Bess finished her über-plebeian midday meal a few minutes later. She was mellower than she had been when she first entered the nursery and so was I. I tidied us both, scarfed down the meal Deirdre had left for me, took a deep breath, and went downstairs to introduce my drowsy baby to her grandaunts.
The sense of tranquility that had enveloped me in the nursery evaporated when I entered the drawing room. The mere sound of Honoria’s familiar nasal drawl set my teeth on edge. She and Charlotte sat in a pair of Chippendale armchairs facing Amelia, who was seated in a Chippendale side chair, with the tea table at her knee.
Willis, Sr., stood near the white marble fireplace, gazing benevolently at his sisters, but Amelia looked slightly shell-shocked. I wondered how many cunningly disguised insults Charlotte and Honoria had hurled at her in the past half hour. If my experience was anything to go by, they would have thrown quite a few.
“Lori!” Amelia exclaimed, with a note of desperation in her voice. “I’m so pleased to see you. I’ll fetch Bess’s bouncy chair.”
She left the room as quickly as her short legs could carry her. I didn’t expect her back anytime soon. Her rapid departure made me feel a little less guilty about my own.
“Hello, Aunt Honoria. Hello, Aunt Charlotte,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Welcome to England.”
Willis, Sr.’s sisters could have been twins. They were, by choice, thin to the point of emaciation. They wore their silvery hair in short, rigidly coifed styles and dressed in vintage Chanel suits and shoes. Though they limited their makeup to the merest touch of powder and lipstick, they drenched themselves in their favorite Chanel perfume. Bill had once referred to them as “a sweet-smelling pair of vultures.”
Since neither woman rose to greet me, I bent awkwardly to kiss their papery cheeks while holding Bess to my shoulder.
“Is this our great-niece?” Honoria asked, scanning her chic, boxy blazer to make sure her great-niece hadn’t drooled on it.
“Yes,” I said, straightening. “This is Bess.”
“Bess,” said Charlotte. “What a charming soubriquet. I’m almost tempted to call William ‘Billy’ and myself ‘Char.’”
Honoria tittered gaily.
“You call your nephew ‘Bill,’” I said stiffly.
“So we do,” Charlotte agreed smoothly. “I meant no offense, dear, and I hope none was taken.”
I forced a smile and sat on the Regency chaise longue in front of the windows. Bess nuzzled her head into my neck and went to sleep.
“It’s a pleasure to see you looking so well,” said Honoria. “Childbearing at an advanced age can wreak havoc on a woman’s body.”
“I understand why you had to dress down,” said Charlotte, taking in my non-designer attire. “I, too, had a terrible time finding nice things to wear when I was shedding my baby weight. Don’t let it trouble you.” She pointed a beautifully manicured, bony finger at me. “With a little effort on your part, you’ll soon have your figure back.”
Bess whimpered softly in her sleep and I tightened my hold on her to assure her that I was still there.
“She won’t sleep through the night if you allow her to sleep during the day,” said Honoria.
“Bess almost always sleeps through the night,” I said. “Why do you think I have so much energy?”
“If I lived here, I’d have no energy at all,” said Charlotte, gazing languidly around the room. “There’s quiet and there’s comatose. I’ve had only a glimpse of Finch, but it seems to fall into the latter category.”
“I noticed two houses for sale,” said Honoria. “The signs looked ancient.”
“Are you implying that no one in his right mind would buy a cottage in Finch?” said Charlotte. “You amaze me.”
“I wouldn’t care to live there year-round,” said Honoria, “but it might do as a summer retreat.”
“Do you remember the little knot of senior citizens who stared at us as we drove by?” said Charlotte. “I imagine they’re living on fixed incomes.”
“They’re not trust fund babies,” Honoria said archly.
“A clever developer would have no trouble persuading them to sell out,” said Charlotte.
“They’d grab the money and run,” said Honoria.
“If the developer modernized the cottages and marketed them properly,” Charlotte went on, “he could sell them as summer homes. He might even turn a profit. After all, property prices are sky-high in England, even in rural areas.”
“The villagers might not wish to sell their homes,” Willis, Sr., pointed out gently.
“They might have no choice,” said Charlotte.
“Fixed incomes are such a nuisance,” said Honoria.
Bess whimpered again. I checked her diaper surreptitiously, but it was dry. I didn’t know what was bugging her, so I rubbed her back as my mother had rubbed mine when I was a child. It seemed to work. Bess’s eyelids fluttered, then closed as she drifted back to sleep.
“Is it true that you have no nanny?” Honoria inquired, looking askance at her great-niece.
“It’s true,” I replied. “I needed all the help I could get when Will and Rob were babies, but one child is less of a handful than twins.”