Chapter 10
“Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.”
Sybella and I were at war.
On Monday, I marched into the modiste and demanded that Sybella be banned from the shop in exchange for my silence.
The modiste quickly agreed, eager to preserve her reputation and my patronage.
When Sybella came by that afternoon to order a new day dress, she was heartily pushed out into the streets.
Of course, I had made sure to watch it happen from the tea shop across the way—along with the other ladies I was dining with.
Sybella froze when she saw my witnesses, and she barely withheld her snarl as I lifted my cup in salute.
On Wednesday, Sybella arrived at Lady Haverton’s literary salon early and somehow convinced the hostess that I intended to read aloud from a particularly scandalous Gothic novel.
As soon as I arrived, Lady Haverton sat me down and lectured me about my objectionable tastes in front of all the other guests.
Sybella grinned wickedly the entire time.
On Saturday, at dinner with the Culpeppers, I swapped the place cards so I could sit next to Lord Cranford.
Sybella was not keen to discover her seat was at the far end of the table, wedged between Mr. and Mrs. Sedgwick, both so advanced in years that they snored through the entire meal. She glared at me all through dessert.
And now, on Tuesday afternoon, as I stood in the salon of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s charity event, Sybella loudly warned me against eating too many sweets because they would not suit my figure well.
“She eats a crumpet every morning for breakfast,” Sybella told Mrs. Fitzgerald. “As Hel’s dearest friend, I’m just worried about her health.”
I closed my eyes and prayed for the strength to endure. Father had forbidden me from avoiding Sybella, which was a problem, considering my mission this afternoon was to secure a private invitation from Mr. Hawke to his estate. But I hadn’t yet had the opportunity with Sybella’s constant hovering.
Mrs. Sweete’s research had concluded that Mr. Hawke had not invited a single person from the ton to his country residence.
If I could secure the first invitation, it would prove that Mr. Hawke’s visits with Sybella held less significance.
After all, it was one thing for a man to show up at a lady’s home and pay polite respects to her family.
It was altogether another matter for him to single out a woman and invite her into his home. I intended to be that woman.
Most importantly, such progress with Mr. Hawke would be instrumental in making Father abandon his plans with Lord Lichtenstein.
“Right you are, Miss Pratt,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said with an approving nod that showed off her ample double chin. “It is only proper not to overindulge. That is one of the tenets I wish to impart upon the recipients of this charity.”
“Tell me more about your latest charity,” I said, turning the conversation away from Sybella’s criticisms. “Your last one with the altered dresses was such a success. This one is also for the poor, correct?”
Mrs. Fitzgerald straightened, as if preparing to recite Shakespeare. “I’m calling it The Endowment for Ensuring Proper Etiquette Among the Humble Orders.”
“Oh, how lovely!” Sybella said. “Perhaps Hel could benefit from an etiquette lesson or two!”
Mrs. Fitzgerald chuckled. “Miss Weston’s etiquette is supreme. Flawless! In fact, I should ask her to instruct the recipients. They would find no better teacher.”
I didn’t have to look over at Sybella to know she was gritting her teeth.
“Who are the recipients of your charity?” I asked, suddenly fond of Mrs. Fitzgerald.
“Why, those of the lower classes, of course,” she said with a shake of her fist that jiggled her jowls.
“People who dwell in poverty never receive the proper training to converse with high society. The girls don’t know how to curtsy, and the boys don’t know how to waltz.
It’s an utter disgrace to our fine country!
I feel called to educate these poor souls so they can act appropriately among those of a higher station and better serve king and country. ”
Sybella applauded. “A worthy cause!”
“It is, isn’t it?” Mrs. Fitzgerald waved at someone across the room. “Now there’s a group of gentlemen who look exceedingly generous today. If you’ll excuse me.”
She galloped off to the corner where all three of my candidates stood, conversing. The sight of them all together was both exciting and somewhat unsettling. I wondered what they were talking about. Or whom.
I needed to free myself from Sybella long enough to find out. Mrs. Sweete was trapped in a conversation with the talkative Gabby Withers, and it would be at least another half hour before she was free to rescue me.
“Let’s take a turn around the room, Hel.” Sybella slipped her arm through mine to prevent my escape. “I know how you despise being alone at events, so I’ll let you stay by my side all afternoon.”
“I recently discovered an interest in solitude, actually,” I said. “One may even call it a passion.”
“You’re so funny, Hel. That’s why you’re my dearest friend.”
