by Baird Wells
She was still a paler shade than the notorious Sarah Villiers, Lady Jersey, closest to her in age of all the women. When she had whispered to Laurel how beautiful Sarah was, the hushed answer was “She's a Villiers.” It was a name apparently synonymous with beauty, whether by birth or marriage. At first, with her sleek black curls and winged black brows, Lady Jersey seemed mysterious, observant, and as aloof as a raven. That was, until she spoke; Emily called her the magpie, a kind dig at Sarah's inability to stop talking. Alix didn't mind. Everything Lady Jersey had to say was interesting, her words soft and rounded by a seductive note. She was allure without effort, and it wasn’t difficult to puzzle out the discarded trail of men in her wake.
Alix’s favorite of her new friends, by far, was pretty little Lady Amelia Grey. Barely eighteen, she had enough girlhood in her newly mature features to remind Alix of a living doll. A cherubic oval face and brown satin curls exactly matched her doe eyes. She was forever clad in pastels, ruffles, and enough ribbon to keep a milliner employed for a lifetime. Alix struggled to grasp that Amelia had been married a year already, and to a man twice her age, at that.
It was a match anyone would have to shake their head at, insisted Laurel. Lord Grey was a glib, persuasive politician, and Amelia, the shy baby of ten children, was apolitical and a little deaf. Alix had the sense Amelia was used to being ignored, a fact made sadder by the girl's obvious eagerness to please. Amelia was joy and innocence, unabashed enthusiasm. It was real effort at times, not to pet or hug her delicate frame.
Alix watched for Amelia, seated with the others in Broadmoore's fine parlor. Laurel had arranged all the best furniture from two drawing rooms, among them a yellow silk sofa and some curvy-legged oak chairs cushioned in dusty pink damask. Heavy green drapes had been traded for ivory satin from the dining room. Poor Laurel had been so busy that she looked almost too fatigued to enjoy her company.
Paulina, insisting that too much tea was upsetting her stomach, had gone out early with Lady Ralls and Lady Elizabeth Conyngham. No doubt she was eager to show off her riding as much as her snobbishness. Alix was glad to be rid of her, of all three.
Laurel dropped into a chair perched at Alix’s end of the sofa. She looked composed, though Alix knew better. Her eyes weighed everything, lending as much weight to the room’s arrangement as she did a speck of dust floating through the shafts of sunlight. Reaching out, Alix rested a hand on her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. Laurel answered her with a wan smile.
Alix groaned at a familiar voice out in the hall and exchanged a crushed glance with Laurel. Paulina had returned with her coven in tow. Laurel was already nervous to make a good impression, and every woman in attendance boasted volumes more social status; the ladies’ good opinion would do as much for the Hastings as it would for her own family. Unless, of course, Paulina behaved in her usual fashion.
They came in like a small army with Paulina as their commander, all clad in ridiculously similar riding habits; scarlet wool fastened by a yard of silk-twine frogs, like a British uniform stretched into an ugly dress. Lady Conyngham's was trimmed in gold, and Caroline and Paulina were hilarious twins with collar and cuffs of dark green velvet. They swept in with all the bearing of the mistresses of the house; it would have been amusing except for haughty glances thrown Laurel's way.
Caroline Ralls at least managed herself in conversation. With no greater claim to fame than a banking fortune left behind by her father and a minor title left behind by a destitute husband, Alix had observed a glimmer of self-consciousness in Caroline now and then. She was determined to prove she belonged in the upper echelon.
Elizabeth Conyngham was cut from the same cloth, a common background and poor connections overlooked thanks to a pile of sterling. Unlike Caroline, Elizabeth had no doubts that she belonged at the top, having announced frankly over tea one afternoon that the Marchioness of Hertford was occupying her bed and she intended to turn the woman out. Confused, Alix had cocked an ear to Laurel, who bit her lip and whispered that Lady Hertford was the prince’s mistress. The ambition had shocked her more than the sentiment; until that moment Alix hadn’t believed Elizabeth possessed a single idea in her head. She seemed little more than wrists and a neck, a collection of limbs for displaying jewels.
Elizabeth perched beside her on the sofa as though it were dirty, but it was not to be for long, to their mutual relief.
