Chapter 5
The harp twanged.
Hermia winced, her fingertips aching. She did not practice enough to develop the necessary roughness to avoid the unpleasant feeling of her flesh rubbing against the strings. Oh, how she hated the harp!
Well, that was not actually true. She liked it when other people played it. It was a heavenly sounding thing which could transport one into the ecstasies of bliss when listening to its music. But when she played it? It sounded rather like a dying peacock. And no matter what she did or how she strived, she simply could not make peace with the instrument.
She let out an elongated sigh.
“Oh my dear,” her mother lamented from her position by the window. “I think you shall have to pretend to be ill or perhaps feign a sprained finger when it comes time to perform at Lord Grey’s party.”
Hermia laughed. “Thank you, Mama. I am glad you are eager and happy for me to find a way out of such an awkward possibility.”
“Oh my dear,” her mother tsked with a merry gleam in her eye. “I would not do that to the audience, let alone to you.”
She grinned at her mother. Some might take offense at her mother’s precise assessment of her abilities, but not Hermia. It was actually a kindness. There were mamas who would force their daughters to perform, whether they were talented or not, in front of company. And frankly, that was more cruel. Or so she thought.
She turned to Juliet, who was now playing one of Mozart’s swift pieces on the harpsichord. Her sister’s fingers danced like magic across the keyboard. Juliet was an excellent musician. Perhaps many sisters would have been jealous or envious of the fact that their twin was so superior at so many things, but Hermia was not jealous in the slightest. For her mother had done a remarkable thing.
She had not tried to make Hermia different than she was. No, their mother had accepted each of her children exactly as they were. She had not tried to make them fit any sort of mold. Saying that to fit a mold was the most boring and plebeian thing that one could possibly do, and what was the point of life if everyone was to be exactly the same?
Completing a technically perfect rehearsal of her piece, Juliet lifted her gaze from the harpsichord and smiled at her mother and at Hermia. The smile lit her face. Her sapphire eyes gleamed and her russet hair tumbled over her shoulder in a single, coiled lock. The teased-out curls that framed her face. A rose was pinned into the curls.
They looked slightly alike, but they were not identical twins. Hermia was considerably shorter than Juliet. Their mother had often joked that she should have given Juliet the name Helena in honor of the famed friends from Much Ado About Nothing, where one was as tall like a maypole and the other quite short.
It was so strange trying to explain their differences to everyone. People expected twins to look the same, but they defied that expectation. They had come out of their mother’s womb with entirely different personalities.
Apparently, Juliet had popped out of her mother’s womb already gurgling and cooing and ready to win the world over. While Hermia had studied it with careful appreciation and perhaps a touch of suspicion.
“I shall make certain to perform for both of us,” Juliet said with a wink. And the truth was Juliet had done that most of their lives, taking over Hermia’s position in society, and Hermia was grateful for it. Juliet would make a great marriage this year, but it was a challenge. Several of the gentlemen who had proposed to her were simply unworthy.
Perhaps that was the wrong word, for every human was worthy in some way or the other, but none of them would do for Juliet. And Juliet was determined to make a great marriage, too, for their mama. Even though their mama had never said it to her, Juliet understood that in many ways, if Juliet made a great marriage, it would be the crowning glory of their mama, who was on the edge of society. She was accepted, even admired, but not quite a part of it.
Still, Hermia was quite glad that her mama was not one of the rigid grand dames of the ton. Otherwise, her life would be very different. It was hard to describe the slight difference in women like the Earl of Drexel’s mother and her own. His mother had been born to a life ruled by expectation. And she was bound to continue those rules and expectations for the young ladies born to the ton.
Hermia’s mama? She had broken all the rules and so could never quite be trusted to pass them down to the next generation of titled women.
That did not make her less important, but it did make her like an isolated star. Shining. Brilliant. But never quite part of the fold.
Juliet turned on the harpsichord bench, leaned forward, and waggled her brows as if she had been waiting to bring something up all morning. “My goodness! The Earl of Drexel. What a treat, Hermia. He’s to come tonight to the theater. What will you say to him?”
“I have no idea,” Hermia said honestly. “I really haven’t given it much thought.”
And it wasn’t exactly a lie. She could not understand why the Earl of Drexel was paying her any particular attention. It had to be because of his fascination with the family. Everyone was fascinated by the Briarwoods. Some wished to stay a mile away and others wished to insert themselves, but they were very careful about who they let into their inner circle. After all, they were so very different that they had to be careful lest someone splinter their happiness.
“But he is coming to see you,” Juliet said.
“He is not,” Hermia countered quickly. “Mama invited him, and that’s that.”
Their mother looked from one to the other girl, then shook her head. “No, my dear. No. He has some sort of goal in mind. It could be to make his mother angry. After all, his mother adores being angry, and she and I have never been close. But I’m certain he doesn’t seem to be shallow. He’s known little joy in life, I think. And that is a thing to be wary of. Still, he seems a decent sort. We should entertain his plans. Don’t you think?”
