Each time I start to like Pippa, she does something like this to make me despise her again. “It’s so nice to be loved,” I mutter under my breath.
Felicity looks over at the fashionable crowd and turns her back on them, rather obviously and deliberately. Pippa’s face falls. I can’t help gloating just a little bit.
“Ladies, may I have your attention, please?” Mrs. Nightwing’s voice booms across the room. “Today we are going to practice our waltzing. Remember: posture is paramount. You must pretend your spine is on a string pulled by God himself.”
“Makes it sound as if we’re God’s puppets,” Ann mumbles.
“We are, if you believe Reverend Waite and Mrs. Nightwing,” Felicity says with a wink.
“Is there something you wish to share with us all, Miss Worthington?”
“No, Mrs. Nightwing. Forgive me.”
Mrs. Nightwing takes a moment, letting us squirm under her scrutiny. “Miss Worthington, you shall partner with Miss Bradshaw. Miss Temple with Miss Poole, and Miss Cross, you will please partner with Miss Doyle.”
Of all the luck. Pippa lets out a petulant sigh and stands sullenly in front of me, throwing a glance to Felicity, who shrugs.
“Don’t look to me. It’s not my fault,” I say.
“You lead. I want to be the woman,” Pippa snaps.
“We shall take turns leading and being led. Everyone shall have a chance,” Mrs. Nightwing says wearily. “Now then, ladies. Arms held high. Do not let your elbows droop. Posture, always posture. Many a lady’s chances of securing a good marriage prospect have rested on her perfect carriage.”
“Especially if it’s a private carriage attached to a good deal of money,” Felicity jokes.
“Miss Worthington . . . ,” Mrs. Nightwing warns.
Felicity straightens like Cleopatra’s Needle. Satisfied, the headmistress cranks the arm of the Victrola and drops the needle onto a phonograph disc. The measured bars of a waltz fill the room.
“And one, two, three, one, two, three. Feel the music! Miss Doyle! Watch your feet! Small, ladylike steps. You are a gazelle, not an elephant. Ladies, hold yourselves erect! You’ll never find a husband looking down on the floor!”
“She’s obviously never seen some of those men after a few brandies,” Felicity whispers, waltzing by.
Mrs. Nightwing claps sharply. “There is to be no talking. Men do not find chatty women attractive. Count the music aloud, please. One, two, three, one, two, three. And switch leads, one, two, three.”
The switch confuses Elizabeth and Cecily, who both try to lead. They steer straight into Pippa and me. We collide into Ann and Felicity and the lot of us fall to the floor in a heap.
The music stops abruptly. “If you dance with so little grace, your season will be over before it begins. May I remind you, ladies, that this is not a game? The London season is very serious business. It is your chance to prove yourselves worthy of the duties that will be imposed upon you as wives and mothers. And more importantly, your conduct is a reflection upon the very soul of Spence.” There’s a knock at the door and Mrs. Nightwing excuses herself, while we struggle to our feet. No one helps Ann. I offer her a hand up. She takes it shyly, not meeting my eyes, still embarrassed over last night’s honesty.
“Spence has a soul?” I say, attempting a joke to put us at ease.
“It’s not funny,” Pippa says hotly. “Some of us want to better ourselves. I’ve heard you’re silently graded from the moment you walk in the door of your first ball. I don’t want to be gossiped about as that girl who can’t dance.”
“Do relax, Pippa,” Felicity says, straightening her skirt. “You will do just fine. You’re not going to be left a spinster. Surely Mr. Bumble will see to that.”
Pippa is aware that all eyes are on her. “I don’t believe I said I would be marrying Mr. Bumble, did I? After all, I might meet someone very special at a ball.”
“Like a duke or a lord,” Elizabeth says dreamily. “That’s what I’d want.”
“Exactly.” Pippa gives Felicity a superior little smile.
Something hard glints in Felicity’s eyes. “Dear Pip, you’re not starting in on that fantasy again, are you?”
Pippa is holding fast to her debutante smile. “What fantasy?”
“The one currently floating through your head on gossamer wings. The one where your true love is a prince looking for his princess and you just happen to have the dress in your wardrobe, neatly pressed.”
Pippa’s trying hard to maintain her composure. “Well, a woman should always set her sights higher.”
“That’s high talk from a merchant’s daughter.” Felicity folds her arms across her chest. The air is alive. The room, charged.
Pippa’s cheeks flush. “You’re not exactly in the position to be giving advice, are you? With your family history?”
“What are you implying?” Felicity says with an icy coolness.
“I’m not implying anything. I’m stating a fact. For whatever else my parents may be, at least my mother isn’t . . .” She stops cold.
“Isn’t what?” Felicity growls.
“I think I hear Mrs. Nightwing coming,” Ann says nervously.
“Yes, could we please stop all this bickering?” Cecily says. She tries to pull Felicity away, with no luck.
Felicity moves closer to Pippa. “No, if Pippa has something to say about my character, I, for one, would like to hear it. At least your mother isn’t a what?”
Pippa squares her shoulders. “At least my mother isn’t a whore.”
Felicity’s slap echoes in the room like a gunshot. We jump at the sudden violence of it. Pippa’s mouth is an O, her violet eyes tearing up from the sting.
“You take that back!” Felicity says through her teeth.
“I won’t!” Pippa is crying. “You know it’s true. Your mother is a courtesan and a consort. She left your father for an artist. She ran away to France to be with him.”
“It isn’t true!”
“It is! She ran away and left you behind.”
Ann and I are both too stunned to move. Cecily and Elizabeth can barely keep the smiles off their faces. This is astonishing news, and I know later they’ll be off to gossip about it. Felicity will never walk through Spence’s halls again without hearing whispers behind her back. And it’s all Pippa’s fault.
Felicity gives a cruel laugh. “She’ll send for me when I graduate. I’ll go to Paris and have my portrait painted by a famous artist. And then you’ll be sorry for doubting me.”
“You still think she’s going to send for you? How many times have you seen her since you’ve been here? I shall tell you—none.”
Felicity’s eyes shine with hate. “She will send for me.”
“She couldn’t even be bothered to send anything for your birthday.”
“I hate you.”
There is a chorus of embarrassed gasps from the goody-girls. To my surprise, Pippa goes soft and quiet. “It’s not me you hate, Fee. It’s not me.”
Mrs. Nightwing bustles in again. She reads the trouble in the room like a change in the weather. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” we all say at once, moving away from each other, each one of us studying our own patch of floor.
“Then let’s continue.” She drops the arm on the phonograph. Felicity grabs for Ann’s hand, and Pippa and I settle in. She’s the man this time, slipping her arm around my waist, taking my left hand in her right. We waltz near the windows, putting space between us and Ann and Felicity.
“I’ve made an awful mess of things,” Pippa says, miserably. “We used to get on so well. We did everything together. But that was before . . .” She trails off. We both know how the sentence ends: before you came along.
She’s just gone and ruined Felicity and now she wants my sympathy in the bargain. “I’m sure you’ll be thick as thieves again tomorrow, and this will all be forgotten,” I say, twirling a bit harder than I need to.
“No. It’s all different now. She asks you before she asks me. I’ve been replaced.”
“You have not,” I say, with a contemptuous half-laugh, because I’m a terrible liar when it really counts.