sighed again.
Most of her girls had got their looks from their father, that was to say. Her youngest, Sibyl, was Lady Swanson’s own image, but faded, as though the imprint had got fainter being so many times removed from her. Still, a dash of soot on Sibyl’s eyelashes, a rabbit’s foot’s worth of color on her cheeks, a wash of henna to give some depth of color for the hair, and her mama was sure she could marry her off in a second. But that second would have to wait until an hour after the last of her elder sisters’ weddings. And that might take centuries, Lady Swanson thought unhappily as she looked at her daughters’ wrath. It wasn’t a flattering expression for them. They wore it often. For somereason, they hadn’t inherited Lord Swanson’s easygoing personality either.
But, their mother thought sadly, it must be difficult growing up to realize that though you thought you had everything all your life, when push came to shove, it turned out you had nothing a man might want in a wife—except for the money in your father’s pockets. It would sour a saint, which they were not. But they weren’t wicked children. It was just that they felt things too deeply. Things like envy, rivalry, and malice.
“Now, you know very well that Sibyl didn’t approach them ,” she said now, to calm her daughters. “And you know even better that a mere hello in the street does not a courtship make.”
There was some grumbling, then Henrietta spoke up. “But why should they even bother to seek her out? After spending the morning with us, going off and trying to start a conversation with Sibyl, of all people? I mean, two of London’s most eligible men accosting her ? What other reason could they have?”
“Goodness! I’m not sure they’re that eligible,” Lady Swanson said quickly. “I mean, Leigh is not a social creature and is new to us, so we don’t know much about him, really. And as for St. Erth! We know too much! His reputation and all…”
“‘And all’ won’t matter at all once he is married,” Chloe said, aggravation in her deep voice. “You know that.”
“Sibyl’s not of marriageable age,” Lady Swanson declared. “Or only just,” she added quickly, remembering that she’d been married even younger. “And she hasn’t been presented. Therefore,” she said on a sudden happy inspiration, “it can only be that they are trying to scrape up a closer acquaintance with you girls!”
Three pairs of eyes stared stonily at her.
“Leigh and St. Erth interested in us?” Chloe’s lip curled. “Odd that we didn’t see any evidence of it when they were here.”
Her mother ducked her head. She raised it and saw her daughters’ expressions. She felt a tug at her heart but steeled herself to speak with forced cheer. “They’re the best of friends. You know how men are! Maybe one was lending the other support. Perhaps he wanted to know more before he went further.”
There was a stonier silence.
Lady Swanson shrugged, and gave up trying to sugarcoat the thing. “You have excellent birth and generous dowries,” she said firmly. “Your standing in Society is irreproachable. That still matters. Leigh’s a recluse, an only child of elderly parents. Who knows what pressure may have been brought to pry him from his house and hurry him to the altar? I haven’t seen his parents in years, but they could have asked to see him settled before they die. He won’t find a better lineage to suit them than here. As for St. Erth?” She pursed her lips. This was a more difficult courtship to imagine or explain.
“He’s been abroad,” she said on a sudden inspiration. “Who knows what became of his fortune there? Maybe he needs to repair it in a hurry.”
It was a hard thing to tell hopeful young women, essentially saying it was only the blood in the veins and the gold in their dowries that could interest their suitors. But it was evidently the right thing. Her daughters mulled this over. Lady Swanson
Most of her girls had got their looks from their father, that was to say. Her youngest, Sibyl, was Lady Swanson’s own image, but faded, as though the imprint had got fainter being so many times removed from her. Still, a dash of soot on Sibyl’s eyelashes, a rabbit’s foot’s worth of color on her cheeks, a wash of henna to give some depth of color for the hair, and her mama was sure she could marry her off in a second. But that second would have to wait until an hour after the last of her elder sisters’ weddings. And that might take centuries, Lady Swanson thought unhappily as she looked at her daughters’ wrath. It wasn’t a flattering expression for them. They wore it often. For somereason, they hadn’t inherited Lord Swanson’s easygoing personality either.
But, their mother thought sadly, it must be difficult growing up to realize that though you thought you had everything all your life, when push came to shove, it turned out you had nothing a man might want in a wife—except for the money in your father’s pockets. It would sour a saint, which they were not. But they weren’t wicked children. It was just that they felt things too deeply. Things like envy, rivalry, and malice.
“Now, you know very well that Sibyl didn’t approach them ,” she said now, to calm her daughters. “And you know even better that a mere hello in the street does not a courtship make.”
There was some grumbling, then Henrietta spoke up. “But why should they even bother to seek her out? After spending the morning with us, going off and trying to start a conversation with Sibyl, of all people? I mean, two of London’s most eligible men accosting her ? What other reason could they have?”
“Goodness! I’m not sure they’re that eligible,” Lady Swanson said quickly. “I mean, Leigh is not a social creature and is new to us, so we don’t know much about him, really. And as for St. Erth! We know too much! His reputation and all…”
“‘And all’ won’t matter at all once he is married,” Chloe said, aggravation in her deep voice. “You know that.”
“Sibyl’s not of marriageable age,” Lady Swanson declared. “Or only just,” she added quickly, remembering that she’d been married even younger. “And she hasn’t been presented. Therefore,” she said on a sudden happy inspiration, “it can only be that they are trying to scrape up a closer acquaintance with you girls!”
Three pairs of eyes stared stonily at her.
“Leigh and St. Erth interested in us?” Chloe’s lip curled. “Odd that we didn’t see any evidence of it when they were here.”
Her mother ducked her head. She raised it and saw her daughters’ expressions. She felt a tug at her heart but steeled herself to speak with forced cheer. “They’re the best of friends. You know how men are! Maybe one was lending the other support. Perhaps he wanted to know more before he went further.”
There was a stonier silence.
Lady Swanson shrugged, and gave up trying to sugarcoat the thing. “You have excellent birth and generous dowries,” she said firmly. “Your standing in Society is irreproachable. That still matters. Leigh’s a recluse, an only child of elderly parents. Who knows what pressure may have been brought to pry him from his house and hurry him to the altar? I haven’t seen his parents in years, but they could have asked to see him settled before they die. He won’t find a better lineage to suit them than here. As for St. Erth?” She pursed her lips. This was a more difficult courtship to imagine or explain.
“He’s been abroad,” she said on a sudden inspiration. “Who knows what became of his fortune there? Maybe he needs to repair it in a hurry.”
It was a hard thing to tell hopeful young women, essentially saying it was only the blood in the veins and the gold in their dowries that could interest their suitors. But it was evidently the right thing. Her daughters mulled this over. Lady Swanson
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