Page 15 of Unending Joy
“Yes, indeed,” she countered, one brow arched imperiously. “Most ladies expect it.”
“But not you, Joy.”
“No, not me. Do not be ridiculous, Freddy.”
CHAPTER 6
About the only thing worse than a ball was a garden party to draw attention to one’s incompetence at being a lady. Balls, at least, involved movement. One could dance, or make a well-timed escape behind a potted palm. But garden parties? The main entertainment was idle chit-chat and the ever popular game of who-was-wearing-what and who was matching with whom. Tête-à-têtes with strangers Joy had no desire to know, forced smiles and compliments on hats—it was too much to be borne. If only someone would seat her with the gentlemen and let her debate bloodlines of horses or the merits of different harnesses, she’d be much obliged. But no. Ladies must speak of fabric swatches, and how scandalously low the line of Lady Findley’s neck had plunged at the opera.
Still, the Cunningham garden was one of the finest in London. If one must be miserable, it helped that one could do so under a clear sky and surrounded by lilacs. Everything was in bloom. Even Joy could make out the brightness of the roses across the lawn.
Tables were placed about the central fountain, each set with frothy lace cloths and small towers of pastries, tarts, and lemoncakes—her main reason for not fleeing. The punch glittered in the sunlight like rubies. There was a silver lining, after all.
Her sisters were scattered amongst the guests, all fluttering fans and silken skirts—all except Grace, who was still off with Lord Carew, no doubt enjoying some wondrous ruin or windswept cliff on their wedding trip to Greece. The thought made something small and wistful stir inside Joy. Grace had always been her closest companion, her co-conspirator in all things—though Grace was more often the silent partner. Without her, Joy felt a bit like a puzzle missing a vital piece.
She looked over the crowd and sighed. Everyone else looked so polished, so perfectly content. Joy smoothed her skirt and tried not to fidget.
“How are things, Joy?” Hope asked, appearing beside her like an apparition of maternal concern. “I have scarcely seen you since the ball.”
Joy resisted the urge to shrug. “Well enough, I suppose. Freddy and I went with Lady Maeve and the Duke of Thornhill to Richmond.”
“If you wish to find a beau, Joy,” Hope said pointedly, “you might need to stop sitting in Freddy’s pocket and vice versa.”
“Everyone knows they are as brother and sister.” Patience waved a hand, coming upon them from nowhere. “They do not think of each other in that way.”
“Be that as it may,” Faith added, joining them. “Suitors can certainly gather the wrong impression.”
“That is partially on purpose,” Joy muttered into her punch.
Three sets of sisterly eyes fastened on her like bees to honey.
“Pray tell,” Patience demanded.
Joy took a bite of tart for fortification. “We thought to find spouses together, Freddy and I. Ones who were friends of ours so we might all still be friends.”
“Oh, dear,” Hope murmured, as though Joy had confessed to running off with a circus.
“I have heard about the edict from Mr. Cunningham’s parents,” Faith said. “Have you discovered any prospects yet?”
Joy craned her neck, locating Maeve, currently laughing at something the Duke had said. The man looked positively enchanted. Freddy stood nearby, being talked at by some young miss, looking rather like a man who had brought his best hound to a fair only to watch it run off with the prized pheasant.
“Freddy thought perhaps Maeve,” Joy admitted, “but he may have been too slow.”
All eyes shifted to the laughing couple.
“I hope there is an alternative plan,” Patience murmured. “Surely you were not thinking about the Duke for yourself?”
“Can you imagine me as a duchess?” Joy scoffed.
Mercifully, they refrained from comment.
“Freddy is going to introduce me to some of his friends, and I shall make mine known to him,” Joy continued. “Though Maeve was my only candidate thus far.”
A footman appeared with punch, and Joy gratefully seized a glass as if it might ward off further discussion.
As Faith and Hope launched into stories of teething and nap times, Joy allowed her gaze to wander, sweeping across the other débutantes gathered. If she was to help Freddy find a bride, she’d best begin sorting the likely from the hopeless. She attempted a casual assessment.
Miss Marigold Henley laughed just then, a high, tinkling sound like a tea kettle on the verge of scalding. Joy winced. Imagine listening to that across the breakfast table every morning.
