Page 41 of Thief of the Ton
“Have I not said so, Lavinia?” Aunt Edna continued. “That Lady Irma would make a suitable friend?”
“I’m content with the friends I have,” Lavinia said. She crossed the floor and sat next to Eleanor.
“A young lady will not further herself by merely beingcontent,” Mrs. Howard said. “Is that not so, Eleanor?”
“Yes, Mother,” Eleanor replied, her voice devoid of emotion.
“I’m sure Miss de Grande would agree also,” Mrs. Howard continued. Eleanor’s blush deepened.
“Opportunities for betterment are certainly not to be sneered at,” Lavinia said. “The broadening of one’s intellect, through education and experience, for instance, is always to be admired. However, when it comes to the choice of a friend, I believe in constancy. Good friends are few and far between, and I am fortunate to have secured a friendship in London that I intend to maintain and nurture.”
“With whom?” Aunt Edna asked.
“With Miss Howard, of course,” Lavinia said, smiling at her friend. Eleanor lifted her head and met Lavinia’s gaze. Two clear green eyes regarded her with fondness and gratitude.
“It is to be hoped,” Mrs. Howard said, “that an association with you, Miss de Grande, will enable Eleanor to advance herself in Society, even if I cannot expect her to reach the heights to which my Juliette aspires.”
Aunt Edna frowned. To her credit, though she valued her position in Society a little too much, Lavinia’s aunt also valued common courtesy and kindness.
The door opened, and a maid appeared with a tea tray and set it on a side table.
“Eleanor, serve the tea,” Mrs. Howard ordered her daughter. “Lady Yates first, of course.”
“Yes, Mother.” Eleanor leaped to her feet, as if she’d been whipped, then approached the table and poured a cup. Her hand shook and some of the brown liquid splashed onto the saucer. Aunt Edna, usually a stickler for tidiness, merely smiled.
“Thank you, my dear.”
Eleanor gave a quick, tight smile, then continued to pour the tea, spooning sugar into her mother’s cup before handing it to her.
“Didyouwant sugar, Lady Yates?” Mrs. Howard asked. “I’m afraid Eleanor forgot to offer—”
“Your daughter has done well to recall that I take no sugar in my tea,” Aunt Edna interrupted. “An overindulgence in sugar is not to be encouraged—not at my age, at least.”
Eleanor resumed her seat and focused her attention on her cup.
Mrs. Howard rattled on about Juliette’s accomplishments, and how Lady Irma Fairchild was to be admired, but Lady Arabella Ponsford, despite having lost her parents, was not to be pitied, for she had inherited a sizeable fortune that she would come into upon reaching her majority.
Poor Eleanor remained silent throughout the conversation, responding only when instructed to lend agreement to everything her mother said.
Aunt Edna might be a stickler for propriety, but at least she lacked Mrs. Howard’s cold ambition. She, in her own way, loved Lavinia, and tutored her out of a genuine belief that an elevated position in Society, together with a good marriage, would make her happy. Mrs. Howard seemed incapable of love—at least toward Eleanor.
“Eleanor!” Mrs. Howard snapped. “Is it not time to show Miss de Grande about the gardens?” She turned to Aunt Edna. “I despair of her, Lady Yates. She’d rather hide in her chamber than venture outside.” She resumed her attention on her daughter. “Eleanor, do as I bid.”
Blushing, Eleanor rose. “M-Miss de Grande? Shall we take a turn outside? The rose garden is particularly fine at this time of year.”
Eleanor might as well have been reciting a laundry list. Most likely, her little speech had been dictated to her by her mother.
“I’d be delighted.” Lavinia took her friend’s arm, and they exited the parlor.
As soon as they stepped into the garden, Eleanor gave a sigh of relief. Her whole body seemed to relax, then blossom, like a flower bud opening its petals to reveal the beauty hidden within.
“Heaven save me from Society tea parties!” Lavinia cried. “I cannot think of anything more dull. Such inane chatter about subjects that matter so little.”
“Mother is always telling me to engage in conversation,” Eleanor said, “but I never know what to say.”
“It’s quite simple,” Lavinia replied. “All you need do is remark on the weather—not too often, mind—and compliment the senior ladies in the room on the cut of their gowns, telling them that tastes and styles may change over the years, but will never improve. And, perhaps, say something about how private tea parties are preferable to public ones, where one might be forced to converse with people with whom one would usually have nothing to do.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened. “How do youknowall that?” she asked. “I can never think of something to say that will not be laughed at. By the time I have thought of something, the conversation has usually moved on, and I must start thinking all over again.”
