Excerpt: A Love Forsook

The Lady Angela Crawford, daughter of the Duke of Edinburgh, sat on her bed and stared at the portrait that had been delivered to her bedroom just that morning. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried to either wish the picture away or render it irrevocably changed. Her eyes peeked open; the gawky blonde thing was still there, staring out at her with an uncomfortable expression and skinny elbows that looked as dangerous as knives. It was a crime against nature that her parents believed anyone should ever commission a painting of a thirteen year-old girl, let alone force her to stare at it for hours on end by placing it above the ornate mantel in her bedroom. In their adult brains, this rendering of her most awkward phase in life was supposed to comfort her while they traveled to London for the Season. They’d been gone for only three days and she already missed them.

Her mother assured her that by the time three years passed, Angie would be ready for her first Season. Pah. All Angie felt ready to do was to trip on some unseen snag in the rugs of every house, to stumble over her words, and to force countless dancing instructors into retirement. She might be petite, but her feet seemed powerful enough to break the strongest of wills.

Social convention, and the mastery of it, was the food of almost every waking hour now that her parents had reentered London society. The Crawfords loved their only child very much, and wanted someone very special for her, so they ventured into the Season in order to strengthen the social ties that would ensure Angela’s success three years hence. Learning had always come easy to Angie; now the gauche acquisition of social grace was her torment. She had been such a willing and receptive student in history, languages, art and mathematics that her parents had been overly indulgent in allowing her to forgo many of the rigid social niceties enforced in Town. They, after all, preferred the country life themselves, and felt that their charming, precious angel would smoothly navigate the path of a Diamond of the First Water when her time came. Ha, the dear fools! Little did they imagine that their blond, dimpled darling would turn into this bony-limbed creature! She sighed and flopped back onto her bed.

A quick rap sounded on her bedroom door, and Mrs. MacLane, Angela’s nanny-cum-lady’s maid, entered the room and walked toward the rather untouched tea tray, tsking all the while. “You didna eat a bite of your scones, dearie. How do you plan to grow lovely dimpled elbows and a nice, round bosom without scones, I ask you? You canna grow fat on wishes alone.”

“That painting turns my appetite, Nanny. I cannot bear it.”

Mrs. MacLane turned to study the portrait, her round, white head tilting tidily to one side, then the other. After a protracted examination, she harrumphed rather loudly. “Well, my dearie, you simply mustna eat while starin’ at it. You are a lovely girl, but watching oneself while eatin’ is like cleanin’ out a chicken coop right afore you make yourself a nice omelet. You can do it, to be sure, but the eggs willna taste the same.”