The gentlemen joined the ladies soon enough, and there was music and whist. The younger of the company drifted to an adjacent parlor, talking around the fireplace with the illusion of privacy, chaperoned by the company in the other room.
“I think our introduction to the neighborhood has been a great success, brothers,” said Francis, the merry one, as Elizabeth thought of him. “What say you, ladies?”
“A triumphant success, I think,” Amy exclaimed. “But you will have to hold a ball of your own soon to truly establish yourselves.”
“Ah, of course,” Francis said. “We cannot escape the balls, can we?”
Vincent and Edward showed sour expressions at this, though they made a good show of fortitude. The drawing room was not their natural habitat, as Edward had indicated. Francis masked discomfort by being forward. Vincent and Edward did not mask it at all.
“But now—I am going to be quite rude,” Amy said. “I hope you will not think ill of me for it.”
“How could anyone ever think ill of you?” Francis said.
“We know nothing about you,” she said. “Where are you from? What can you tell us of the Wilde family? If you do not wish to answer directly, perhaps we can play a game of questions. You need only answer yes or no, then.”
“There is nothing to tell, really,” Vincent said, eyeing his brothers.
“No, please, a game of questions would be delightful! Are you from the north?”
“Ah . . . no,” Vincent said.
“The south, then?”
“No.”
The young lady pursed her lips. “Well then, where are you from?”
“Miss Weston,” Edward said. He began to pace. “Do you play the pianoforte?”
Elizabeth flinched, startled. “Not very well, I’m afraid.”
Francis laughed. “Then we must hear you play, Miss Weston, for all ladies say they do not play well, to better display their genteel humility.”
Amy stood and gave a brilliant smile. All the gentlem
en must swoon. “Mr. Wilde, we are having such a fine conversation, I’m sure no one wishes to leave it even for a moment just to play something.”
Rescue. Elizabeth’s relief was physical.
Francis seemed put out. “Really, I thought this was how it was done. The lady is asked to play, she demurs that she does not play well, her assembled friends assure her that she plays very well indeed, and then the lady is allowed to demonstrate her skill without being accused of undue pride.” He was teasing. His manner was bright, containing no malice at all, but Elizabeth might wish she weren’t the subject of his banter. She was ill equipped to bear it.
“Mr. Wilde, do be still,” Edward said, biting the words. Something rose up in him. His lips curled, showing teeth.
Their exteriors were polite. They did not tear into each other with claws—but they wanted to, with the looks they gave one another, raking each other up and down with sharp gazes. Their lips parted hungrily, their teeth were white and sharp.
Elizabeth stood. She did not have to feign an anxious tremor in her voice. “I think . . . I think I should like to take a walk. A turn about the room. To get some air.”
The brothers turned to her, still annoyed but they no longer seemed as if they wished to devour one another, and that made a great improvement on Elizabeth’s nerves.
“Miss Weston, are you well?” Vincent Wilde asked.
“In truth, the room seems somewhat . . . crowded.”
“There are less than a dozen of us here!” one of the other young ladies, one often frustrated with Elizabeth’s fragility, exclaimed.
“And yet I think the room is quite full.”
“Miss Weston displays a great deal of insight, I think,” Edward said. “If I may, I will escort you to the window for some air.”