“Do allow me to congratulate you, Anissa. Your niece is such a charming girl, although I’ve heard some say that she is a bit arrogant, but arrogance is good, I always say, if, of course, it doesn’t go too far. I’ve also heard it said that she is far too thin as well, what with those bony elbows, but one can certainly overlook that, given her delicious dowry. At least her bosom isn’t quite as thin as her elbows, but one will hope that she gains just a bit of flesh while she is with you. Don’t you agree?”
Anissa Barresford looked into Lucilla Morton’s avid sharp eyes, wanting to smack her, but Lucilla had more money and thus more power, and, of course, they’d been best friends since their youth. Thus she smiled and simply nodded. Her turn would come. “Yes, if you’ll recall, Lucilla, I told you that dear Sabrina—did you notice those incredible violet eyes of hers? No other girl has such unusual eyes.” She was also cool and aloof and beautifully dressed.
“So thin she is,” Lucilla said.
Anissa nodded. She could afford to be gracious. “Yes, skinny as a hen’s leg—some sort of inflammation of the lung I was told—but she is on the mend now, at last. That pallor of hers is exactly the style at present, so fortunate, don’t you agree?”
“Only if the pallor is from staying indoors, not from illness.”
Anissa raised an eyebrow. Slowly, Lucilla nodded. At that moment her own daughter, Dorinda, now in her second season, was standing next to Sabrina, beneath a potted palm, and the comparison didn’t make her happy.
“She’s an improvement over Elizabeth.”
Anissa laughed. “Any girl would be an improvement over Elizabeth.”
“I trust Sabrina’s character isn’t quite so colorless as her sister’s?”
“I trust not. She’s been with me only a week now.”
Actually, if she hadn’t been talking to her best friend, she would have said that Sabrina was so very quiet, so docile, that she really had no idea at all if the girl was a saint or a shrew. Well, she had been very ill.
She said aloud now, “Madame Giselle performed a wonder with Sabrina’s blue velvet gown. I’m very fond of the Russian style, though, naturally, I am just a bit too old to wear it comfortably.”
Lucilla looked at her, said not a word. She admired the cut and was too old as well.
Lady Anissa smiled toward her niece who looked perhaps even colder than she had just a moment before, perhaps even more aloof as well. Unfortunately, she also looked as if she were ready to fall asleep as the young Earl of Grammercy led her in a cotillion. Perhaps she should tell Sabrina that just a hint of a smile, just a suspicion of wit, displayed very occasionally, might play to her advantage.
Lady Anissa said now, “I told her she must add pounds for the gown to be truly elegant. But do notice when she turns. She has a lovely back. Madame Giselle cut the gown lower to draw attention away from her lack of frontal endowments.”
“Her hair is too long,” Lucilla said finally.
“Bosh. Her hair is her secondary asset, after her eyes. Have you ever seen a more beautiful red?”
“It’s not modern.”
“The auburn is of course modern.”
“No, the length. I vow that gentlemen aren’t supposed to admire all that hair. Short is the style and everyone must applaud it, particularly gentlemen. If they don’t, they have no taste.”
“True,” said Lady Anissa. She would have preferred to have Sabrina roundly clipped, but the girl had held firm. She’d never tell Sabrina that she was pleased she had that thick beautiful head of hair, but she was. It would be her own private secret.
Lady Lucilla had fired all her cannon. It was time to get down to business. “You say the girl is an heiress, Anissa?”
“Yes. Ten thousand pounds she’s inherited from her mother. As to her dowry, I haven’t inquired. Her grandfather is still very ill. Of course, it is bound to be generous.”
Lady Lucilla looked fondly toward her younger son, Edward, who was currently wasting his time dancing with that plump girl of Blanche Halford’s. When the dance was over, she would pull him aside and tell him how to gain his fortune and suffer no pain in the process.
Anissa Barresford was patting a crimped gray curl just in front of her ear when she stopped mid-pat and stared. “What is the meaning of this? Good heavens, I can’t believe this.”
Lady Lucilla followed Anissa’s pointed finger to the drawing room door. There stood Viscount Derencourt in the doorway, looking indolently about the crowded room. He was immaculate, elegant, and slothful-looking as a lizard.
Lucilla said, “What is Phillip Mercerault doing here? I specifically asked Jane if he would be here, thinking of my dear Dorinda, and she just shook her head sadly. She said he never comes to small dancing parties such as this. In addition, it’s January. What is he even doing in town? To be sure, Jane did send him an invitation, but still it is an unexpected treat.”
Lady Lucilla suddenly recalled her dearest daughter, whose future husband—if she had anything to say about it—was just standing there, all lazy and loose and lonely. She hurried to her daughter as Jane Balfour recalled her duties as hostess and nearly ran to the viscount, who smiled charmingly down at her.
Anissa Barresford thought Viscount Derencourt was about the most delicious man to come along in many a long year. Lucilla was mad if she believed Phillip Mercerault would ever give Dorinda a second glance. But Sabrina now, she was different. Why shouldn’t he have Sabrina? Now that could prove interesting. She sank back deep in her chair and began plotting.
The cotillion drew to a close. She watched Sabrina curtsy to the young earl, dismiss him with a wave of her hand, and come back to her.