Page 30 of A Lady's Wager
She probably did look like asparagus though. Pity, that.
“Rachel is a delightful girl, thank you very much,” Etta said. “She speaks nearly fluent French, is an excellent rider, and exhibits great poise. The queen was quite taken with her.”
“Oh, I’m certain she is all those things…and fat. She is Nathan’s youngest, yes?”
“Yes,” Etta confirmed. “Her mother came to London for the first two weeks but returned to Northampton once Rachel was settled in.”
“Which you did not mind one bit, I’d wager,” Elizabeth said with a knowing grin.
By way of response, Etta fluttered both her fan and her eyelashes in Elizabeth’s direction, making Elizabeth laugh again. Without children of her own, Etta took full advantage of the opportunity to spoil and primp the girls she hosted. It was much easier to do this when the mothers did not interfere.
“Who was Rachel’s older sister again?” Elizabeth asked.
Etta paused a moment before she answered, preparing herself for a predictable reaction. “Beatrice.”
“Ah, Beatrice, number ten. A great beauty.” Elizabeth frowned. “That will be a difficult act for Rachel to follow.”
“Rachel is lovely,” Etta defended.
“But she is no Beatrice.”
“Oh stop,” Etta said, tapping her friend’s shoulder with her fan. She really did want Elizabeth to stop. There had already been an uncomfortable number of comparisons between Rachel and Beatrice—many of them made by Rachel herself. “Rachel will make a fine match.”
“Of course she will,” Elizabeth said, her small tightly curled wig very securely fastened to her own head. Etta was coveting that wig. “Your nominations always do. And Rachel is your lucky thirteen, is she not?”
It was a wonderful thing to be known so well by one’s friends. “Indeed,” Etta said, snapping open her fan and using it to conceal her self-satisfied smile—no need for the rest of the guests to suspect how impressed she was with herself.
One of the papers had called Etta a matchmaker after the engagement of her seventh debutante a few years ago, but the title sounded rather…occupational, and a woman of breeding could never have an occupation. No, she was simply a designer of partnerships that, thus far, had been satisfyingly successful for everyone involved—including herself.
Women of a Certain Age needed to have passions and pleasures after all, and there were worse vices than helping young women make good decisions when choosing who to bind themselves to for life. A bad match could be ruinous for a woman. Etta had learned that the hard way…twice. This gave her important objectivity.
“Did you see that Wynn Firth is in actual attendance at an actual ball?” Elizabeth asked. “I nearly fainted when I saw him.”
Etta moved her head too fast, and the wig definitely shifted. She covertly raised a hand and pushed it ever so gently back to center. Blast herself for removing those pins!
“What on earth would bring him to Town?” Etta asked.
Wynn Firth had never cared for noble connections, though he was the second son of an earl with a significant estateup north. An estate that primarily raised pigs, it should be noted. The late Mrs. Firth was the cousin of one of Elizabeth’s childhood friends, so Etta knew a bit about the family. She’d have never expected him to partake of this new social season.
“He’s attending the ball with his son tonight,” Elizabeth said.
“His son?” Etta asked, annoyed that she was hearing this information only now. She made a point of staying on top of such important gossip amid theton—especially when there was an eligible young man involved.
Elizabeth nodded. “The eldest daughter, Lydia, has come to Town as well, though she was not feeling well tonight. Ethyl Marble is hosting the girl. I met up with Mrs. Marble in the foyer and she is quite pleased to have brought the Firths out of obscurity, that is how she said it.”
Etta snorted—in a very ladylike way, she quickly covered with her fan, careful not to move her head. Mrs. Ethyl Marble was known to take payment for making introductions for girls who lacked London connections of their own. Though Wynn Firth was only one degree removed from a title, none of his family had done the noble thing of making a place for themselves here in London. His brother, the current earl, did not even bring his family to London when he had to come for Parliament and refused every invitation that did not feature a hand of cards. In Etta’s opinion, if a girl did not have relatives of her own to offer introductions, she ought not attend the London Season at all. “She was not presented to the queen,” Etta said, pointing out yet another mark against the Firths.
“No, she’s only just come to London.”
Etta nearly snorted again. After the first Queen Charlotte’s Ball, a nomination system had been created where a woman with royal ties could nominate unmarried young women to be presented to the queen. If the girl’s family and status was approved by the lord chamberlain, she could attend the ball andbe presented, earning her a royal stamp of approval that she could carry with her as she danced and flirted her way into a successful match with a man of her same station. Etta had been an attendant to Queen Charlotte for over a year in between marriage one and marriage two, when the royal family had lived in Buckingham House. That connection allowed Etta to make nominations, which she had done thirteen times now, with thirteen approvals, thirteen presentations, and twelve marriages thus far. As the granddaughter of an earl, Lydia Firth’s nomination likely would have been approved, which meant no one had bothered to nominate her. Poor thing.
Etta had been scanning the ballroom for Wynn Firth while Elizabeth filled in the details Etta should already have known, and she finally found him. They had met a few times these last decades—though Etta could not remember exactly where or why—and he was as handsome as he had ever been; he was tall and broad, with thick dark hair tied back at the base of his neck. She remembered from their encounters that in addition to his good looks, he had a loud laugh and a casual demeanor. Country manners, to be sure.
“I am flatly shocked,” Etta said, rather annoyed that the Firths felt they could step away from the Polite World and then step back in when it suited them. She, on the other hand, had made navigating this world her sole pursuit. It occupied every minute of her life. She was also annoyed that he was still handsome, though she noted that his evening dress was outdated and he had no buckle on his shoe.
“I hope you will be kind to him when your paths cross,” Elizabeth said.
Etta looked oddly at her friend, still mindful of the unstable wig. “Of course I will be kind. I am kindness to the core, thank you very much. Why would I not be kind?”
