Page 4 of Unending Joy
“Do you realize you close one eye when you’re looking far away?” Maeve asked quietly beside her.
“No. Do I?” She had never noticed such a habit. Perhaps she truly did need spectacles.
“You should not frown like that,” her friend then scolded.
Joy did not wish to discuss her problems. It had been bad enough that she had confessed to Freddy last night. Hopefully, he had forgotten after a night’s repose—he tended not to dwellon serious matters overmuch, which was part of what she liked in him.
“I will go and see if my book is available,” Joy remarked rather than retort something unkind.
“I see Lady Edith. I will be over there.” Maeve pointed in the general direction across the room, where people had gathered on sofas.
Joy was not sure how she felt about Lady Edith, but Maeve seemed to enjoy her company.
“Good morning, Miss Whitford,” the clerk greeted her. “I have something for you.”
He knew her well. He searched on a counter behind him and produced a lovely burgundy leather-bound volume of Keats’s latest poems. The letters swam before her, so she did not try too hard to read them, lest someone else discover her disability. Either it was getting worse, or rather was her ability to disguise it.
She accepted the book and thanked the clerk. When she turned and walked in the general direction Maeve had indicated, she found her friend with not only Lady Edith, but also several other young ladies who were making their debut. They were giggling and whispering behind their gloved hands.
When Joy was close enough to make out their faces, Maeve’s cheeks were pink and she looked upset. She knew at once they had been gossiping about her. Joy did not trouble to greet any of them but diverted her steps and made her way to the door.
Maeve soon found her on a bench outside.
“Joy,” Maeve said apologetically.
Joy did not particularly wish to have this discussion. “You do not need to say anything. I can surmise quite well what happened. It is human nature to gossip. I would expect no less from those girls.”
“But you assume I was participating.”
Joy lifted an unladylike shoulder to feign indifference. “I will send the carriage back for you if you wish to stay with them.”
“That will never do, Joy. We will go take our walk through the park as we intended, and you will hold your head high. The Dowager would be appalled to find her charges had lost all sense of propriety and abandoned her.”
Joy wanted to shout what she really thought about propriety, but she suppressed the urge. She knew very well what would happen if she took the carriage and went anywhere alone.
She stood up and followed, not yet trusting herself to speak. They found the Dowager, who had stopped at the modiste’s around the corner to request a change to an order.
“I was just about to come and find you,” the Dowager said. “This saves me the trouble. Do you still wish to stroll through the park? I believe I saw Lady Ingram going that way, and I wish to speak with her.”
“Indeed, a walk would be just the thing,” Lady Maeve replied.
Joy was still brooding. She had to discover a way to convince Faith to let her return to the country. She was not suited to this.
As they walked towards the park, Joy clutched her new volume of Keats against her side. She would have liked nothing better than to return home at once and hide away in her chamber, reading lines of verse until the words danced into her heart. Yet Lady Maeve had a determined set to her mouth—one that brooked no argument—and so Joy found herself stepping into the bright midday sunshine, her eyes instantly watering from the glare.
Across the street, an elegant barouche passed by, its occupants bedecked in the very height of fashion. Joy recognized one of the ladies—tall and stately, with a plume in her bonnet that bobbed precariously—though the details grew hazy after a moment’s glance. Feeling a pang of frustration, Joy blinked and looked down at the pavement instead.
They set out along the bustling street. Flower sellers called out their wares, and the occasional horse-drawn cart clattered by. Joy tried to keep her mind from the vexations of the morning, but her thoughts strayed, unbidden, to the whispers that had greeted her. It was one thing to bear gossip about oneself—quite another to see one’s friend caught in the middle.
She stole a glance at Maeve. “Was it about me?” she asked softly, scarcely wanting to hear the answer. “You need not spare my feelings.”
With a sigh, Maeve nodded. “They were discussing your…mishaps on the ballroom floor.” A rueful smile crossed her face. “They mentioned your fondness for animals, which is not a bad thing.”
A sharp pang twisted in Joy’s chest. She looked down at her reticule, twisting the strings with nervous fingers. She did not care if people called her unrefined—indeed, her own sisters implied as much, albeit more gently—but she despised the idea that Maeve should be tainted by association.
“I am sorry,” Joy murmured, voice tight.
Maeve’s eyes flashed. “Do not apologize. I am quite capable of deciding what company I keep. And if they disapprove, that is their affair.”