I removed my arm from hers. “First of all, it’s Helena. And secondly, it’s just us right now, Sybella. There’s no need to put on an act.”
She placed a hand over her heart, as if wounded. “What do you mean, an act? I thought we were friends, Hel.”
“You lied, Sybella. And you stole from me.”
“And you apologized.” Sybella donned a terrible grin. “It doesn’t feel good to come in second, does it?”
I narrowed my eyes. Brutal though duels may be, at least men knew how to settle things quickly and efficiently.
“It’s out of the kindness of my heart that I haven’t told anyone else the details of what happened with the camellia dress,” she said. “If you want to keep it that way, then take my arm.”
“You’re blackmailing me… to be your friend? Why?”
“I’m no fool, Hel. I know people are blinded by you. If I’m your enemy, they’ll all turn against me. It’s much more advantageous to be your friend.”
“But why do any of this? Why not just leave each other alone?”
Her eyes darkened. “Don’t pretend like you don’t remember what happened last season, Hel. We both know you started this.”
“Started what?”
“Well, I never!” Mrs. Fitzgerald shouted from across the room. She spun on her heels and stomped away from my three candidates. Her face was red, and her mouth pinched into a frown that made her jowls look even more pronounced.
“What was that about?” Sybella asked.
“I’ll find out.” I darted away before Sybella could catch me. Like a blessed gift from heaven, Mr. Bradford stumbled into view, and I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Why, Mr. Bradford! Miss Pratt is looking for you.”
His eyes widened. “Sh-she is? For m-me? Really?”
I hated lying to the poor man, but one had to make difficult choices in war.
“She wants to hear all about your latest hunt. In great detail.”
He beamed and flitted off to intercept Sybella, buying me a few uninterrupted minutes. I hurried over to where Mrs. Fitzgerald was prodding a servant for a drink.
“Is all well, Mrs. Fitzgerald?” I asked.
She grabbed a glass of orgeat and drank it in one gulp. “In all my years, I’ve never been spoken to in such a way. The nerve of that man!”
“Which man?” Perhaps Mr. Marceaux had extended his flirtatious tendencies to the older women of the ton.
“That newcomer, Mr. Hawke!” Mrs. Fitzgerald grabbed another glass from the servant’s tray.
“He told me my charity was a sham. That if I truly wanted to help the poor, I would feed and clothe them, not teach them manners.” She seethed.
“As if living off of free gifts would teach those people how to better themselves.”
“How terribly blunt of him,” I said, gently patting Mrs. Fitzgerald’s arm. “You know, Sybella was just saying that she wholeheartedly believes in your mission, and she wishes to volunteer as an instructor, starting this very minute. In fact, she wants to volunteer every day this week.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald perked up. “Really? But I had hoped you would volunteer, Miss Weston.”
“I’m flattered, but Sybella is truly the expert when it comes to poor manners. Oh, here she is now.”
Sybella stepped up to us with a frown, having shaken off Mr. Bradford. He now stood alone, looking dejected.
“Hel, why did you tell Mr. Bradford that I—”
“Sybella! You and Mrs. Fitzgerald have so much to talk about.” I gently pushed them together. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“What?” Sybella said. “No—Hel, you must—”
Mrs. Fitzgerald squeezed Sybella’s arm. “The younger generations hardly ever support the poor. But you! You truly are a wonderful young lady.”
“I—I am?” Sybella said. “I mean, yes, I do care for the poor greatly, but I must—”
“How would you feel about instructing the girls living on the streets in St. Giles to properly use oyster forks?”
Sybella cast me a deathly look as Mrs. Fitzgerald dragged her off. I glided away with a grin.
Finally free from Sybella’s grasp, I made my way across the room, lingering only a moment to eavesdrop on a conversation between two mamas.
“—heard him calling Miss Davenport by her Christian name at the marquess’s ball,” said one of the older women. “It’s no surprise they were engaged within the week!”
I rolled my eyes and resumed my route. How absurd. They spoke as if getting a man to use your Christian name was all it took to secure a proposal. The plan lacked finesse. It was like trying to win a war with a single cavalry rider.
Then again, it only took one horse to win the Trojan War.
I joined the trio of candidates huddled in the corner. As soon as I stopped in front of them, all three men paused their conversation mid-sentence and offered me their greetings.
“Ma chère, how devastatingly beautiful you look today,” Mr. Marceaux said.
Lord Cranford bowed his head. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Weston.”