Page 30 of Wild Lily
“My interests in such pastimes ended last year. I could not afford them then, either in coin or affection.”
“Last year’s fancy has not given way to a new one?” his mother pressed, while she whipped up the air with her fan.
“No. If you took time away from the card tables long enough, you might have learned that from your so-called friends.”
“I doubt it.”
“What? You think they’d tell you any tidbit that might paint me in a good light?”
“As if you could stand in any good light.”
Children. They were such frightful children.
“I will ignore that, dear gel. We have much to decide. Now…” He strolled to his desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. Thin rag. Invoices, they were.
“These,” he said, holding aloft a few, “are yours, Madam. I will pay what I can of them from your monthly allowance.”
“George!” She gained her feet. “I—I need that money.”
He stared at her with sad eyes that offered only pity. Then he picked up another stack, thinner, but still, quite a few. “These, dear Elanna, are yours.”
“For gowns,” said his mother, “for the Season. She must have them, George. Must!”
“Have them. Wear them. These I will endeavor to cover completely. But know, my sweet child, that they are to get you a man who can pay for any future frocks.”
Julian ached for his sister.
She looked at her hands in her lap and nodded. “Sir, thank you. I understand.”
“Well, sadly, girl, that is not all. We are in such a state that if you do not snare a suitor by June’s end and marry by July, you must retire to Broadmore.”
“Papa!”
“Permanently.”
Julian hated to picture Elanna with a man who would not cherish her. Obviously, she hadn’t either. But time was short for her to find a mate.
“Seton,” his mother was atwitter, “this is outrageous. She’ll be a laughing stock. People will think she’s on the shelf or that there’s something hideously wrong with her. And you know what they’ll say…” Her eyes widened with suggestions of impropriety.
“What, dear Charlotte? What will they say? That she’s committed afaux pas?Hmm?”
“Worse. Well you know it.”
“Oh, yes. That some man assumed too many liberties with her.”
“Stop that.”
“That she had her chance and she chose once, chose badly, chose too quickly. That we’d hide her away for—”
“Enough, Seton.” His mother fretted with the edge of her fan, now dormant in her lap. Her lips quivered, a sign of the onset of tears. “You torment me.”
“The way you did me?”
“You know I hate discussion of money.” She fished a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
“Would that you would hate pissing it away as well,” his father mourned.
“Oh, you are a cruel man. Cruel,” she said, sniveling, real tears in her china-blue eyes.
