips into a smile. Not that it would do any good. She might smile all she liked, and Lady Ellsworth would still pour an endless stream of vicious gossip about her into every willing ear in London.
“It may be someone’s smile, but it isn’tyours, Euphemia. Not your real one.” Lady Fosberry frowned. “This one’s a trifle maniacal.”
Behind her frozen lips, Phee gritted her teeth. “Why shouldn’t I be smiling? It’s a lovely day.”
“It is, indeed. One couldn’t ask for a prettier one. It’s such a shame Harriett and James didn’t arrive in time to accompany us this afternoon.” Lady Fosberry let out a heavy sigh. “They were meant to arrive before tea time. I can’t imagine what’s keeping them.”
“I’m sure they’ll be along soon, my lady.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Good afternoon, Lady Ellsworth!” Lady Fosberry waved as Lady Ellsworth passed them in her smart peacock blue carriage with the shiny black trim, the gold buttons of her driver’s livery glinting in the sun.
“Lady Fosberry.” Lady Ellsworth tipped her head in gracious acknowledgment of the greeting, but she only spared a cool nod for Phee, who smiled so hard in return that her cheeks ached.
All these contortions couldn’t be good for her complexion. Already cracks were threatening to appear at the corners of her lips, and she’d only just arrived in London. At this rate, by mid-season, they’d have spread like furrows in a patch of parched earth. Soon enough her skin would flake away entirely, and bits and pieces of her would whirl away in the chill wind, never to be seen again.
How delighted thetonwould be then! She could hear the whispers now.
Did you hear, my dear? Euphemia Templeton disintegrated into dust in the middle of the Ring, and during the fashionable hour, no less! One moment she was there, and thenpoof! She blew away, right in front of poor Lady Ellsworth! Terribly vulgar, but that’s just like the Templetons, isn’t it? They’re never happy unless they’re causing a scandal.
It wasn’t true, about the scandals. A lady would have to be daft to wish to catch the judgmental eyes of theton. Right now, for instance, there were dozens of other fashionable people in the Ring, all of them far more interesting than she was, but thetonwas so preoccupied with gawking at her, they hardly spared anyone else a glance.
Alas, there was nothing to be done about it. It wasn’t as if she’d expected anonymity after last season’s dreadful debacle, and it would only become worse once Lady Fosberry’s niece Harriett arrived.
