Page 17 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

She stood by as he was shown out. She watched him go and wondered if she would ever see him again, or if he would simply return to his lodgings in London, tail metaphorically between his legs.

Days passed. Betsey barely spoke to anyone aside from ‘good morning’ and ‘good evening,’ but Anastasia agreed with their aunt and uncle to let her be. If she was determined to be sulky, they would leave her to it.

But Anastasia kept an eye on her sister and saw that with each passing day, she grew more despondent. Betsey would often ask the servants if there had been any letters for her, but there always came the same answer: none.

Anastasia felt she was walking on eggshells around her sister, as Betsey grew snappish, even snapping at the servants.

Their aunt took Betsey to task for her rudeness on occasion, but Betsey would either stiffen into a cold silence, making it uncomfortable for everyone present, or she would break into tears and run to her room.

After one such instance, Aunt Mildred turned to Anastasia.

“I just don’t understand what is causing this.

When you arrived last week, she seemed so cheerful.

I thought to myself that finding that girl a husband would be easy.

But now that almost a week has passed, she seems more unhappy with each day.

I had thought you and your sister would enjoy yourselves here, but perhaps you should take her back. ”

“I’m not sure that will do any good,” Anastasia said glumly. “I’m sorry, Aunt. I’ll speak with her.”

Anastasia rose from the dining table and went upstairs to her sister’s room, where she knocked and entered. Betsey lay face-down on her unmade bed and mumbled into her pillow, “Go away.”

Anastasia closed the door behind her and leaned against it. “You’re being a poor guest. Aunt Mildred is debating sending us home.”

“Well, I’ve been miserable.” Betsey looked up at her, revealing eyes red from crying.

“What happened?”

“What do you care? You care nothing for my happiness.”

“That’s not true at all. We all care. But you’re acting like a child and being rude. Being hardly civil to our aunt and uncle and snapping at the servants isn’t right.”

Betsey rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling. “What do you want? If you just came here to tell me how wrong I am about everything, I’ve heard it all already. You don’t have to waste your breath.”

Anastasia looked at her sibling. Where had they gone so wrong, that she had become so cold, rude, and uncaring? “Is this about Mr. Jemisin?”

Betsey sat up. “Don’t you dare talk about him. Don’t even mention his name.”

“He came here a few days ago.”

“What?”

“He came to pay a call. You were still in bed.”

Betsey threw herself off the bed. “And you’re telling me this now? How could you keep it from me?”

Because she wanted to wait and see what he would do and didn’t want to build up her sister’s hopes, in case the younger Mr. Jemisin dashed them to the winds. “I—”

“You’ve never liked him,” Betsey snapped. “No one is ever good enough for you, just admit it. You don’t want me to be happy at all. You just want me to become a spinster like you.”

Anastasia was taken aback by her sister’s harsh words. “Betsey, that’s not at all what—”

“Get out. Now that I know you talked with him and you kept it a secret, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why he hasn’t written to me. Why I’ve not had a single word from him. You scared him off,” Betsey said flatly.

“Me? No. That’s not it at all.”

“I can’t believe you would do something like this.”

“We are sisters, Betsey—”

“Exactly. I should have known better than to trust you. Ever since you saw him, you had it in for him. Why? Are you so against my being happy that you’ll do anything to prevent it?”

“You’re wrong. That’s not the case.”

“Then explain it to me, for I’d dearly like to know.”

Anastasia let out a breath. “You don’t understand. He comes from a bad family. His brother—”

“What do I care about his brother? All I know is that you ruined, perhaps forever, my future happiness.” Betsey threw a pillow at her. “Get out. I want to be alone.”

“Not until you promise to be kinder and more civil toward our aunt and uncle and the servants. We’re worried about you.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You haven’t cared one jot for me.”

“You’re dead wrong. Ever since Mother died, all I’ve done is care for you.”

“Ha. What rot. Don’t act like you raised me when you did nothing of the sort. Just get out. I can’t even bear to look at you.”

Anastasia breathed out through her nose and blinked back tears. Why was it that even though she was the elder of the two, she felt like the younger sibling in trouble? She never could seem to get the better of her sister—or even find an equal footing.

