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Authors: Sarah Zettel
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inquired Mrs. Titchbourne, with an arch look at her friend and companion, Mrs. Claybourne. “Perhaps imported from France?”
The Mistresses T-bourne & C-bourne were determinedly grand ladies who shared a set of fine apartments in whatever palace the court happened to be resident. The princess depended on them a great deal, and invitations to their parties were as sought after as those to any event hosted by the royal family. They did not quite know what to make of me yet. For my part, I respected them the way one should respect any creature with sharp teeth and the willingness to use them.
“France,” agreed Mrs. C-bourne. “Or Spain.”
“Do you imply Miss Fitzroy has Catholic tastes?” inquired Lady Cowper, with only the briefest glance up from the letter she perused. Part of me wanted to like Lady Cowper. She was possessed of a strong personality and lively wit. She, however, was not inclined to take part in my plan. I knew she had relatives among the Jacobite factions, some of whom had recently been tried and convicted for their treason. Sometimes I caught her looking at me out of the corner of her eye, and wondered just how much she knew about my recent adventures.
“Have you changed your favorites, Miss Fitzroy?” drawled Sophy with pretended surprise. “I believe you previously favored delicacies drawn from the Italian.”
“Not everyone has the appetite for such rich and varied dishes as you, Sophy.”
“Or such an eye for profitable business as you, Peggy,” she replied calmly.
“Miss Fitzroy is much involved in her own business these days,” muttered Molly Lepell without looking up from the handkerchief she was pretending to embroider. I winced. I had hoped for a quiet moment alone with Molly, to apologize and explain. That now seemed at the least highly unlikely.
Mary Bellenden did not even give me time to frame a meek reply to Molly’s barb. “Perhaps I shall enter into business myself.” Mary tossed her head. “It does seem to bring one such
tasty
rewards.”
That earned me a fresh round of pursed mouths and wide-eyed looks. But Sophy was not to be deterred. “You sound as if you know something about it.”
“Mary knows all about everything,” I put in as pleasantly as possible. “I wonder that she doesn’t turn to writing verses for the popular press.”
“Perhaps I shall.” Mary raised her hand and struck a dramatic pose.
“And oh! The blushing dawn does rise above the rooftop. Where she looks in vain for the face she sees not—”
“For the fairest maids still lie abed, and for shame of
business
hide their heads,”
added Sophy.
“Safe from those with no business to mind, but in minding others’ pass their time,”
said Mrs. Howard quietly.
A smattering of laughter and applause rippled through the gathering. For my part, I turned and stared.
This was my first look at the famed Henrietta Howard. Mrs. Howard’s return to court had been much anticipated in the newspapers, all of which described her as “the loveliest and most charming woman to be found the length and breadth of Britain.”
I will pause here to make sure my readers understand that I do not peruse the gutter press looking for my own name, as some of my sister courtiers do. Rather, it is to keep informed as to what those outside the court believe about those of us within it.
Mrs. Howard did not return my overtly curious glance, but concentrated instead on stirring the cup of coffee she was fetching for the princess. I had to agree with the general assessment that she was a beauty. Her long, fine neck broadened into a pair of sloping shoulders and a generous bosom. Her hair was a rich chestnut color, and she wore it simply, which emphasized her oval face and wide-set eyes. Despite her quiet display of wit, I doubted she would prove as interesting a companion as Lady Montagu, who had recently departed for Turkey under something of a cloud. That cloud, incidentally, was caused by a careless verse. Words,
The Mistresses T-bourne & C-bourne were determinedly grand ladies who shared a set of fine apartments in whatever palace the court happened to be resident. The princess depended on them a great deal, and invitations to their parties were as sought after as those to any event hosted by the royal family. They did not quite know what to make of me yet. For my part, I respected them the way one should respect any creature with sharp teeth and the willingness to use them.
“France,” agreed Mrs. C-bourne. “Or Spain.”
“Do you imply Miss Fitzroy has Catholic tastes?” inquired Lady Cowper, with only the briefest glance up from the letter she perused. Part of me wanted to like Lady Cowper. She was possessed of a strong personality and lively wit. She, however, was not inclined to take part in my plan. I knew she had relatives among the Jacobite factions, some of whom had recently been tried and convicted for their treason. Sometimes I caught her looking at me out of the corner of her eye, and wondered just how much she knew about my recent adventures.
“Have you changed your favorites, Miss Fitzroy?” drawled Sophy with pretended surprise. “I believe you previously favored delicacies drawn from the Italian.”
“Not everyone has the appetite for such rich and varied dishes as you, Sophy.”
“Or such an eye for profitable business as you, Peggy,” she replied calmly.
“Miss Fitzroy is much involved in her own business these days,” muttered Molly Lepell without looking up from the handkerchief she was pretending to embroider. I winced. I had hoped for a quiet moment alone with Molly, to apologize and explain. That now seemed at the least highly unlikely.
Mary Bellenden did not even give me time to frame a meek reply to Molly’s barb. “Perhaps I shall enter into business myself.” Mary tossed her head. “It does seem to bring one such
tasty
rewards.”
That earned me a fresh round of pursed mouths and wide-eyed looks. But Sophy was not to be deterred. “You sound as if you know something about it.”
“Mary knows all about everything,” I put in as pleasantly as possible. “I wonder that she doesn’t turn to writing verses for the popular press.”
“Perhaps I shall.” Mary raised her hand and struck a dramatic pose.
“And oh! The blushing dawn does rise above the rooftop. Where she looks in vain for the face she sees not—”
“For the fairest maids still lie abed, and for shame of
business
hide their heads,”
added Sophy.
“Safe from those with no business to mind, but in minding others’ pass their time,”
said Mrs. Howard quietly.
A smattering of laughter and applause rippled through the gathering. For my part, I turned and stared.
This was my first look at the famed Henrietta Howard. Mrs. Howard’s return to court had been much anticipated in the newspapers, all of which described her as “the loveliest and most charming woman to be found the length and breadth of Britain.”
I will pause here to make sure my readers understand that I do not peruse the gutter press looking for my own name, as some of my sister courtiers do. Rather, it is to keep informed as to what those outside the court believe about those of us within it.
Mrs. Howard did not return my overtly curious glance, but concentrated instead on stirring the cup of coffee she was fetching for the princess. I had to agree with the general assessment that she was a beauty. Her long, fine neck broadened into a pair of sloping shoulders and a generous bosom. Her hair was a rich chestnut color, and she wore it simply, which emphasized her oval face and wide-set eyes. Despite her quiet display of wit, I doubted she would prove as interesting a companion as Lady Montagu, who had recently departed for Turkey under something of a cloud. That cloud, incidentally, was caused by a careless verse. Words,
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