Porry says, Porry claims, Porry declares… “Portia Brompton has never, to my knowledge, been appointed the arbiter of truth in any regard. She is often in error, frequently bullheaded, and unrelentingly selfish. Mr. DeGrange is quite well fixed. He tends his acres conscientiously, and his grandmother was a copper heiress. She left him significant means that he’s invested wisely. I would not have added him to the guest list if he were merely agreeable.”
Flavia sank back into her chair. “Portia was wrong. I knew it. Porry is often wrong, but one cannot tell her that, or she flies into the boughs, and then one must apologize for having done nothing wrong, or she pouts. Nobody can pout like Portia.”
Edna, Isaac, Eggy, Charlie… They could all give Portia a run for her pouting money. “You are not her nanny, Flavia. Tell her she’s mistaken, decline to partner her at whist, and bide here at Nunnsuch if you don’t choose to go to Town. Uncle Nunn could use the company, truth be told.”
Flavia tucked her feet up and curled her arms around her knees. “I can’t. Portia is all I have. Mama is off on her intrigues and scheming with Eggy, or doting on the little boys. If Portia turns her back on me, I’ll have nothing and nobody, or worse, Porry will decide I need to be taught a lesson. She used to do that. Hide my dolls. She tossed one of them to the rag-and-bone man once because I wouldn’t give her my pudding.”
What a horrid thing to do. “And yet, you are loyal to her.”
Flavia shrugged. “You are loyal to the Bromptons, and then Johnny struts home from Canada, and the lot of us can’t wait to see him snatch your fortune from you. I think it’s horrid myself. You aren’t doting, but you are fair and generous, and you have a head for figures. Porry says Johnny will be more generous than you are, but she’s determined to marry Lord Phillip. She won’t be the one wearing last year’s bonnets when Johnny leaves us all to starve. I’d really rather not wear your bracelet, if you don’t mind.”
She held out her wrist, and Hecate undid the clasp, though the links had snagged on the lace of Flavia’s cuff. Freeing her took some delicate maneuvering.
Hecate held the skein of gold up to the slanting beams of evening light. How many of her own figurative dolls had the Bromptons tossed to the rag-and-bone man? How many of her years, her best efforts, her good intentions?
Her fortune was the least of it.
“I like Lord Phillip,” Flavia said.
“I love him. Is Portia intent on getting compromised with him?”
Flavia tucked herself into a smaller ball. “I never said that.”
Hecate waited, mentally castigating herself for having overlooked the one family member who never gave her any trouble.
“Eggy vows I’m nearly simpleminded,” Flavia said. “Mama warns me that I’d best work on my charm and wiles, because my brains and fortune will never impress a man. Charles says he might be able to foist me off on one of his older friends. Portia has a use for me, sometimes.”
Hecate had been five years younger than Flavia was now when the Bromptons, abetted by a lot of crooked solicitors, had decided that she, too, had a use.
Damn them for that and for what they were doing to Flavia. “You are pretty, Flavia. More attractive than Portia, and that bothers her exceedingly.”
Flavia looked up, her expression suggesting the dressing bell had sounded an hour early.
“You learned the quadrille in three days flat,” Hecate went on. “Lord Phillip, an intelligent and determined man, is still struggling with it after weeks of practice. You would doubtless be a dab hand at the ledgers, and I cannot find another Brompton who will even glance at them. You have seen Mr. DeGrange’s good qualities without even knowing he possesses a fortune, and that will matter to him a great deal.”
Flavia worried her lower lip. “You are really rich, aren’t you?”
What had that to do with anything? When had that ever had a blessed thing to do with what mattered?
“Yes and no.”
Flavia stared hard at the gold winking in Hecate’s hand. “I wish I could be like you, wealthy enough that I don’t have to marry. Don’t have to be pretty. Don’t have to charm all the bachelors in hopes one of them will take me off the Brompton charity rolls. I could work at your sailors’ home—I’m good with a needle.”
This was as much enthusiasm as Flavia had ever shown about anything, and Hecate was reminded again of all the enthusiasms the Bromptons had criticized, ridiculed, and shamed her out of.
And now they wanted to take Phillip from her, too, and foist Johnny off on her?
“Flavia, if that’s what you want, then I will make the arrangements. You can have a cottage in Chelsea—Miss Blanchard adores her cottage—devote yourself to charity, and leap over the whole Mayfair madness.”
“You’d do that?”
“I wish somebody had done that for me.” Wished she had done it for herself, but like Phillip, she’d accepted a sentence passed upon her by those unqualified to render judgment.
Flavia set her feet back on the floor and smoothed her skirts. “Porry plans to compromise you with Johnny so Lord Phillip will be left for her. She might choose Mr. DeWitt instead. I saw Mr. DeWitt first, but when Portia makes up her mind…”
“She’d leave you with no one?”
“No one but her, though to be honest…”
“Right. No sister at all might be an improvement over a sister like that. How is this compromising supposed to work?”
Hecate had a general idea—DeWitt had mentioned that Portia was plotting more mischief—and Flavia supplied details consistent with prior offenses.
“Thank you for telling me,” Hecate said. “You’d best go waken Sleeping Beauty, and I will have a word with Uncle Nunn.”
“What about?”
“A topic we aired in theory several days ago that now must be dealt with in earnest.” Hecate stopped Flavia at the door, pulled her into a hug, and then slapped the bracelet into her palm. “Keep it for luck.”
Flavia hugged her back and slipped into the corridor, where Mr. DeWitt waited, already attired in his evening finery.
“Porry, hold still, or your coiffeur will be lopsided.”
“This vanity stool is an instrument of torture, and lopsided is fashionable. A curl or two cascading over my milk-white shoulder. Can you try that, Flavie?” Mama claimed Lord Phillip would be returning for tonight’s ball—where had he got off to, and how did Mama know that?—and the usual ringlets would not do.
Schoolgirls wore ringlets. The future wife of a marquess’s heir was entitled to more sophisticated styles.
“I can try.” Flavia, still attired in chemise and dressing gown, began unbraiding the plait she’d just made. “We will be late for the buffet if you don’t soon make up your mind.”
“The buffet is only for family and guests. We don’t need to be punctual. Besides, you are going to be late anyway, remember?”
“Because I’m to discover Hecate and Johnny at five minutes past the hour… Where did you decide I’m to discover them?”
“Must you pull my hair?” Portia took a fortifying sip of punch, though if Hecate had allowed any wine into this batch, Cook had used a very subtle hand. “You, accompanied by Eggy, at least, and possibly Mr. DeGrange and Mr. DeWitt, will find Hecate and Johnny in the warming pantry beside the formal dining room.”