Reaching slowly this time, Amity picked up her wine glass, aware of every eye trained upon her. She took a small sip of chardonnay, careful not to gulp or to cough. At last, she spoke.
“I was thinking of a jest I read in the newspaper the other day,” she lied. Fending off anyone asking her what it was, she looked directly at Lord Pelham. “I’m sure all of you have read it already. Perhaps someone else has an amusing story or a joke to tell.”
That sounded like the utterance of a half-wit, but it was the best Amity could do, along with sending the duke a beseeching look, which unfortunately, Lady Madeleine also caught, making her raise a delicately perfect eyebrow.
“I shall think of one,” he said, “if you come up with the next one, either a story or a joke.”
The infernal man! She had nearly succeeded in getting all the attention off herself, and then he had to say that.
The tension in the room relaxed, however, as the duke launched into a story about his own boating misfortune the previous summer, involving a lost oar and a leaky hull. It was self-deprecating and amusing, and soon, everyone was laughing along with him.
Meanwhile, Amity considered what she would say. Her sisters always thought her a good storyteller. But doing so in private was far easier than being on display in the Peabodys’ dining room.
Her stomach tensed as the duke’s gaze landed upon her once again. He tilted his wine glass in her direction. Your turn, he seemed to say.
As the attention of the other guests returned to her, she breathed deeply, pretended they were all simply eager customers, and launched into a story about a confectioner in Switzerland whose very large vat of melted chocolate broke on the table in front of him.
“Making him the first chocolate-covered chocolatier,” she concluded.
It was a success. And when they were all laughing again at the image of the man covered in a warm, brown sticky mess, Lady Peabody asked, “Is there anyone else who wishes to tell us a humorous tale? I very much like this table game. But the rest of you must keep eating or we shall fall dreadfully behind. Then Cook will start sending courses out stacked atop one another to punish us. Besides, we have chocolates awaiting us in the drawing room.”
Amity looked at Charlotte, who had turned pink-cheeked with pleasure. They were mingling well with the haut ton. Undoubtedly, her youngest sister couldn’t wait to tell Beatrice, who still held a little resentment from being snubbed in their own shop not long ago. She had tried to converse with a lady only to be told by the servant that her mistress didn’t speak directly with shopgirls. Beatrice had loudly told the lady she didn’t sell sweets to anyone whose head was so large.
The servant had almost laughed, which would probably have caused her termination. The insulted lady had patted her hair as if to confirm her head size was normal, before gliding out of the shop without a word.
“Good riddance,” Beatrice had said, also loudly. “I do wish we could have slipped the maid a piece of chocolate. Can you imagine being in servitude to such a pompous creature?”
Lords Ridley and Greenley would have applauded that haughty lady, Amity thought. What’s more, some of the people in the room might have acted in precisely the same manner, turning up their noses at Beatrice.
Sighing softly, Amity wished she didn’t feel as if she and Charlotte were play-acting. Despite being well-spoken and wearing pretty gowns, they didn’t truly fit in. Worse, she was on edge for fear of making a terrible mistake, especially in front of the duke, and looking a fool.
Half listening to the other stories being told — of misplaced servants, mishaps with gowns, the convenience of steam trains — she ate a forkful of the meringue à la Chantilly and one of the beignet with bananas. How would any of the guests have room for chocolates? Regardless, she was more than ready to go home and wished she knew the etiquette of who was allowed to leave when and in what order.
Suddenly, she realized Charlotte was speaking. As long as she didn’t whistle, Amity supposed her sister was harmless, until she heard her own name mentioned. Wanting to throw the contents of her wine glass atop her sister’s head, anything to stop her talking, Amity was helpless to do aught but sit as the tale unfolded of her and a horse, ending with her knocked off by a low branch.
Amity supposed it wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She glanced at the duke, who wore an amused expression though not unkind. Unfortunately, beside him, Lady Madeleine looked both disapproving and almost pitying. Among these horsemen and horsewomen who spent their leisure time trotting their mounts up and down Rotten Row, she probably seemed like the most uncouth female. At least it wasn’t the ice-skating story—
“Once, all three of us were ice skating,” Charlotte began anew.
“Dear sister,” Amity interrupted, “it’s not polite to monopolize the conversation.” She glared at her, causing Charlotte to firmly close her mouth.
Certain she heard the duke chuckle, when Amity glanced at him, he was the picture of innocence, blinking back at her.
“Are we finished?” Lord Peabody asked, pushing back his chair and circling the table so he could draw out his wife’s chair. As others began to stand, their host and hostess led them from the room.
Amity thought Lord Ridley might have forgotten her entirely, but at the last moment, he pulled out her chair. She didn’t put her gloves back on, as she noticed other women weren’t, either. She supposed the threat of chocolates soiling one’s gloves was enough of a deterrent.
Clutching them in her right hand, she rested her other on Lord Ridley’s forearm.
“Nearly over,” he muttered though Amity wasn’t at all sure whether he was speaking to her or to himself.
“Thank God,” she whispered back, in case he was, in fact, conversing with her.
With that, he gave her his first genuine smile of the evening and escorted her back to the drawing room. No one was eager to take a seat after the long hours of dining, so the women all found a place to stand, which wasn’t difficult in the spacious room. Lord Peabody, meanwhile, took the men somewhere else for brandy and cigars.
Amity sighed, pondering how much more there was to the interminable evening. She sidled toward Charlotte, who rather than looking bored, was drinking it all in with a great deal of joy. With the identical expression of bliss as when she ate a piece of Turkish lokum, her sister appeared eager for whatever came next.
“Sherry, port, or madeira?” came the question from their hostess, and then, as if by magic, the servants arrived with trays of all three.
Amity would trade them all for a nice cup of well-made chocolate with a splash of brandy in it, knowing it would scandalize every lady in there if she requested it. Deciding on port while noticing Lady Madeleine had madeira, Amity wondered if the chocolates would wait for the men’s return or—
“Would you like to do the honors?” Lady Peabody asked, and it took an instant for Amity to notice she was addressing her.
Oh! Her mother would not be thrilled to see her eldest daughter serving chocolates at the party. Apparently, Charlotte thought not either, for she shook her head.
“By chance, my lady, do you have a platter,” Amity asked her, “preferably chinaware, not silver, on which your cook could arrange them?”
“Certainly,” Lady Peabody agreed, and she rang the bell. “Are they all the same?” she asked Amity.