Charlotte’s words stung like a wound. Signa knew she could carve out her own future, but she’d never considered that some women would have to be with a man not of their own choosing, simply to exist. It was the last thing she wanted for her friend, especially.
Signa wanted a love match. She wanted someone to dance with, and to laugh with late into the evening. Someone whose company she wouldn’t tire of years from now. She wanted the same for her friend, too.
Signa wanted to ask Charlotte if there was anyone she did fancy, but she fell silent as they came upon a small tearoom. Another time, then. They’d have the discussion another time.
Everett held the door open, and one by one they filed inside.
The tearoom was clean and quaint, with a large, circular mahogany table already prepared for them. It was set with a beautiful arrangement of gilded petits fours, peach and chocolate scones, golden crumpets, miniature glazed fruit tarts, and delicate cucumber sandwiches. Signa’s stomach betrayed her by growling, wanting to sample everything. It was unfortunate, the way societal rules could hinder a person. How much simpler life would be to not have to think about what she was expected to eat, and in what order. She strongly preferred Death’s philosophy of simply wanting something and taking it.
Everett pulled chairs out for Signa and Charlotte, the latter of whom sat with more grace than Signa thought herself ever capable of. Percy followed suit for Eliza, who unfurled a black fan that she fluttered to conceal a blush Signa was certain wasn’t there. It seemed there was a language with these fans—one Signa did not understand but had Percy entranced as Eliza fanned herself with slow and deliberate flicks of her wrist. The more she fanned, the more Signa wanted to reach across the table to throw the beastly thing out the window, for it wasn’t even hot out and the fan’s wind kept blowing baby hairs into her face.
Everett must have shared similar feelings; he screwed up his face and tried not to laugh at the sight of his cousin. When he caught Signa looking, he smirked. Charlotte glanced away in silence, spooning sugar into her tea.
“Have you been at Thorn Grove long, Miss Farrow?” Everett asked as he took a seat, waiting for the women to take their savories from the arrangement before doling his own onto a small porcelain plate.
Percy placed his napkin upon his lap, then set a scone upon both Signa’s and Eliza’s plates. Who was Signa to refuse a perfectly good scone? She spread lemon curd and clotted cream across it in the most graceful way she knew how, concealing her eager eyes with a mask of calm demure. “About a month, now,” she said, hoping he’d pause from questions long enough for her to take a bite. “Thorn Grove is a beautiful place. The Hawthornes have done me a great kindness by allowing me to stay with them.”
“Nonsense,” Percy chided her. “You’re family. Having you with us has been our delight.”
Signa bit into her scone to spare him from her retort. Where was this kindness earlier, when he’d rushed her out of the apothecary, or when he’d criticized her dancing?
“Signa’s birthday is in the spring, you know,” Eliza said. “She’ll be making her debut this season.”
“I suppose that means we’ll be seeing each other quite often, as I intend to remain in town throughout the upcoming season, as well.” Everett’s smile was far more charming than it had any right to be. The scone Signa had been chewing lodged in her throat. She swallowed a mouthful of steaming tea to help it pass. The drink scorched her tongue, and she was reminded of one of the rules in A Lady’s Guide to Beauty and Etiquette: One must enjoy their tea in the smallest of sips, and should never take to blowing on a drink, no matter how hot.
“A coincidence, indeed.” Signa couldn’t tell if it was her heart fluttering or nerves getting the best of her stomach. Everett was, on paper, everything Signa had ever wanted—handsome, charming, kind, and an evident socialite. She didn’t care much about his status but supposed that it could only be beneficial if the attention of those who sneaked sly, interested glances at them was any indicator. But good God, if just having tea was such an exhausting feat every time she had to do it, Signa hadn’t a clue how she’d manage becoming the socialite she’d always dreamed of being. She wished, vaguely, that she were able to ask her mother how she’d done it.
Signa took another too-hot sip and sampled a cucumber sandwich before spreading butter across a crumpet, letting Percy do the talking while she took care of the food—the sooner it was gone, the sooner they could head back to Thorn Grove and Blythe, and the sooner she could get out of her own head.
Percy put on a display of gentlemanly behavior, flattering Eliza and wooing her in a way that delighted the young woman. He seemed every bit the lady’s man that his father had allegedly been, asking Charlotte and Eliza of their hobbies and whether they’d seen any performances at the opera recently. He refilled Eliza’s teacup with the utmost attentiveness, dripping with more charm than Signa had thought him capable of. Charlotte, meanwhile, spoke to Everett of his many travels.
Signa listened with great fascination as they discussed parties and sporting events she hadn’t been privy to, and joined the conversation when Everett pressed for information about her interests and what she and Percy were doing in town. Percy, of course, came up with a lie before she’d been able to answer. All the while, Signa was too aware of the rigidness of her spine and how her neck ached from trying to keep it so straight. She was certain she’d broken several dining etiquette rules—like what foods to eat in what order, when to put the sugar into her tea, how many fingers to use when she held the cup to her lips—but fortunately, no one mentioned any quibbles, though she did catch Eliza gaping at her a few times. While the rules were embedded somewhere in Signa’s brain, the practice of them felt unnatural. Eventually, she ceased eating and drinking altogether, as to not offend everyone in the room who watched her at Lord Wakefield’s side.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Signa asked few questions, unable to fully relax for fear that she’d do or say something wrong. Perhaps it was silly to worry so, given that Eliza was too thoroughly enamored with Percy and her own fan waving to care about the number of scones Signa consumed, and that Everett and Charlotte were nothing if not cordial. Still, stress was summoning hives across her skin, and her stomach was queasy.
Finally, as the tea ran cold and the food disappeared, Percy set his folded napkin upon the table and stood. Everett followed suit, helping Signa and then Charlotte out of their chairs. When they were all standing, he offered Signa his hand.
A moment of panic surged through her before she took it and allowed him to escort her outside.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his smile gleaming with the straightest, whitest teeth Signa had ever seen. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Miss Farrow, over the course of the upcoming season.”
For years Signa had imagined a moment like this. In it, however, she’d never envisioned that she’d have sweat along her back or that her dying cousin would be waiting for her to come and deliver her a cure. It was too much for Signa to even think about, which was why she detached herself from Everett and grabbed on to Percy, hoping her smile looked convincing. “I’m looking forward to it as well,” she told Everett, discreetly digging her fingers into Percy’s arm until he clasped his hand over hers and smiled.