Page 3 of Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly
Fifi faced Mary. "I'm not in the habit of thinking the worst of people. Even Esme Harvey."
"I had no idea Esme traveled in the same circles as Northington." Mary wished to distract her from her complaint. "Did you?"
"My Aunt Courtland—God love her—is a sweet soul, but if she has any fault it's that she encouraged Esme to exceed her grasp. Excel at French, archery, cards. Anything! You know she did."
"I remember your aunt appearing any night or day at Miss Shipley's demanding Esme do more, study longer hours, practice more diligently. Your aunt was a harpy to her only daughter, but in all else a serene lady with a sense of humor."
"Yes. Well! I cannot laugh at this!" Fifi paced back and forth before the pianoforte.
Mary pointed to the settee. "Come sit down."
"Sit down! Sit down!"
Mary stepped to the bird's cage and dropped his cover over him.
As if that deterred him.
"Now then." Mary hobbled over to sit and pat the cushion. "We'll have tea. Cook made creamed horns yesterday. You like those."
"Oh, Mary. I can't eat."
Mary regarded her with shock. "Dearest, long after I have waddled to my bed stuffed to my gizzard like a Christmas goose,youcan always eat."
Fifi sighed. "You're right. Of course. Why do you always state the truth?"
"Hmm. Not the best of traits. My mama always urged me to discretion. 'A littlepolitesse, dear girl,' she'd say. I'm not a diplomat! Never will be! Now do sit—"
"Sit down! Sit down!"
Fifi frowned at the bird. "He becomes more vocal as he gets older."
"And he is company."
Fifi snorted. "You can do better."
"I could hope. Here now." Mary patted the cushion. "Let's figure this one out."
Weary, Fifi strode over and sank to the settee. "I cannot imagine Aunt Courtland would encourage Esme to charm Northington into marriage."
"Does your aunt know you cared for him?"
"I never told her. But my mother might have."
"That had to be two years ago, before your mama became so ill," Mary pointed out.
"But Esme knows."
Mary drew back. Fifi would never confide in Esme. "You told her?"
"Wasn't it always obvious? The year all of us came out? I danced with him at that masquerade ball. Later that night, I won all that money from him! He laughed at my skills. Imagine! No one...no one has ever matched him." She hadn't told Mary—nor anyone else either—that she was to have met him the next day in Green Park. There, she could have wagered her soul, he would have proposed. But he'd never appeared. The scoundrel. Nor had he, over the years even had the decency to acknowledge her with more than a polite nod and smile of dismissal. The cad.
"Fifi, you were eighteen. All of us were green. Foolish."
"Six years ago." Fifi inhaled and her spectacles slipped. She pushed them up. "The wars were on."
Mary stilled. "We had the ridiculous perception that war was glorious...and that all soldiers would return."
"Forgive me." Fifi wanted to kick herself. Mary never liked discussions of the war. On a battlefield far away in Spain, her only brother George had died and she'd not recovered his loss. "I didn't mean to open old wounds."