“Lady Conyngham!” snapped Caroline, pointing to an empty chair Paulina was dragging from beside Laurel to her own spot across the room. “Come and sit! Emily doesn't mind trading places with you.”
A sour look said Emily minded very much, but she bit her tongue and moved opposite Alix on the sofa’s far end. “My word, look at the three of you. What a sight!”
Alix saw the compliment for what it was, a dig, but the three newcomers were too busy fussing over arranging their chairs and each other’s trains to comprehend.
Caroline swept a hand over their ridiculous preening. “Mrs. Paton has borrowed my original so that we would look smart on our ride, without a sore thumb in our bunch.”
Anyone else would know enough to be insulted. Paulina beamed, lapping up Caroline's backhanded praise.
Sarah, arching her sharp brow, looked them over. “Wool in June, Elizabeth? It's sweltering already. Really,” she clucked, “How ridiculous.”
Elizabeth screwed up her chipmunk face, glancing over her riding habit. “Sheep wear wool in June, Lady Jersey.”
One was stupid, one vapid, and they had found Paulina to be the malicious glue in between. Alix shook a throbbing head. Three minutes among them and she was already exhausted.
Caroline, suddenly aware of more than just herself, skimmed the gathering and patted at her mound of carrot-colored curls. “Where is Lady Grey? Is she not joining us this afternoon?”
Elizabeth clutched her chest at the mention of Amelia. “Is she shut up now that word about Grey has broken?”
What word? Alix held her breath, afraid to hear the answer and equally fearful that the women would go on in vague ciphers.
Sarah came half out of her chair, spearing the hateful trio with her rubied finger. “Amelia does not know a thing about it, nor does she need to be acquainted with it just now. London will do its worst soon enough.”
Pressing a fist to her heart, Emily blinked at her lap. “How can she not know? It's everywhere, poor thing. Can you imagine?”
Alix worked a hand beneath her hip, grasping a pinch of the silk sofa and holding fast against an impending blow.
“She left London just before the letters were published,” Sarah ground out. “I have to wonder if her father had caught wind of the scandal, or her aunts. Sent her north ahead of it.” She flicked an imaginary crumb from her skirt with a snap. “I cannot imagine Grey himself had the forethought to spare her.”
Caroline sniffed. “How humiliating. And such low class, Miss Fields sending their letters to the papers.”
“Julia Fields is a whore, Caroline,” retorted Sarah. “Class is not her primary concern.”
Letters. Miss Fields. Alix’s stomach churned, a squeezing in her chest and throat wringing tears up into her eyes. She had never considered it possible for infidelity to be worsened, that there could be layers to unfaithfulness. Lord Grey had managed to add a bold red footnote of shame to his indiscretion.
Caroline sniffed, trading knowing sympathy with Paulina. “Sad, all the same. Who could have expected Amelia to keep her husband's affections, even at the beginning?”
“Swallow your tongue, you sour old goat!” Sarah’s narrow eyes pierced Caroline, who flailed as though physically struck by the curse.
Braided stiff with nerves, Alix leaned in to get Laurel's attention while sharp conversation ricocheted past. “What in heavens are they clucking about?”
“Lord Grey has dallied with Miss Fields for almost the whole of his marriage to Amelia, can you believe it?” Laurel squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head at the idea. “When he refused Julia's
demands for a greater allowance and tried to break things off, she sent their letters to the papers. My mother's note yesterday said nearly two hundred billets, full of the most ardent, shocking lines.”
“Oh God.” Her stomach churned harder, a sour hint of bile nearly preventing her question. “But Amelia has no idea?”
Laurel nodded slowly. “It will be waiting for her, when she returns to London,” she spared a glance for the Stygian witches opposite them, “If it doesn't spread north like wildfire or boil over here first.”
Wheels clattering up the drive sliced through all conversation and set a sad, strange play into action. Emily adjusted herself at different attitudes, trying to appear relaxed. Elizabeth and Caroline picked at one another’s' clothes, fussing in a dull murmur. Sarah, silent for a change, was still and regal, bold features set in grim determination.
