Chapter 44
Etta aimed for the terrace, desperate for some fresh air and perspective. Sadly, it was not to be.
‘Miss Bainbridge! What a delightful and immensely accurate brooch!’
She stopped dead at the acerbic tones of the walking vinaigrette Maria Marley, accompanied of course by the loathsome Smythe.
‘Not now, Maria.’
Miss Marley stepped back, face full of mock surprise. ‘Oh no, Hetty, don’t tell me now’s a bad time? Are we not, indeed, to finally wish you happy?’
Etta had had enough, and then some. She wheeled away from the terrace doors and stared her adversaries right in the face.
‘And what about you, the gruesome twosome? I think you’re perfect for one another. Both obnoxious, sour-faced bitches who don’t know a tiger from a …’ Etta trailed off. ‘Um, a thing that isn’t a tiger.’
Miss Marley and Smythe were looking at one another as though struck by some kind of unfortunately non-deadly lightning bolt.
Etta sighed. ‘Oh god, that’s it, isn’t it? Don’t tell me. Even Maria Marley and her pompous little sidekick get some kind of ridiculous happy ending.’
Smythe had taken Miss Marley’s hand in his, as they looked at each other like two amorous honey badgers deciding whether to fight over or share a tasty meal of raw rattlesnake meat.
‘Ugh, enjoy. Don’t bother sending an e-vite to Chez Bainbridge. It’s too much to hope you’d elope, isn’t it?’
Maria Marley’s voice came in a whisper. ‘You can buy me something cheap from the rag merchant, Hetty, if you can afford it.’
Etta rolled her eyes as she walked off. ‘Pistols or swords?’ she growled to herself.
She retreated to a corner, plate full of chocolate eclairs and heart dripping with misery. She was more than fed up, and she couldn’t even leave yet – her mother was deep in conversation with one of her usual gang of confidantes.
‘Why the sour face, young lady? Eaten something you don’t like the taste of?’
She looked up in surprise. A frail, but stern-looking man was making his way over to her, his face twitching in disgust as he glared at her. She dropped a half-eaten pastry back onto her plate. Suddenly, she’d had enough.
‘Oh, I’m afraid I’m no longer accepting applications to the Etta Bainbridge fan club. It’s been disbanded, due to me being a deranged lunatic out to ruin everyone’s lives.’
The man was so stunned he dropped his cane. Etta automatically bent down to pick it up, absently placing it into his surprisingly firm hand as she continued.
‘If you’re looking for tips on how to be an outrageously horrific bitch, you’ll need to submit your application to Clarissa Best instead. She’s overtaken even Maria Marley in the Gorgon stakes.’
The older man snapped to attention, all confusion replaced by anger almost equal to Etta’s.
‘Best? Best, you say? Agatha Best’s daughter?’
‘That’s the one. Although she’d be better named Agatha Dirt-Worst, I’d say.’
Etta watched the man shudder in distaste, noting she was clearly not alone in that opinion.
‘What’s the old harridan’s brat been up to? The apple never falls far from the tree.’
She paused, the burning edge of her rage slightly spent, realising she should probably avoid completely destroying her reputation.
‘Oh, don’t worry. You can tell me. I’ve never liked that godawful woman. Besides, if Agatha Best’s got anything to do with it, we’ll all know soon enough.’
‘Man-stealing,’ Etta explained. She could feel her anger rising again just at the memory.
‘She was my friend, but she took Max Stanhope – who is, you know, the most handsome, cleverest, the most amusing man in the country – she took him into the hall and she kissed him just when she knew people would be walking there. And I just caught them, along with her mother, and, oh, the bloody Bramleys. There were multiple witnesses.’
‘Oh, there were, were there? And I suppose you, young lady, wanted him for yourself?’
Etta wiped an angry tear away. ‘Of course I did! Who wouldn’t? He’s the most fascinating, kindest, the most – I don’t know, comfortable man I’ve ever met.’
‘And heir to an ancient, prestigious marquessate, of course.’
‘Look, he can’t help being a posho, can he? Poor sod.’
She picked up her plate again, dejectedly stuffed half an eclair into her mouth, and kept talking.
‘Look, I gotta go. My mother has finished her conversation and I need to ask her to call our carriage. Sorry for unloading onto you. I bet this’ll come back and bite me in the arse just like everything else.
’ She handed the stranger her plate. ‘Try one of these. They’re delicious. Besides, I’m sweet enough already.’