words can wound a softer nature."
Irene curled her fingers into a fist by her side, willing herself not to lash back at Maura with cutting words. That would be playing right into her hands. For all her silliness, Maura was amazingly clever at manipulating a situation to her advantage.
As Irene swallowed her words, Maura cast her a maliciously triumphant look, then turned her head away. "Oh, look, Irene, here is Lady Haughston coming toward us. Now might be your chance to talk to her, as we were discussing the other day."
"Talk about what?" Humphrey asked. "I didn't realize you and Francesca Haughston were friends."
"We are not," Irene began.
"Never mind, dearest," Maura put in, smiling at her husband. "It was just girl talk."
"Ah." He nodded, looking pleased at the thought of his wife and sister sharing girlish confidences. "Then I shall not press you."
He bowed to Francesca as she reached them. "Lady Haughston. How good to see you."
"Lord Wyngate. Lady Wyngate. Lady Irene." Francesca favored them all with a smile. "Such a lovely ball, is it not?"
They spent a few minutes on the usual niceties, discussing the lovely fall weather, the lack of entertainment in London now that the Season was over, and the health and happiness of Lady Haughston's brother and his new bride.
At a pause in the conversation, Francesca turned toward Irene and said, "I was about to take a stroll about the room. Perhaps you would care to join me?"
Surprised, Irene looked at her blankly for a moment, then said, "Why, yes, of course."
Francesca smiled and stepped away, and Irene followed her, casting a suspicious glance at Lady Maura as she did so. Had Maura arranged this meeting with Lady Haughston? The surprise on Maura's face appeared quite genuine, yet ...
They strolled toward the opposite wall, where a bank of French doors had been opened to let in the evening air. As they walked, they exchanged the same sort of small nothings that they had been bandying about earlier, and Irene's curiosity grew with each step. It seemed too odd a coincidence that Francesca Haughston should make an obvious effort to meet her only two days after Maura had been urging Irene to talk to the woman.
Irene had assumed that Maura was simply using Lady Haughston as an excuse to needle her about her spinster state and her many deficiencies of charm and character. But perhaps Maura had been serious. Perhaps Maura was willing to go to any lengths to see Irene marry, given that it would mean that Irene—and perhaps her mother, as well—would leave Maura's house.
Color flooded Irene's throat as she thought about the embarrassing possibility that Maura had been talking to Francesca Haughston about Irene's failure to marry. She could well imagine how Maura would have smiled sweetly as she spoke of how sorry she felt for poor, unwanted Irene.
Irene set her jaw and cast a glance over at her companion. Would Francesca Haughston have any interest in doing Maura a favor? She could not imagine that the two of them were friends. Maura had only been around Lady Haughston a few times, and only in large social settings. And it seemed unlikely that Francesca would have sought out Maura's friendship. However much Irene regarded Francesca as frivolous, she knew that Francesca was not goose-ish. She was a sophisticated hostess, a light of the
ton.
Her favor was pursued by many, and she was knowledgeable about the world and about people. Francesca surely would not be fooled by Maura's manner, nor would she be impressed by the fact that Maura was married to Lord Wyngate.
No, Irene thought it unlikely that Francesca would have been particularly interested in doing Maura a favor. And even though she and Irene moved in the same circle, Francesca was seven or eight years older than Irene, and the two of them had never been what Irene would have termed friends, so Irene did not think that Francesca would have been moved by Maura's pleas into doing Irene a favor, either. Moreover, Irene
Irene curled her fingers into a fist by her side, willing herself not to lash back at Maura with cutting words. That would be playing right into her hands. For all her silliness, Maura was amazingly clever at manipulating a situation to her advantage.
As Irene swallowed her words, Maura cast her a maliciously triumphant look, then turned her head away. "Oh, look, Irene, here is Lady Haughston coming toward us. Now might be your chance to talk to her, as we were discussing the other day."
"Talk about what?" Humphrey asked. "I didn't realize you and Francesca Haughston were friends."
"We are not," Irene began.
"Never mind, dearest," Maura put in, smiling at her husband. "It was just girl talk."
"Ah." He nodded, looking pleased at the thought of his wife and sister sharing girlish confidences. "Then I shall not press you."
He bowed to Francesca as she reached them. "Lady Haughston. How good to see you."
"Lord Wyngate. Lady Wyngate. Lady Irene." Francesca favored them all with a smile. "Such a lovely ball, is it not?"
They spent a few minutes on the usual niceties, discussing the lovely fall weather, the lack of entertainment in London now that the Season was over, and the health and happiness of Lady Haughston's brother and his new bride.
At a pause in the conversation, Francesca turned toward Irene and said, "I was about to take a stroll about the room. Perhaps you would care to join me?"
Surprised, Irene looked at her blankly for a moment, then said, "Why, yes, of course."
Francesca smiled and stepped away, and Irene followed her, casting a suspicious glance at Lady Maura as she did so. Had Maura arranged this meeting with Lady Haughston? The surprise on Maura's face appeared quite genuine, yet ...
They strolled toward the opposite wall, where a bank of French doors had been opened to let in the evening air. As they walked, they exchanged the same sort of small nothings that they had been bandying about earlier, and Irene's curiosity grew with each step. It seemed too odd a coincidence that Francesca Haughston should make an obvious effort to meet her only two days after Maura had been urging Irene to talk to the woman.
Irene had assumed that Maura was simply using Lady Haughston as an excuse to needle her about her spinster state and her many deficiencies of charm and character. But perhaps Maura had been serious. Perhaps Maura was willing to go to any lengths to see Irene marry, given that it would mean that Irene—and perhaps her mother, as well—would leave Maura's house.
Color flooded Irene's throat as she thought about the embarrassing possibility that Maura had been talking to Francesca Haughston about Irene's failure to marry. She could well imagine how Maura would have smiled sweetly as she spoke of how sorry she felt for poor, unwanted Irene.
Irene set her jaw and cast a glance over at her companion. Would Francesca Haughston have any interest in doing Maura a favor? She could not imagine that the two of them were friends. Maura had only been around Lady Haughston a few times, and only in large social settings. And it seemed unlikely that Francesca would have sought out Maura's friendship. However much Irene regarded Francesca as frivolous, she knew that Francesca was not goose-ish. She was a sophisticated hostess, a light of the
ton.
Her favor was pursued by many, and she was knowledgeable about the world and about people. Francesca surely would not be fooled by Maura's manner, nor would she be impressed by the fact that Maura was married to Lord Wyngate.
No, Irene thought it unlikely that Francesca would have been particularly interested in doing Maura a favor. And even though she and Irene moved in the same circle, Francesca was seven or eight years older than Irene, and the two of them had never been what Irene would have termed friends, so Irene did not think that Francesca would have been moved by Maura's pleas into doing Irene a favor, either. Moreover, Irene
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