A sick feeling buzzed between her heart and her head, and Alix almost wished Amelia would never appear while wondering if their gossip had summoned her. She listened to a bustle out in the hall, indistinct voices followed by the butler's footsteps, her heart pounding at each one.
Elizabeth jumped at the door's opening as though it hadn't been a source of crushing anticipation for five minutes.
Amelia stood in the entrance and they all held their seats. She smiled, and Alix swore she heard dust gathering in the silence.
Finally, she looked to Laurel. Alix nudged her with an elbow and reanimated their hostess to her feet. “Lady Grey. Come in. Sit down. Make yourself at ease.” Laurel’s instructions were measured, small safe turns meant to navigate the perilous cliff on which they all stood.
Everyone else felt the awkwardness, but between Amelia's poor hearing and her temperament, she only caught the invitation and her smile brightened. She settled between Alix and Sarah on the sofa, looking pleased just to be seen.
Alix looked her over, not able to resist patting one willowy arm despite a grim pall in the air. “Look at you! A very picture of the season.” Amelia wore green velvet and green satin from her slippers to the brim of a petite bonnet which was crowned with a little garden of red and pink roses. Amelia colored, staring at hands laid just so in her lap. “That's very kind of you to say, Mrs. Rowan. Mama never approved of so much frivolous color, but I long for it,” she admitted.
“You are a married woman,” Caroline threw out, smirking. “You may do as you please.”
Alix narrowed her eyes in a glare that couldn't be undone even by Paulina's quelling gaze.
Amelia pressed on, oblivious. “I'm ashamed at being tardy. You all look so lovely and set for an afternoon. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“No time was fixed for our gathering,” reassured Laurel, “Not enough to cause anyone inconvenience.”
“We did nothing until you arrived but make idle conversation,” Emily offered smoothly. “No one was the least put out.”
Alix reached out and claimed Amelia's bonnet, passing it down to rest on a table between her and Laurel. “We're glad for your company. You have made our little party complete.”
“Any news from town?” Elizabeth snickered, swatting at Caroline's prodding finger. Paulina pressed a laugh with her hand.
Alix could only stare, frightened by their callous enjoyment of Amelia’s predicament. They would stop their baiting any moment, wouldn’t they? Then her eyes fell to Paulina, and Alix knew there was no limit to what the trio might say or do, not if her sister-in-law had any say.
“Refrain from gossip in Lady Hastings’s parlor, dear.” Sarah’s smile was brilliant but her words were acid.
Caroline opened her mouth then snapped it again, eyes fixed at a point over Lady Jersey's shoulder. Alix felt the newcomers before she heard them, sensing eyes on her back. She had been too absorbed in the Greek tragedy playing out in the drawing room to catch the sounds of an approach.
John, Spencer, and Lord Jersey hovered on the threshold, presumably waiting to be invited in, but Alix saw something in the furrow of Spencer's brow, the way Lord Jersey glanced between his wife and Caroline which hinted at more to their arrival than a social call.
“Villiers, come in here and let me look at you,” Sarah drawled, tossing her husband a heavy-lidded glance.
“Not exhausted from looking at every other man in the county?” he quipped.
Theirs was a strange pairing, from what Alix gathered. Lady Jersey had affairs of her own, and Alix presumed her husband did too. But when the two were in proximity she would swear that they were lovers. George strode in, presenting himself for his wife's inspection and she began to understand Laurel's comment about being a Villiers. Lord and Lady Jersey were attractive book ends, his features equally striking. Broad forehead, hooked, regal nose and lips perpetually on the edge of a wry smile did him credit against a stoic persona. Lord Jersey was undeniably handsome, a gentleman turned from the same mold as his friend Lord Reed. The comparison drew her eye to Spencer, who arched a brow at her unbroken stare.
“You look positively wild. Sit down.” Sarah snapped the command, breaking Alix’s study of Spencer. The words were sharp but Alix caught a spark in George's eyes hinting that if he was being horsewhipped, he enjoyed it.
Out of seats and not being invited to do likewise, John and Spencer stationed themselves beside Laurel, who cleared her throat delicately at a protracted silence. “Did you enjoy your sport?” she asked John finally, breaking the quiet stalemate and giving obvious relief to several of her guests.