She turned and left. There was a dull thud at the door once she’d closed it, which she highly suspected was another pillow flying through the air. She paused, wondering if she should check on her sister, then heard weeping. She let out a small sigh. Betsey was fine. But was she, really?

Anastasia went to her room and picked up a quill and dipped it in the inkwell. She began to write and soon had posted a small letter.

From that evening onward, Betsey’s behavior toward their aunt and uncle did improve, and Anastasia could see she was making an effort. But she was still frosty to Anastasia, and in the days that followed, the sisters rarely spoke.

To cheer them up, Aunt Mildred took the girls out to the Fashionable Institution for a ball. Aunt Mildred and the two sisters, along with their uncle, dressed in their finery and took their carriage over.

Even outside the building, the strains of music, laughter, and the sounds of people talking permeated the air. “My goodness, I do hope it isn’t overcrowded. I cannot abide such a crush of people,” Aunt Mildred said.

Anastasia was relieved to see Betsey smile at their aunt. Tonight, her younger sister wore a dress of light pink with a high waist and small cap sleeves, with an ordinary white sash, a golden cross necklace and a pretty hair comb she had taken from Anastasia’s room.

When Anastasia had asked her earlier if she had borrowed it, Betsey sat before her looking glass with their maid, Mary, who was fixing it into her hairstyle for that evening.

At Anastasia’s insistence that Betsey ask first, before taking her things, Betsey had simply shrugged and looked her sister in the eye, not saying a word.

She’d waited for Anastasia to leave, and as Anastasia quit her room, she overheard Betsey say, “She’s always such a busybody.

I even overheard Mr. Hardwicke and his friend talking about how stubborn and taciturn she is.

I can only hope she finds someone else to make miserable as much as she does me. ”

Her words had hurt like a slap in the face, and Anastasia had no doubt that they had been meant for her to hear.

But how could her sister treat her so? It was rude, mean, and unpardonable.

They must have peace. She refused to go through her life treating her sister like a stranger, even if that seemed to be Betsey’s preference at the moment.

As the four walked into the grand building and gave their cloaks to an attendant, Aunt Mildred fanned herself and said, “Do you see anyone we know?”

Their uncle looked around. “No. If you’ll excuse me, my dear.” He bowed and left in search of a quiet place.

“Your dear uncle sometimes escorts me to these things, but he never likes the noise. He doesn’t stay long. Oh, I think I see someone we know. You know, Anastasia, I had an opportunity to learn more about Mr. Hardwicke, and I daresay he seems perfectly suitable. I think you should try for him.”

She was interrupted by the not-so-polite push of a young man with an impressive powdered wig and far too many ruffles on his billowy white shirt. “Oh, have a care, sir.” As the man muttered an apology and moved on, Aunt Mildred said, “Well, I never. Some people. Now, Betsey.” She paused. “Betsey?”

Betsey was gone.

Anastasia looked around in alarm. “Where could she be?”

“Not to worry, dear. I’m sure she just wandered off.

It’s easily done, especially in such a crush of people like this,” Aunt Mildred said.

“Now about Mr. Hardwicke: he is just what a young man ought to be. Mrs. Dove-Lyon told me he comes from a good family and is very doting on his mother and sister, who is lately married. And I heard that he often escorts his sister’s good friend, Mrs. Sherwood, a wealthy widow, around to parties, but there is nothing to suggest any partiality on his side.

And from what Betsey tells me, he looks at you a great deal. So what do you think?”

Anastasia nodded, hardly listening. “What did you say?”

“You may not know, but the Fashionable Institution is rather difficult to get tickets for. Mrs. Dove-Lyon informed me that Mr. Hardwicke was planning to come tonight and managed to get tickets for us to attend. Isn’t that nice?”

“Hmm, yes, we’ll have to thank her.”

“Exactly what I thought.”

It was true, since Mr. Jemisin’s visit, there had been no sneaking off, and no more lies from Betsey about her whereabouts. But there were so many people here, anything could happen, and she wasn’t able to protect her. Where had she gone?

“Now, Anastasia, about this young man that Betsey was seeing, that beau of hers. Do you know him?” her aunt asked.

“Not well. I knew the family somewhat. We were friends, but that ended years ago.”

“I see. Well—”

Anastasia took a glass of white wine from a passing servant and began to drink. This had all the makings of a long night.