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A knock came from the closed door of Fleur's bedroom. And then another. And another. Until the knocking became so fast Fleur was unable to count them anymore.
"Fleur, please," Lola's voice came through. "Open the door. You can't hide forever."
"I can try." Fleur responded. She laid down on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Oh, come on, Fenny," Lola pleaded. "The Earth still shifts the same. The sun rises and sets every day still, whether the presentation was perfect or not. It wasn't all that bad."
Fleur thought silently. She hoisted herself up from the bed to walk over to the door, opening it for Carlotta and no one else. The door closed again afterwards. Not that anyone else was in sight.
"Hey, you wanna hear something that'll cheer you up?" Carlotta asked. Fleur nodded. "Mary Edgecombe, you remember her. She married the Count of Fulton," Fleur nodded again. "She apparently lives in agony now. She spends her days in a cottage alone."
"Where'd you hear that?" Fleur asked as Lola sat down on her bed.
"I don't know," Lola turned the paper in her hand around. "It simply showed up on our doorstep. But it is rather fun, is it not?"
"I suppose I do find humour in it," Fleur managed to crack a smile at her sister's rebellion. "She was always very mean," She sat down beside her. "What else does this sheet of yours say? Lady Whistledown . . ." She read off of the page.
Carlotta gave her sister the sheet, letting her read the front. When Fleur was about to turn the page, Lola protested. "Not the back—" She tried, but it had been too late at that time.
Fleur read the words, and she wished she'd forgotten them immediately. The sheet spoke of Daphne's excellent appearance, and Fleur's lack of such. It described the situations of all families attending to the ton this year.
"How . . . fortunate for Lady Whistledown," Fleur cleared her throat. "I've never heard of such a name. Should you think it is a pen name?"
Lola shrugged. "I suppose. I don't find that part interesting. Her writing is what interests me more. Her gossip is real."
Before Fleur could answer, the door swung open. Zahara entered, a stressed expression on her face. "Why are you not dressed yet?"
Fleur stood up as Lola scurried out of the room under her mother's watchful eyes. "Sorry, Mama!" She shouted through the door.
Zahara scoffed, then sat down on the bed, in the place Fleur had only just been sitting. "You must not let the entrance bother you. We're just continuing what we've been doing, and that is finding you a husband," She said, sounding surprisingly stern. "Besides, it's not like we had extremely high hopes for today."
