“When we were first acquainted?” Eliza said. “We spoke of books, our friends in common, the progress of the war.”
“And then?” Margaret prompted.
And then . . . Somewhere through the snatched pieces of conversation, at the balls, at the garden parties, at the theater, his natural reserve and her natural shyness had eased sufficiently for them to discover not only the analogous turn of their minds, but the depth of their mutual regard.
“What has you so interested in the affair?” Eliza said, instead of answering. To indulge in such nostalgic yearning now would only serve to make her more nervous.
“Having no past loves of my own, I am left with no option but to take an interest in yours,” Margaret said, shrugging.
“Have you truly never had a decided partiality for anyone?” Eliza asked.
“There were certainly those I enjoyed flirting with,” Margaret said, considering the matter. “But certainly not enough to seriously consider any of them. I suppose, to be a rich widow, as you are, is aspirational—but could one ever be certain of the gentleman dying early enough?”
“Not without risking a rather long visit to Newgate Prison,” Eliza said.
The clock struck twelve. There was a sound from below. The door.
Eliza stood. She had dressed very carefully today, in a robe of clinging black crêpe—made demure by its high collar—and she smoothed a hand down the front of her gown.
“You look very becoming,” Margaret whispered.
Eliza could hear Perkins’s murmuring voice, then footsteps upon the stairs. She had instructed him most firmly to bring up visitors as soon as they—he—arrived. She took a deep breath. Today, there was nothing to be nervous about. It was simply a morning visit. It was everything of the most usual.
Perkins opened the door.
“Lord Melville and Lady Caroline Melville, my lady,” he announced.
“No!” Eliza blurted out, utterly thrown.
“Good afternoon!” Margaret attempted to cover this gaffe.
“Good afternoon,” Melville said as he wandered into the room, a somewhat quizzical look in his eyes. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“N-no, of course not. We are not expecting anyone!” Eliza said, too loud by far.
“Melville, you said we had been invited,” Lady Caroline said, turning to her brother.
“We had!” Melville said. “Though now I reflect on it . . . Perhaps only tangentially.”
If that! Eliza had merely mentioned the possibility, in passing.
“Ought we to leave?” Lady Caroline asked, raising a brow in question at Eliza.
Eliza wanted more than anything to be able to answer honestly. Somerset might arrive at any moment and Eliza did not feel at all prepared to juggle two such disparate sets of visitors—let alone what Somerset might think, if he were to find Eliza sipping tea with two of the most accomplished flirts in England.
“No, no, of course not!” Eliza said instead, twisting her hands into her skirts. “Please, do sit down. May we offer you refreshment?”
“That would be very kind,” Lady Caroline said, falling gracefully into the chair opposite Eliza, while Melville, ignoring Eliza’s invitation, wandered over to the window to look out on the street below.
“Charming!” he said.
Eliza stared helplessly at Lady Caroline, without a single thought in her head. With other visitors, she might comment on the disappointing nature of today’s pallid grey sky, but knowing Lady Caroline already thought her insipid did not endear such a subject to her.
“I owe you an apology, my lady, Miss Balfour,” Lady Caroline spoke first, in the end. “Melville informs me that you overheard our terribly rude conversation at the assembly. How churlish we were—I don’t know how you could ever forgive us!”
“We haven’t,” Margaret said promptly, before Eliza could answer. “Perhaps in time.”
Eliza held back a groan, but Lady Caroline did not look offended. Rather, she was looking Margaret slowly over, as if recalculating her in some way.
“You have teeth,” she said approvingly.
“Thirty of them, I’m told,” Margaret shot back.
“And yet there were none to be seen on Wednesday night.”
“On Wednesday night I was on my best behavior.”
“A horrendous affliction,” Lady Caroline said. “I am pleased to find you now cured of it.”
They smiled at each other. That is, Eliza chose to think of it as smiling, and not, as might perhaps be more accurate, baring their teeth.
“May I offer you a refreshment?” Eliza said again, as Perkins swept back into the room. His tray of refreshments, normally a gloriously laden affair, was sparser than usual, with only a pot of coffee, and slices of cake and fruit. Seeing this, Eliza sent him a look of speaking gratitude, which he returned only with the slightest of nods—she could always trust Perkins to be awake on every suit. Now, she must hurry the Melvilles through the visit as quickly as possible. It was only twelve; there was no reason that the two visits need overlap in any way.
“Do you take milk, my lord?” Eliza said, handing Lady Caroline a cup.
“I am disappointed,” Melville said, from where he was now examining the painting on the wall, a fine landscape she had purchased from an artist displaying his work at the Pump Room last week.
“Oh, well if you would prefer tea, I can . . .” Eliza began.
“I hoped to find the walls bedecked with your own artwork,” Melville said, as if Eliza had not spoken. “But I do not think this is your hand.”
“No, no, of course it is not,” Eliza said, surprised that Melville had remembered such a detail. “That is far superior to anything I could achieve.”
“You draw?” Lady Caroline said, regarding Eliza over the rim of her cup.
“A little,” Eliza said.
“She paints too—beautifully,” Margaret put in.
“Watercolors?” Lady Caroline asked.
“And oil, a little,” Eliza admitted.
“Impressive. It is not a medium oft taught to women.” Lady Caroline looked at Eliza and then to Margaret. “You are both a great deal more interesting than you first appear.”
Eliza was not sure this was a compliment, so she sipped at her cup rather than answer.
“I am not sure that is a compliment,” Margaret said.
“I am not sure I meant it as one,” Lady Caroline returned. “You ought not to be hiding it.”