Page 35 of A Lady's Wager
Because she hadn’t liked who she’d been.
She’d structured the interaction to give an impression and make a point, all of it based on pretense and expectation. None of it based on the fact that she’d talked to a man new to Town who’d been trying to look out for his children and asking for her help in doing that. She had chosen the trappings over the humanity, and it did not sit well with her. Yet what else could she do?
She finally turned away from the mirror with a sigh, hating how unsettled she felt, but hopeful that morning would bring abetter mood and less depth to her thoughts. They did not serve her and the life she’d made. They only made it harder to live it.
IT WAS A WEEK BEFOREEtta had to face Mr. Firth again. She saw him across the lawn at a garden party before he saw her, and she managed to keep a distance for some time. The uncomfortable thoughts had eased by morning but had not disappeared completely. She did not like that seeing him again reminded her of those thoughts all over again.
Eventually, the inevitable happened, and they stood across from one another amid a circle of other attendees, including his son and daughter. Etta looked Mr. Firth squarely in the eye to show him that she was not going to let their last meeting set the tone for their interactions going forward. She had been at a disadvantage, and he had not behaved liked a gentleman—that was the point she would focus upon. He held her gaze a moment, then introduced himself to the other women in the circle, which she took as an acknowledgement of his understanding. Rachel, luckily, was taking a turn around the pond with Mr. Rigby. With a bit more luck, that walk would last longer than this exchange.
“Mrs. Markshire,” Mr. Firth said after having greeted every other person in the circle. “I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Lydia.”
The wisp of a girl Etta had also seen from a distance much earlier in the day could not be more than eighteen years old and looked absolutely terrified. Etta could not help but feel compassion for the only Firth who seemed to know how out of place they were in Town—proof that her humanity was not entirely depleted after so many years in London.
“How do you do,” the girl said, dropping into too deep a curtsy for a casual afternoon event.
Etta appreciated the girl’s effort and let her heart remain soft toward her. “I am well, Miss Firth, thank you. Your dress is lovely, that shade of green is perfect for your coloring.”
The girl met her eyes with desperate gratitude. “Do you really think so?”
Etta did not show her surprise at the girl’s response, though Lady Wilkins, standing to Etta’s left, made a soft snort. “I do,” Etta said, glad that her compliment had been genuine. It was a lovely dress, and it set the girl off to as much advantage as a dress could. “It can be a challenge to choose amid current fashion and still find the designs that set us off to our best representation. Your dress is an example of success in that field.”
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Markshire.”
Mr. Firth shifted awkwardly, which told Etta that he knew his daughter was not ready for London. Reed Firth stayed a step back from the group, looking as awkward and out of place here as he had at last week’s ball.
“You are welcome, Miss Firth.”
There was a bit more small talk amid the group and then the Firths moved on, and Etta hid her relief.
Lady Wilkins snorted more loudly once they were gone. “Gracious, is this what London has come to? Every country bumpkin can crash on through?”
“It is not her fault,” Etta said, opening her fan. The day was warm, and though she’d chosen a much more subdued wig todayand a lovely wide-brimmed hat, she was feeling the prickling sensation of sweat beneath her layers. “She seems very sweet-tempered.” Again, Etta was glad to be able to speak the truth. The girl was not ridiculous, just unpolished.
Lady Wilkins snorted again. “She’ll not make a match here.”
Etta did not want to prolong the topic, but she silently agreed.
Mr. Holladay and his sister joined the party and the topic of conversation blessedly changed, but Etta found herself continuing to track the Firths as the afternoon continued. Mr. Firth did not leave his daughter’s side, which was sweet but silly if he wanted her to make acquaintances her own age. Eventually, Mr. Rigby returned Rachel, and for the rest of the party Etta made it a priority to move her in circles opposite those the Firths were making. She was both smug and satisfied when she and Rachel were finally handed into the carriage without having another encounter.
“How was your afternoon?” Etta asked once the carriage was moving. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did enjoy myself, it was a lovely time,” Rachel said, sitting perfectly straight in her seat and looking as contended as her words implied.
“You had some time with Mr. Rigby,” Etta said, lifting one eyebrow. “He is very attentive to you.”
Rachel lowered her chin and Etta was unable to read her expression. “He is,” Rachel said, then lifted her head, her cheeks pink.
Etta smiled, then took a satisfying breath and looked out the carriage window, already thinking ahead to the Cronshaw’s dinner party tonight. It would not be a large affair, twenty people or so, but Mrs. Cronshaw was Mr. Rigby’s aunt and he was sure to be there. Two opportunities in a single day for the two young people to further their connection. That was excellent.
“I did not get to talk to Lydia or Re—Mr. Firth.”
Etta turned back to Rachel and raised her darkly penciled eyebrows. She did not wear powders during the day but still accentuated her brows, eyes, and lips. “Oh?”
“I saw you speaking to them when I was walking with Mr. Rigby and had hoped I would have another chance. I have barely seen Lydia at all since she’s come to Town. When we did speak last, she was finding it all a bit overwhelming.”
“Yes, I am sure it is overwhelming. The farther from Town one lives, the more difficult it is to feel comfortable here. I am surprised they did not stay in Manchester and simply find satisfaction with the events there. I think it would have been more comfortable for all of them.” Manchester was nothing like London, of course, but a much better place for someone ill-prepared for the expectations of the city.
“As does Lydia,” Rachel said. “She had quite liked it there, but her father insisted they come to London for some reason. I just hope she is alright. It was a difficult adjustment when I came to London as well.”