He tried and failed at a frown. “Jersey and his supernatural horse. Put me and Reed in the dust.”
Spencer nodded his agreement, holding her eyes all the while. “Put up a racehorse, Jersey, and you'll have my wager every time.”
“I'm after it. Be patient. A few more seasons and I'll have a champion.” Jersey’s words were rough stones of thought, curt replies while his brain turned over something more consuming. By his slitted eyes fixed on Caroline, Alix guessed that something was not his thoroughbred at the moment.
More silence chased Lord Jersey's bravado. John shifted foot to foot, and Spencer in his charming fashion took stock of the gathering. “Ladies, you look each of you lovely. How are you?” Nods and murmurs. He met her eyes again. “Mrs. Rowan. You look well this afternoon. How is your cough?”
She bit her cheek to pin down a smile. “Much improved.” Cad.
Silence descended once again and unease stretched taut across the small room.
Tea being brought in relieved Laurel to the point of near collapse. It kept everyone busy and on topic, initiating a round of pleases and thank yous and 'mind the cup is hot'. It occupied exactly five minutes of the next quarter hour. Alix wished she could convey to Spencer with a look the silent agony hanging over the room.
As if reading her mind, he turned to Amelia and raised his voice. “Lady Grey. How are you enjoying your time in the country?” Amelia smiled and nodded. Grasping by her look that she hadn’t quite heard him, Alix leaned in and repeated the question.
She beamed up at Spencer. “Oh, it's breathtaking. I haven't come up with Grey before, to Rosemont. The house is perfect and we’re both enjoying it. Grey has been a little ill, but I’m certain that the fine weather will mend him.” Her smile broadened, showing a dimple. “We are enjoying it,” she repeated.
“More than town?” Paulina clawed at Amelia, showing off for her tittering companions.
Poison, strangling. No punishment was fast enough or fitting enough in Alix's opinion.
Amelia beamed. “Oh, I doubt there's much Grey loves more than town.”
“I can imagine one thing,” Elizabeth muttered, giggling with her companions, hissed down by Sarah’s shushing.
Alix felt decorum crumbling into a landslide. Laurel, not permitted by the vice of good manners to stand up and order everyone out, was casting increasingly desperate glances at John. Sarah balanced a high wire between imposing decency and revealing too much in Amelia's presence. Caroline, Elizabeth and Paulina grew bolder, too in love wi
th their own hateful cleverness to give Amelia's feelings any quarter. All the while the poor girl smiled and nodded, confident of being among friends. Alix could only sit, an unwilling spectator while the final, terrible act unfolded.
Emily scooted forward on her cushion, interjecting herself and aiming for a distraction. “I hope you'll claim your vouchers for Almack's first thing this season. Our soirees at the assembly rooms would hardly be complete without you in attendance.”
Amelia gasped and grabbed Emily's hand. “How wonderful. I will be so delighted!”
Elizabeth, half listening and half paying attention to Caroline's poisoned whispers, shoved a shortbread between thick lips. “You won't be able to show your face there, Amelia! Not with all the scandal!”
Alix heard air being sucked from the room, a collective inward gasp of every person present except Amelia, whose face clouded at Elizabeth's braying. Of all the times for her hearing to work perfectly, Alix thought, it had to be now.
“What scandal? What do you mean?” Wide brown eyes searched their faces, leaving Alix the sick feeling of tormenting some baby animal.
Elizabeth, at least, had the good sense to look shamed and a bit green at her horrible breach. Paulina and Caroline, flanking her, sat stone faced and obstinate. Cowards, forcing someone else to deliver the deathblow while they feasted on Amelia's misery. Alix refused to play along.
“What scandal?” Amelia repeated, voice trembling as she pleaded with Emily, who swallowed and looked to her lap.
“Amelia,” Alix said firmly, snapping the girl's attention to her. “You look tired. I'm going to see you home.” She stood and held out a hand which Amelia clasped with her smaller one. Towing her limp little frame to the door, Alix pushed her out into the hall. “Go and fetch your gloves. I'll be along directly.”
Amelia nodded, moving on stiff legs down the hall.