Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
But it was too much to look at her from the piano bench after all they’d shared.
Chapter Four
Fires in the Distance
Elizabeth’s friends, and her closest sister Hazel, had come to her chambers as soon as the assembly ended. The thoughtful servants sent up tea and biscuits so they might sit together while their husbands indulged in an evening of cards. Elizabeth supposed Lord Augustine was with the gentlemen. She hoped they weren’t ribbing him too badly after her ridiculous performance.
“I don’t care, really,” she assured her friends. “It was funny, wasn’t it?”
“It was lovely and silly,” said her sister Hazel. “Why, I thought you played well for never seeing the music before. Fremont said the same.”
“Your husband is kind,” said Elizabeth, huddling over a warm cup of tea. “I haven’t played much popular music. I’d have done better with a classical piece.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone thought it was jolly fun until Lord Fortenbury started speaking.” Lord Townsend’s wife Jane flicked back a lock of her distinctive orange-red hair. “I found his comments rude in the extreme. How dare he poke fun at your abilities and talent? You did try, Elizabeth.”
“It takes a lot to sight-read an unfamiliar piece,” said her dear friend Rosalind. “I thought you played exceedingly well.”
“Oh, but I didn’t.” Elizabeth forced a laugh, though she felt rather glum.
Rosalind knew her well enough that she wasn’t fooled by her bravado. She pulled her into a sympathetic embrace. “I will not tolerate such comments from him much longer. I’m telling you, your betrothed has my moods in a furor. Soon I shall have to speak my mind.”
“Wescott wanted to take his head off,” said Ophelia. “But he didn’t wish to ruin your gathering.”
“Nor did I,” Rosalind echoed. “But it’s shabby behavior for a fiancé, and Fortenbury ought to know it. Who taught him manners?”
Hazel tsked. “No one, I gather.”
“Is he more fun when the two of you are alone?” asked Jane.
“Does he have better manners?” Rosalind added archly.
“He is very mannerly,” Elizabeth assured them, worrying the handle of her teacup. “Please don’t think badly of him. I believe he was dismayed that some of Mama’s Welsh relatives had taken too much port and so he became a bit…prickly.”
“Prickly like a porcupine,” Hazel muttered, wearing her version of the famous Arlington frown.
“He is rather handsome, don’t you think?” said Elizabeth, to change the subject.
“Handsome does not make a successful marriage,” said Rosalind. “There must be more than attraction, if you’re to remain happy day after day and year after year. Do you think you have enough in common to rub along together?”
“You mustn’t make me defend my choice of husband at this point,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “The wedding’s just around the corner.”
They fell silent, munching and sipping tea. Elizabeth wanted to put her friends’ minds at ease, but to tell the truth, she had begun to wonder if Lord Fortenbury was a satisfactory marriage prospect.
Well, of course he was an excellent prospect, one of the best on the London marriage mart at present, but would he make a good husband?
She told herself that such a thing was impossible to know until they were married and sharing the closeness of couples who lived in the same home. When they lived together, they’d get more comfortable with one another, even develop affection for one another. They would have a wedding night, which her mother had told her would make them feel very close and connected, though the activity she described sounded rather fantastical. Something about joining and kissing and embracing.
Well, she trusted Lord Fortenbury would show her the way. He could be very guiding, very supportive…
“I think in some way he is nervous around my family,” she said, adding more cream to her tea. “He wants to put forth a good impression, so he behaves in a way that some might find…overly proper.”
“Pompous, you mean,” said Ophelia, whose feelings had been hurt by his dismissal of “the stage.” Elizabeth had apologized for her fiancé, but really, he ought to have apologized to her himself. She had the worrying feeling he didn’t even care that he’d offended her brother’s wife, his future sister-in-law.
“Perhaps he’s in nerves from all the wedding preparations,” said Jane, trying to be kind. “He does look at you as though he cares for you.”
“Yes, sometimes,” Hazel agreed. “But other times, he looks at you as though you’re a toy or poppet he’s purchasing. I’m sorry to be so frank, little sister, but it’s very off-putting. Fremont noticed it, too. The way he patted your shoulder and said you had no talent…”
“I tell you, my blood boiled,” said Ophelia. Her expression softened as she noticed Elizabeth’s rising distress. “But you know him better than all of us, dear. Perhaps he was only having a bad night.”