The Little Wren

The Third Chapter

Hi! 

I have never been so humiliated in my life.

Okay, well, not counting my first season.

But this was definitely the first time I’d ever worn maroon.

Maroon has got to be the worst colour in all history. I mean, it’s just a rip-off on purple and red.

So there I was, at Lady Sorrell’s Grande Ball, wearing maroon.

I looked awful, by the way.

What made it worse was that Lady Sorrell’s cousin is Andrew Wynter. I must have looked like a witch, with the garish eyeliner and the vivid lipstick my aunt had forced on me.

Andrew gave me a cursory bow as he dropped me off at the Ball and hurried off to find Vivian.

I danced a few times, with men who spent more time looking at my - ahem - assets than at my face. After a while, I grew weary of dancing with people whom I did not know and exchanged meaningless pleasantries with. I sat aside with Andrew’s youngest sister, Pippa. Their other sister, Esmeralda Wynter, was studying in far-off Cambridge. Pippa was a lively, young lady seven years younger than myself, and I guess I had some fun debating with her over the latest Parliament debacle.

Suddenly, Pippa snapped open her fan. “Ooh, here comes Lord Briarly!” She giggled, then leaned closer to me and whispered confidentially, “Hugh Finchley. He used to be quite close to my sister, till she left for Cambridge.”

“Hugh Finchley?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I used to know him too.” I spun around, searching the crowd for that familiar pimpled face. I didn’t see it.

“Where’s he?” I asked Pippa, my brow wrinkled.

She started laughing. “He has changed, hasn’t he? Hugh’s the brawny one with the touch of stubble. Look, three o’clock!”

I looked again, then spotted the man fitting Pippa’s description. I gaped. He did not look like the Hugh Finchley I had known but briefly, as a young lady of twelve. Now, he was a large man, six foot two, I estimated, with beautiful blue eyes.

He stopped in front of me, bowing with a twinkle in those marvellous cobalt orbs. “Lady Mercer,” he murmured. “It has been a long time.”

“Indeed it has,” I agreed.

He inclined his head to Pippa, then turned back to me. In a devilish whisper, the once proper Hugh Finchley asked, “Will you dance with me, Lady Mercer?”

“Since we know each other, you can call me Ren,” I said lightly.

“Ah, but you don’t look like a quiet wren in that dress. Rather, you look like a clucking hen,” he teased, and I giggled like a schoolgirl, momentarily forgetting all about Andrew ignoring me in the face of Hugh’s attentions.

He held out his hand, and I accepted it. We went out onto the dance floor. It was a slow waltz the orchestra was playing. I fancy we were standing rather a bit too close.

Hugh bent forward so his breath brushed my cheek. “You’ve got quite a jealous suitor standing over there in the corner,” he murmured. “He’s looking at me like he wants to tear me limb from limb.”

“Really? Where?”

Now, you can chide me for having base motives when I accepted Hugh’s dance, but I can honestly say that I didn’t mean to make anyone jealous. Least of all Andrew Wynter. I mean, come on! He barely even looked at me in public. How was I to know he’d be the one standing in the corner, glaring at Hugh like he was about to commit bloody murder?

But he was, and the attention made me light-headed and giddy. Andrew was jealous! Either that or he was overprotective.

The thought sobered me. I wasn’t some child he needed to look after! Angrily, I turned away from looking at Andrew and held my head up high.

“He’s not a suitor of mine. At least, not anyone I know,” I fibbed.

Hugh gave me a gentle laugh. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” I said adamantly.

“You might want to revise that opinion,” Hugh advised. “because he’s coming over right now.”

I almost screeched, but luckily, I kept my composure and led Hugh off the dance floor to the side. “I’ll introduce him,” I said determinedly.

When Andrew reached my side, I smiled at him, making sure to show off all my teeth. (It’s an animal way of showing aggression.)

He bowed smoothly and kissed my hand. “Ren, will you introduce me?”

I wrinkled my brow. He’s never called me Ren before. It must be a subtle way to show his familiarity with me.

“This is Lord Briarly, sir,” I said airily. “Hugh, this is Lord Waverly.” I could hardly believe my audacity! Where had I learnt to play such games? Hugh stifled a chuckle.

Andrew’s eyes glittered - not a good sign. I hoped he wasn’t about to press the point that I had never called him ‘sir’ before, but Andrew is, if nothing else, a polite man.

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Briarly,” he said, with a touch of frost in his voice. “Unfortunately, Ren and I will have to leave your company. Her mother is here.”

I went instantly alert. “My mother has returned?”

Let me give you a little background. Lady Caroline Sommer is my mother, and she is an ardent fan of travelling. She had just gone on a trip to... What was that? Thailand. As such, I rarely got the chance to see her, if at all. Thus, I jumped at the opportunity to see her after about three months - which was actually quite a short while for her.

I hurried away with Andrew after excusing myself from an amused Hugh. Andrew’s jaw was stony, his teeth clenched tight (so it would appear).

I rather hoped he was jealous. “Are you jealous? I asked outright.

He snorted. “I’ve treated you like a sister all my life. I’m not jealous. It’s just... Hugh Finchley isn’t the kind of man you’d choose as your husband, is he?”

“Who said anything about a husband?” I said indignantly. “He’s just a dear friend.”

“You’ve never mentioned him before today,” he pointed out. Oh! Damn his impeccable logic!

I almost stamped my foot in exasperation. “That doesn’t mean I’m not his friend,” I blurted.

“Hugh’s not the kind of person who treats someone like you simply as a friend.”

“Someone like me?” I repeated, enraged. “Well, if Hugh’s that kind of person... What are you?”

I stomped off furiously, spotting my mother in the side of the room, resplendent in a silver dress that perfectly accentuated her twinkling blue-gray eyes.

“This is a disaster,”my mother proclaimed as soon as she saw me. She looked with disgust at my outfit. “Didn’t I entrust your outfit to Lil?”

“You can’t believe, Mom?”I said, my eyes widening. “Isn’t she your sister?”

She stared at me, then she nodded. “I guess I see your point. We’ll have to get you a new gown. Preferably... Not in maroon, or any other colour that resembles purple. It just makes you look pale.”

“Yes!”I said, pouncing on the opportunity. “Thank you, Mother!”

***

So in the end I got a beautiful pale pink gown for Lady Harvest’s Ball. I could hardly wait. We even invited Aunt to my house the day before to admire my mother’s handiwork.

She fumed like an exploding volcano, but I thought nothing of it. I realise now that I had been just like everyone, underestimating Aunt’s ruthlessness because of her whimsical, idiotic behaviour.

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