“Entertain what?” Hermia gasped.
“Oh, Hermia,” her mother said, giving her a knowing look. “It is quite clear to me that he’s going to ask you to marry him.”
“Mama, you have been in his presence but five minutes!” Hermia exclaimed. “How could you assess such a thing?”
Her mother rolled her eyes, then patted her coiled silvery blonde hair piled atop her head. “My dear, I have spent my entire life studying the characters of others so that I might portray them on the stage. And after the theater, I entered into the ton, where if one is not absolutely aware of one’s surroundings at all times, one will be devoured and then spat out by a gleeful crew.”
It was a remarkable and accurate summation of the ton. It wasn’t a nice place, the ton. Beautiful, yes. Full of glittering jewels, intelligence, philosophers, the height of society, the creme de la creme of politics, yes. But it wasn’t nice and for some it was dangerous. One could fly to the very heights just like her sister Juliet was doing, but then one could be thrown down quite perfunctorily to the gleeful triumph of several others.
Nobody loved seeing someone fall quite the way the ton did.
And Juliet was aware of it.
Juliet was ever careful of her reputation, lest she be thrown to the ground before she could let her wings truly unfold. Once she was married, Hermia had little doubt that Juliet would take up the mantle of a Briarwood and behave exactly as she pleased.
Still, this was the tricky period for both of them. Marriage.
Marriage would mean a sort of freedom, an ability to navigate society and say what one wanted and do largely what one wanted to do. It was the rule of the ton. Once one was married, one could have affairs. Half the children of the ton were what were called fairy children—children who were not the heirs of their titled father but of lovers that their mothers had taken on.
Even so, it was dismaying, the pretenses of the ton, but their mother had done a good job preparing them for that.
Life, as Shakespeare loosely said, was a stage and all men had their parts. The Briarwood children had to learn to play. To take up different roles and perhaps to protect their innermost selves.
That’s what their family was for. It was a haven where they could always truly be themselves.
“Now, my dears, I must go and get ready for this evening,” their mother announced. “I want to look a particular treat since we’re to have the Earl of Drexel in our box. And you should too, Hermia.”
“Why?” Hermia proclaimed. “If he likes me, he’ll take me as I am.”
Her mother gave a loving sigh, as if she knew the fits and foibles of her child and loved her all the more. “Hermia, you are a marvel, my dear, and anyone who gets to know that could never, ever let you go. But you don’t like to let people get to know you.”
“Why should I?” she protested. “People are so often disappointing.”
Her mother gave her a sad smile. “My dear, I wish you didn’t see the world through such a view, but it seems that you have come out that way. And perhaps your cynicism is exactly what this family needs. You keep our feet on the ground, and I am dearly grateful for you.”
With that, her mother crossed over to Hermia and placed a kiss atop her head. She cupped Hermia’s cheek gently and said, “You will be exactly who you are, and I only hope that Drexel sees that is a good thing. And if he’s the right man for you... I hope you accept that too.”
“He’s not, Mama,” she insisted, even as her heart pounded at the memory of their dancing flitting through her. “And there’s no way such a fellow would wish to marry me.”
“The world is full of strange happenings,” her mother countered. “You know that, my dear.”
Her mother turned and swept out, her silk skirts rustling as she exited the beautiful salon.
And it was beautiful. Her mother had made it over in the French style with pink silk-striped walls and portraits of beautiful ladies on swings or standing amidst flowering trees hung all about. It was a retreat from the grim, dark world of London.
And the musical instruments and furnishings were like confections meant to transport one to a sweet world.
Juliet stood, smoothed her skirts, and headed to the window, gazing out to the gardens leading to the river. “I think that you should enjoy Drexel while you can. After all, this life is meant to be enjoyed, isn’t it? Don’t be too cynical about him.”
Hermia nibbled her lower lip, weighing her words. “If you suddenly had someone popping out of the woodwork to treat you as if you were a diamond, you’d be cynical too.”
Juliet groaned. “I suppose so. I suppose you are right to be wary and to make certain that he doesn’t have nefarious intentions. But Mother said the brothers warned him.”
Hermia laughed, trying to imagine the event. “Of course she did,” she said with a groan. “That shall make this evening particularly interesting.”
She wasn’t surprised her mother or brothers had done such a thing.
Her mother was very clear about such things. No one was to be harmed in the Briarwood family. They were very careful about this and stood like an army against the world in case of invasion. Hermia wondered now if Drexel would be brave enough to come after a meeting with her rather intense and formidable brothers.
Perhaps he would not. Perhaps this strange adventure would come to an end quickly. Yes, it was likely he would abandon his pursuit. After all, no one else had pursued her. So it would simply fulfill her expectation if he stayed away.
She looked to Juliet, and as she surveyed her sister, she suddenly felt compelled to blurt, “Are you happy, my dear?”
Juliet smiled. “How could I not be? I’m the diamond of the Season.”
Hermia nodded, but she realized that was no answer at all. Happiness hung in the breach for both of them, the wallflower and the diamond.