Soon, Elizabeth and Oliver joined Sophie and Nicholas in a game of whist. Lady Helena was demonstrating her skill at the piano while Louisa obediently turned the pages in between her glances at the younger Slaymaker, who was across the room from her, laughing at something Gideon Powell was telling him. Young Miss Caroline was at her father’s side, and Lady Violet and the Marquess were with them as well.
Duke Talbot and Mister Pratt were playing their own game of whist with Isabella and Frederick, and Isabella seemed to be losing badly, judging by her raised voice that occasionally reached Lizzie’s ears. She smiled to herself because she knew the feeling.
“Evil temper is a more terrible enemy to beauty than the small pox”, Aunt Isolde had told her several times since she came into her life, and she tried taking the advice to heart and remembering it whenever she was losing a game. Currently, she was too occupied with fantasies of her and Oliver spending their evenings with Nicholas and Sophie in the years to come to get upset over who was in the lead.
Elinor and Amelia were sitting with Sophie’s parents when the butler came in and handed a folded note to Sophie’s mother. Her perfect face revealed nothing as she announced to the room, “I think a stroll in the garden would do us all some good.”
They all agreed and even extolled the virtues of walking after a meal, adding that the weather was lovely and that some of them hadn’t had the chance to see the gardens yet, so all their games and activities were abandoned as they made their wayoutside. Elizabeth was among the first ones to head out, since the card tables were closest to the door, and formal order was not observed, as it was whenever they went into the dining room. In the grand entrance hall, they came upon two people.
The woman turned around, and suddenly Nicholas was moving towards her faster than Elizabeth had ever seen him. He enveloped her in a hug so tight that he even lifted her feet off the ground as he swung her in a half-circle.
“Charlotte,” Sophie exclaimed happily, “what a lovely surprise!”
The normally icy Charlotte was laughing in delight as she hugged her brother, not letting go of him even as he put her down to clasp her husband’s hand.
“I missed you so much, Nicholas,” she sighed.
“I missed you, too,” he admitted.
Elizabeth ran her tongue over her teeth to get rid of the suddenly-too-thick saliva in her mouth. Her smile felt like a grimace. What a disgusting person she was, unhappy to see her own sister!
“We were travelling back to London and decided to surprise you,” the Earl of Pembroke said.
Everyone exchanged greetings and exclamations of joy and surprise. Introductions were made, belated felicitations on their nuptials were offered, compliments were given, and even Elizabeth received something that resembled a peck on the cheek from the sister she hadn’t seen since before her wedding. The group slowly made their way back to the drawing room, but Elizabeth lingered in the entrance hall.
She wanted nothing more than to go home. She suddenly felt the weight of the last two years, no, the last ten years, dragging herdown. She was exhausted. She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall.
“Is aught amiss?”
Talbot was looking at her from the drawing room door, his face carefully blank, and it seemed to her that his gaze was the only thing keeping her upright.
“This is improper,” she said in a weak voice.
Talbot’s lips curled slightly, “I’m sure the distance between us would speak for itself if anyone were to stumble upon us.”
He was right. They were on opposing ends of the entrance hall.
“Were you affected by your sister’s arrival?” he tried again.
Why does it matter?Elizabeth thought wearily.
“I was,” she admitted, intending to let him think her nerves were taxed by the surprise arrival.
“Ah," he said knowingly. "You have to understand that the two of them grew up together and shared almost twenty years without you in them.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. She couldn’t comprehend how or why he'd correctly guessed the source of her reaction. Hot shame coated her throat, and her mind mistook it for anger.
“All I do is understand!” she hissed as she roughly wiped her eyes.
Talbot’s head jerked back in surprise.
“Usually, such fits of temper would have been trained out of one by the age of ten.”
“My governess was preoccupied with other matters,” she snapped, and then closed her eyes.
When she opened them, she was sad again. “I know I’m supposed to be this poor relation that is grateful because she was saved from destitution, but I sometimes find myself feeling indignation above all other things… Does that make me wicked?”
“No, not wicked,” Talbot said thoughtfully. “Human, perhaps.”
