“Now, which of you is Lady Lily—ah, yes, of course.” She raised her lorgnette and Lily braced herself, but the old lady simply beamed at her. “I’ve heard you’re the first to befired off—Galbraith, ain’t it?—a fine, handsome boy. Takes after his grandfather. I hope you’ll be very happy, my dear, very happy indeed. Now here is Featherby, to tell me we’re about to start. Off you go and find a seat. My niece Abby’s reading today and you won’t want to miss a word.”
Looking around for somewhere to sit, Lily was surprised to see her dressmaker, Miss Chance, sitting in a seat nearest the wall. A basket of silk threads sat at her feet. The chair next to her was vacant.
She hurried over. “Good afternoon, Miss Chance. Is anyone sitting here? May I sit with you?”
“Course you can, Lady Lily.” Miss Chance patted the seat. “But best call me Mrs. Flynn in this company. They know both me names of course, but when I’m here, I’m here as Lady Bea’s niece, not the dressmaker.”
“You’re Lady Beatrice’s niece too?”
“Sort of. Wrong side of the blanket, but the old lady don’t care. Now, shush. Abby’s about to start.”
As Lily sat, a gong sounded, and the murmur of voices died away. Into the hush, a stylish young matron said, “This is where we ended last time: ‘Once, too, he spoke to Anne. She had left the instrument on the dancing being over, and he had sat down to try to make out an air which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of. Unintentionally she returned to that part of the room; he saw her, and, instantly rising, said, with studied politeness—”
“‘I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;” and though she immediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced to sit down again.
“‘Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches. His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.’” The young woman looked up and smiled at her audience. “And now, on to chapter nine...”
A sigh of anticipation rippled through the room. Lily caught Rose’s eye and smiled. What a delightful way to spend a few hours. To think she’d been nervous about attending a literary society.
Lady Beatrice’s niece Abby read beautifully, in a well-modulated voice that made the story come alive, but as Lilysat and listened, she was back in a carriage, listening to the same story read in a deep, entrancingly masculine voice...
What if she, like poor Anne Elliot, had been persuaded into refusing Edward’s offer? Would she now be feeling as awkward, as unwanted and miserable, as Anne?
No, her case was different. Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth had once been in love. Lily’s situation was vastly different. If she’d been Anne, loved by a fine man and with a vain and selfish father and a sister who disdained her, nothing could have persuaded her to refuse Captain Wentworth, or whatever rank he’d been then.
Even with a man who had made it quite clear that he didn’t love her, Lily had gone against the advice of her family—and they loved her and cared about her happiness.
Was it foolishness or faith? She wished she knew.
At the end of the chapter, there was a short break while another young woman took Abby’s place. A hum of conversation rose as people discussed the story so far. Lily barely noticed; she was still thinking about Edward.
Miss Chance leaned across to her and murmured, “Don’t take no notice of them, Lady Lily.”
Startled from her reverie, Lily turned an inquiring face toward her. “Who?”
“Them—those two behind you.” Miss Chance jerked her chin. “Don’t listen to a thing they’re saying.”
Naturally that made Lily focus all her attention on the low but vehement exchange occurring in the seats behind her. Sentence fragments drifted to her over the hum of general conversation.
“...such a fine man... a plump little dab of a girl. If it had been her sister, now I might understand it...”
“But my dear, didn’t you know? Galbraith was trapped into offering for her...”
Lily stiffened.
“No other explanation for it—you must have heard the rumors.”
“As if a man like Galbraith would be interested in a plump little ingenue with no conversation...”
“A shame...”
“Don’t listen to ’em.” Miss Chance tugged Lily’s arm and explained in a low voice. “Mrs. Plunkett—she’s the one with the hat like an upside-down coal scuttle— No, don’t look, you don’t want her to know she’s upset you—”
“She hasn’t.” Lily squared her shoulders. What did the opinion of strangers matter when even her own sisters opposed her marriage? In any case, she ought to be inured to gossip and hard words by now. At school some of the girls had called her “the dummy” because she couldn’t read. She’d learned to hide the hurt their words had caused. She’d do the same now.
Besides, if the price of marriage to Edward was to be ritually humiliated, it was a price she’d gladly pay.
“Oh? Right, then, good for you. Anyway it’s all sour grapes. Mrs. Plunkett has been wanting your Mr. Galbraith for her daughter for ages.”
