Anatomy: A Love Story(17)

Hazel struggled to take a sip of tea. “I think this might be the most you’ve spoken to me since”—she knew enough not to say George’s name—“since Father left.”

Lady Sinnett scoffed. “Oh, honestly, Hazel. Ridiculousness doesn’t suit you.”

They sat for another few moments without speaking, with only the clink of forks on china and occasional pops from the fire puncturing the silence. When Lady Sinnett spoke again, her voice was different. Thick and serious. She didn’t look at Hazel’s face. Instead she gazed out the window, at the foggy expanse of field and the stables beyond.

“Hazel, when your father dies,” she said, “the house goes to Percy. You know that. All of it—the house, the property, what money he has, what money I had coming into this marriage—it goes to Percy.”

As if on cue came the sound of Percy running and laughing along the upper gallery. His steps and laughter echoed. “All of that is to say,” Hazel’s mother continued carefully, “that it would behoove you to get your cousin to formalize your engagement sooner rather than later.”

Hazel laughed. “Formalize? Mother, we’ve been practically engaged since we were children.”

Lady Sinnett didn’t laugh. She tightened her thin lips. “Has he asked for your hand yet?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Do not play games with your future. It permits the possibility of losing.” Lady Sinnett rang the bell for the scullery maid to come clear the table. “I’ll take my infusion in my bedroom,” she said, and rose to exit. Looking back at Hazel, she added, “Tell Iona to lace the corset tight tonight. Nip the jacket in if she has to. Let Bernard see you tonight as a woman, not as a childhood companion.”

The fire popped again as a log fell. The bacon suddenly felt very thick in Hazel’s throat.



* * *



BY THE TIME HAZEL AND HER mother arrived at Le Grand Leon, most of the other carriages had already dropped off their passengers. Lady Sinnett wore gray, a dress with unfashionably long sleeves. Hazel’s dress was red. She hardly ever wore it—a silk dress with chenille thread embroidery at the hem and sleeves that her mother had brought back from Paris—but Hazel’s stomach had turned when she looked at the arsenic green dress Iona had laid out on the bed for her. Something drew her to the red, hidden away in the back of her clothing press. She had forgotten about this dress. It was softer than her crinoline, and sheer around her shoulders.

“Lady Sinnett, you do look well!”

The large bosom of Hyacinth Caldwater met Hazel at eye level as they were walking up the steps into Le Grand Leon. Mrs. Caldwater had gone through two husbands already, and she looked as though she was already on the prowl for a third. Her dress, in a shocking pink, was cut low at the bosom. Her cheeks were brightly rouged in a way that would have been considered girlish for a woman half her age.

Lady Sinnett’s face became tight as a drum. “Mrs. Caldwater. How nice to see you,” she said, looking as though it was anything but.

“It’s been ages! Still in half mourning? Oh, you poor dear. So lovely to see you out and about. You haven’t invited me over for tea like you promised, I haven’t forgotten! Ha ha ha! And ooooh!” Mrs. Caldwater looked over at Hazel and squealed in delight. “This isn’t Hazel. No. No! It couldn’t possibly! How big she’s got. I swear, she’s quite grown up in the meantime. You’re not hiding her away, are you?”

Lady Sinnett looked past Mrs. Caldwater, hoping for someone who could pull her into a different conversation. “No,” she said absently, “I’m afraid Hazel is a reader, she hardly ever leaves Hawthornden if she can help it.”

“A reader. How fascinating. What are you reading, my dear? Novels?”

Hazel looked to her mother before she answered. “I only just began The Antiquary, by the author of Waverley. My father ordered it and sent it along to me.”

Mrs. Caldwater clasped her hands together. “Such a little mind she has, Lavinia.”

Hazel’s mother tugged at her hand. “We really must be getting to our seats now.”

Hyacinth Caldwater called up the stairs after them, “And don’t forget that tea, Lavinia, I shall be scandalized if you continue to avoid me!”

“Dreadful woman,” Lady Sinnett murmured as she and Hazel continued through the throng of people. “Oh, look, there’s Bernard and your uncle.”

Bernard bowed to Hazel and Lady Sinnett as he approached. “I trust you’re well, Hazel? I must say, that red absolutely suits you.”

Hazel couldn’t force her face into a smile. She looked at Bernard, and all she saw was that smug, blank look on his face from that day on the street. When we were children, he had said. If he only knew what she was capable of doing! If he only knew what she had seen!

Lady Sinnett elbowed Hazel hard in the ribs. “Very well, thank you, Cousin,” Hazel said coolly.

“We trust we’ll see you down in London for the Season, Bernard?” Hazel’s mother said quickly, smiling like a serpent. “Hazel has so been looking forward to the masquerade ball that the duke always throws at Delmont, haven’t you, darling?”

Hazel looked away. “Mmmm,” she said.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Bernard said. “Ah! It appears as though my father is calling me to our box. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He bowed again and swept away into the crowd.