Page 1 of Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly
Chapter 1
Thursday April 25, 1816
No. 6 Royal Crescent
Bath, England
Lady Fiona Chastain crushed her aunt's letter. First came the announcement in the morning's newspaper and then this in the mail!
Shock turned her rigid. Anger burned her cheeks.
If her mother saw her, she'd scold her. "Fifi,ma sirène,we do not display emotion."
But this was not passion or desire or affection. No. Fifi blinked. It was...
Anger.
She bristled. Where was her motto?Dance with abandon. Sing in the dark. Live like no one need love you...but you.
"I do. That's enough."
Anger destroyed the best of her. Of anyone. She'd shunned it.
Still at this announcement of her cousin's wedding, Fifi felt rage's hot rush.
That surprised her. Because...well...to be frank, tears should come when one learned that one's cousin snared the man one wished to marry. Shouldn't they?
Yet she remained clear-eyed. With fury. And why?Why?
She frowned.
Fie on Esme Harvey to foil her! Fie on her to scoop up her beau. The one she liked best and had waited for. Waited for in Green Park that morning after they'd met. Waited for. Even though she'd won an ungodly amount of money from him that first night. Even though he'd told her she was delightful.Delicious, in fact, had been his captivating approbation. And then?Then?He'd never called upon her. Never written an explanation or apology. Not a note. Not a blasted word.
"Will you pen a reply, my lady?" Her butler, sweet old man that he was, stood swaying by the withdrawing room door.
"Yes." What she'd write would singe Esme's ears. What Esme deserved was aboxingof her ears! If only Fifi could summon more courage and fewer scruples. She took off her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'll do it later, Jerrold."
"Very well." He shot out a hand to the jamb and steadied himself as he turned for the hall. Dizzy again today, was he?
"Wait!" She waved the rumpled parchment like a flag.
He spun around much too quickly and teetered to one side, then another. Righting himself, he squinted at her. His eyesight was getting worse. Perhaps as bad as hers. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Have a footman hail a sedan chair for me." She disliked the confinement of the ugly little chairs, but she and her mother had sold off their town coach last spring. And it was too far to walk from home to her friend Mary's house in Queen Square in the rain.
"Now?"
"Now. And have Maisie fetch my red wool redingote and umbrella. I'm off."
Jerrold nodded, but shook his head as if he were befuddled.
"Are you well, Jerrold?" She didn't wish to insult him. He had his pride more than most servants.
"Well...well? What well? Ours?"
"No, Jerrold," she enunciated distinctly. "Do you need to sit for awhile? Not feeling up to snuff?"
He bristled, hauling himself up into a piffle. "I do not sniff snuff."
