Calm the Storm (Society of Swans Book 2)
Chapter One
July 1811
Yawning aloud, Felicity rubbed sleep from her eyes as she slumped into her usual chair. Across the breakfast table, Mercy wrinkled her nose before turning her attention to the selection of cold meats and breads presented on gleaming, silver platters. Her graceful fingers fluttered in the air, a sign of careful deliberation.
“Good morning, sister,” Mercy said, clearing her throat.
“Morning, it is. ‘Good’ is still to be determined,” Felicity grumbled in return, a few droplets of hot chocolate splashing onto the dangling sleeve of her green morning robe thanks to her careless pouring.
Mercy lifted a brow but remained silent. “You brought that upon yourself with your haste,” the look said.
Felicity rolled her eyes and disappeared behind her cup, taking a long, deliberate sip of her favorite bittersweet beverage. She made a note to herself to arrange an apology gift for her poor lady’s maid for yet another stained garment in a week of particular absentmindedness. Not that the cheery Hammond expected anything less from her young mistress after dutifully serving the older Reeve twin since their debuts five years prior. Felicity had never been one to hide her tendency to find herself in messes. She let out a loudly satisfied sigh and smacked her lips for added effect.
Early morning sunlight filtered in through the tall windows on the adjacent wall. It turned the blonde curls framing Mercy’s face under her nightcap into perfect, golden ringlets as she ignored Felicity’s antics. She was Felicity’s mirror, identical down to the detail, and had fought her way into the world on Felicity’s heels. They were both highly stubborn and independent.
Yet despite the superficial similarities between the Reeve twins, Mercy had always favored propriety, whereas Felicity could not care less. Why should she have to care in their own home, in their own breakfast room, especially when they took almost all their meals alone, save for planned luncheons or dinner parties? There were no guests or parents to impress.
It was always just Felicity and Mercy.
“Have you any plans for the day?” Mercy prompted as she buttered her toast with sharp, precise swishes.
Felicity set her cup down on its saucer, plucked up her fork, and stabbed a slice of cold ham. “Goodness, I shall have to consult my schedule. It is positively brimming with engagements, you see,” she announced with a delighted grin before taking a generous bite.
The other lady shook her head and laughed. “If you insist, but should you find the strength to wrest yourself away from your riveting, imaginary schemes, you are more than welcome to join me on a walk to the village in the afternoon.”
“Why must you be so tiresome and inquire after my plans if you knew quite well that I had none? You wound my delicate pride!” Felicity teased, fanning herself with one hand as if on the verge of a fainting spell, the drama in her expression giving way to a smile.
“I do pity you, poor creature!” Mercy let her toast fall to the plate and pressed both hands to her chest, clutching at her frilly nightgown.
The sisters’ laughter echoed through the breakfast room, exquisitely appointed in their mother’s taste yet devoid of warmth, much like the woman herself. Mercy could never resist her twin’s silliness for long when in the privacy of each other’s company, which was often when within the walls of Huxley Manor.
“I must confess this past week in Bainbridge has brought an unexpected change upon me.” Felicity gasped as their mirth died away and a rumble seized her mostly empty stomach.
“Indeed?” Mercy asked, watching Felicity over the rim of her teacup. “You have seemed in quite a daze recently.”
Felicity pursed her lips and glanced down into the chocolatey depths of her drink. She shared everything with her twin, her dearest confidant even amongst their circle of lifelong Bainbridge friends who were near enough to be considered sisters themselves. That did not mean Felicity was always free of embarrassment just because she and Mercy had met in the womb.
“Being home in the country has been exactly what I need,” Felicity confessed in a rush, keeping her eyes down to avoid Mercy’s ever-curious and observant study. “Calm and quiet.”
Even without looking up, Felicity could feel her sister’s brows rise. Felicity snatched her fork and prodded at the lumps of cheese and bits of bread she’d haphazardly piled onto her plate, feigning a sudden yet immense interest in organizing her food.
“Well, good for you for recognizing what you need.”
From the corner of her eye, Felicity could see Mercy nod firmly and bring her fists, closed loosely around utensils, down to the table with a decided thud. The younger twin’s silverware clattered softly against her plate as she set them aside and folded her hands in her lap, attention fully on the elder.
Suppressing a groan, Felicity sat back against her chair and slid down, desperate to free herself of this unwanted scrutiny. The expression of feelings had never been one of her natural gifts—not like her sister, who could summarize her every emotion into a few artfully succinct words. No amount of consideration in Felicity’s mind could ever produce any meaningful reflection of her feelings. Thus, she did not often bother to try.
