“I think I’m going to be sick.” Piety did look unwell. Anya fetched the washbowl from its stand in the corner and set it on her friend’s lap. Then she sat beside her, not too close, just in case, and asked. “Why?” “Papa’s in a private meeting in his study with Lord Craigmore.” Anya frowned, …
Anya’s mother handed back the square of embroidered linen. “Adequate.” That was high praise indeed, Lady Fitzgerald didn’t believe in excessive praise, or excessive anything really. Anya took the handkerchief. “Thank you, Mother.” “You need to excel in your accomplishments, Anya, if you’re to have any chance of holding a young man’s attention. You have …
It wasn’t fair. Not only did Piety have a name that fooled everyone into thinking she was as angelic as she looked, she also moved across the ballroom floor like a willow in the breeze. Anya had heard her own dancing described as ‘efficient’ and ‘technically correct but…’ a few too many times to want …
All the guests had arrived, at least all the guests Anya’s parents deemed worthy of a personal greeting, and conversation bubbled across the ballroom, accented by the chink and ting of porcelain and crystal. The Fortescue family were known for the quality of both their chef and their cellar, and the visitors were making the …
The DNA of Stories 