Anya, Charlotte and Piety, newly engaged and brimming with romance, were spending the morning together. Ostensibly embroidering handkerchiefs for Piety’s trousseau, in reality to share news.
Piety concluded her gleeful report of a ‘conversation’ with Lord Peter, her fiancé with. “It’s simply delightful being betrothed. You’will both find it charming, I’m sure.”
Charlotte inspected her handkerchief and grimaced. “Embroidery is not my forte. I’m already engaged. Have been since I was in leading strings, one of those ‘align the family properties’ arrangements.”
Anya and Piety exchanged glances as Charlotte stared fixedly at her needlework. Eventually Piety ventured. “Is he old and awful?”
Charlotte snorted, the most inelegant Anya had ever seen, or heard, her cousin.
“The Viscount of Axebridge? No. He’s five years and two months older than me, clever, charming and devastatingly handsome.”
Another pause, that Anya broke. “And yet you’re not happy about it.”
“He accompanied me everywhere in the first half of my first season. I felt so adored and important. Then he volunteered-VOLUNTEERED-to join the Earl of Buckhaven’s diplomatic mission and hasn’t been home since.”
Piety gasped. “He abandoned you?”
“He took just enough time and effort to stake his claim on me in front of the entire ton, then went off carousing with Continental women.”
Charlotte’s mother tutted from the doorway. “You know every report your father receives from the Earl mentions the Viscount’s honourable and reserved behaviour. And a man who’s abandoned you would never send gifts.”
Charlotte glared. “Necklaces and shawls, all intended for me to wear out, and remind people I’m spoken for, that I’m his property.”
“Any other gift would be improper, my dear.”
“A book would be too daring? Or a pretty miniature?” Charlotte turned back to the window. “It’s all for display, not for me.”
Charlotte’s mother looked at Anya and Piety. “Try and talk some sense into her. Most girls would be delighted.”
Anya wasn’t sure of that. She rather liked the sound of it, of being spoken for, but left to enjoy herself without someone telling her what to do, but Piety looked appalled, and Charlotte was one of the most sensible people she knew. If it was upsetting her, she had a good reason for it.
Nonetheless, Anya gave the older woman her most responsible smile. “We’ll do our best.”
Lady Margaret smiled back. “Thank you, my dear.” and left the room.
Piety and Charlotte were both glaring at her. Anya rolled her eyes. “It seems to me, the most sensible thing to do is let him know you won’t tolerate this situation any further. We need to plan.”
The DNA of Stories 