“You are normally eager to return to the bustle and excitement of London by now…” Mercy allowed her voice to trail away, offering an invitation to Felicity, a hand to guide her in the right direction.
Felicity shrugged, an action that would have had their mother, Lady Eldmar, fanning herself in fury at such undignified behavior from a viscount’s daughter, even in the security of their own walls.
“I suppose, after the events of last Season, I am happy to have some time to breathe and collect myself,” she mumbled, worrying at the embroidered edge of her napkin. “Especially since Mother has been preoccupied with making our return known to her Bainbridge friends.”
Mercy took a deep inhale and closed her eyes, her own weariness evident in her bowed head. “The woman has been relentless,” she hissed between clenched teeth. “At one point in my life, I thought I would like to have her notice, but I would vastly prefer her neglect to this recent parade of events and potential suitors that is beginning to feel endless.”
The twins agreed on all points about their mother—about both their parents—but one. Mercy had once longed for their love and care, outgrowing the desire over time. Felicity had never desired it at all. Why should she waste her heart on wanting anyone who did not want her?
“I cannot blame you for seeking rest, dear Felicity,” Mercy continued. “Though I do not disdain country quietude as much as you do, I have also found myself in particular need of Bainbridge’s peace.” She took a long sip of tea, closing her eyes and tilting her head back.
Felicity nodded her agreement with both Mercy’s words and her unspoken appreciation of her drink. Somehow, even the tea tasted better, had a greater calming effect here than it did in London. Especially after such a whirlwind of a Season, which had culminated in the joyful marriage of one of their best friends, produced by rather unusual circumstances.
Felicity’s nod quickly turned to a shake, soft ringlets brushing against high cheekbones, banishing those thoughts that tiptoed toward the thing she least wished to dwell upon: mysterious matches and their makers. She rather felt she had had enough of that nonsense to last a lifetime.
And she had not even been the target of that bizarre matchmaking scheme! Stoic Miss Lydia Dailey had borne her role with the perfect dignity their friends had come to expect of the group’s eldest and leader. Now she reaped the reward as Mrs. Harrowsmith, married to her oldest and dearest friend, Sebastian. At least Lydia had longed for such a happily ever after.
As long as certain anonymous writers recognized that some women abhorred the institution of marriage and kept Felicity out of her sights, she could enjoy her respite in the country, pray that Lady Eldmar would give up her zealous attempts to send her youngest two children down the aisle, and return to London refreshed and full of vigor for the exhilarating variety of pursuits only available to a young lady in such a city.
“Trust that I do not say this lightly,” Felicity began with a commiserating smile. She took up her fork once more, eager to leave the subject behind entirely. “But I believe several quiet months in the country is just what we need. Even Mother cannot make potential husbands appear for us out here, at least not any whom we have not already scared away.”
The sisters laughed once more, Felicity’s relief reflected in her twin’s bright-brown eyes. The breakfast room door creaked open and all sound ceased.
“The morning post, misses,” a footman announced as he marched inside, holding out a small, silver tray with one graceful arm.
Felicity grasped the neat stack of letters. “Thank you, Isaac.”
The door clicked closed behind the servant and Felicity’s fingers danced across the deliveries. “For you. For you. Also for you,” she mumbled listlessly, dropping each one in turn onto Mercy’s outstretched, expectant hand. “And one for me.”
Leaning back in her chair, Felicity held her only note in one hand and enjoyed another sip of chocolate. Not an unusual distribution for the morning post, nor did Felicity mind. She was a terrible correspondent. The process of writing out her comings and goings and her thoughts on them was far too odious to engage her attention for long. Besides, anyone worth sharing such things with lived a mere walk away and would hear it all from her mouth directly.
More interested in her chocolate than the letter, Felicity indulged in another sip as she glanced over her name on the front, written in patient flourishes and swoops. She flipped the letter over. Her eyes went directly to the wax seal.
A swan in deep purple. The lukewarm liquid curdled in Felicity’s throat. She sputtered and managed to swallow, flicking the single small sheet onto the table as if it had scalded her.
“Felicity!”
Mercy shot to her feet, the discordant scraping of her chair against the wooden floor echoing in Felicity’s ears. Everything felt both too distant and too close all at once.
Felicity could only force her bulging eyes up to meet Mercy’s concerned stare. It was enough to convey all the information her twin needed.