Page 27 of The Sea Siren of Broadwater Bottom
Ever since Edward had rescued her from the pond, she had been steeling herself for his eventual disdain. She had expected it would come after she defeated him in the contest.
But judging by his stilted response when she told him of her intention to enter, it had arrived earlier than expected.
She sighed. She had tossed and turned half the night, scrutinizing his reactions, from the brief flash of paralysis that had washed over his face when she’d told him to the cordial-but-distant way he had taken his leave. To be sure, he had not said anything untoward, but his abrupt change in manner surely indicated his disapproval of a woman supposing she was good enough to compete against the men.
Didn’t it?
As she pulled out a sheet of paper to respond to the countess, she reminded herself for the thousandth time that it did not matter. Edward Astley had no place in her future.
The sooner she got that through her thick skull, the better.
May it please your Ladyship,
I lack sufficient words to express how honored I was to receive your kind invitation. I fear, however, that I would be entirely out of place at such an elegant gathering. I must confess that I do not own even one dress that you would deem presentable. I pray you will forgive me for therefore having to beg off, and that you will accept instead my most sincere thanks for thinking to include me.
Your humble servant,
Elissa St. Cyr
A reply camethe very next day in a cheerful, looping hand.
Dear Miss Elissa,
My name is Lucy, and I am Edward and Harrington’s little sister. Mama showed me your letter, and we were distressed to think that you might decline to join us for a reason that is so easily overcome! My brother Harrington has informed me that we are of a size, and there is nothing I should like better than to share all of my gowns with you. Please believe me when I say that I have plenty, and you will never again need to worry about such a thing. Here I would normally tell you about my sister Caro, who is constantly commissioning new dresses for us all whether we need them or not, but I will spare you the details as you will be meeting her for yourself in just a few short days.
We all cannot wait to meet you!
Yours affectionately,
Lucy Astley
Dear Lady Lucy,
I was touched beyond measure to receive your generous offer. I must confess, however, that my reluctance stems from more than my humble wardrobe. I am but a simple country tutor’s daughter and would be sorely out of place at such an elegant gathering. I tremble to think how many faux pas I would commit on the first day alone. I pray you will show this to your mother and beg her pardon on my behalf. Thank you so much for your kindness, which I shall never forget.
Yours sincerely,
Elissa St. Cyr
The followingday brought a response from yet another hand, this one all sharp angles and… Elissa touched the paper tentatively. Where did one obtain purple ink?
Miss Elissa,
I am Isabella, Lucy’s twin. At first, I took great offense when my mother asked me to write to you. I am sure you will agree that it is galling to admit that your parent has the right of something, but on this isolated and almost unprecedented occasion, I find I cannot contradict my mother.
I therefore wish to inform you that your concerns about lacking the polish to attend our house party are unfounded, because, in Mama’s memorable turn of phrase, “she could not possibly be less refined than you, Isabella.” I fear it is true. I am, how you say, a hoyden. I have none of the feminine graces. None. I do not sew. I do not pour tea. I do not make polite conversation. I answer only to my inner muse, which means I say precisely what I think at all times, in all situations. When I was six years old, I told the King of England himself that I thought his waistcoat ugly. Fortunately, he laughed, rather than having me beheaded. But I digress.
My point is, you need not concern yourself that anybody will remark upon whatever minor foibles you might commit, because they will be far too busy gossiping about me.
I therefore look forward to meeting you three days hence.
Yours,
Isabella Astley
Dear Lady Isabella,
I pray you will forgive me, as I suspect you might not consider the word “charming” a compliment, but that is what I found your letter. As to your assertion that nobody would remark upon my missteps, I fear you underestimate my innate talent for disaster. I once tripped over a pig. And I beg you not to force me to confess to the Bicklebury Bog Debacle.
