How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back by Sophie Barnes

hands something to do besides twisting at the fabric of your dress.”
    As they rearranged themselves in an attempt not to appear affected by the Baroness’s visit, the sound of the doorbell chiming suddenly froze them all in place. “It appears her ladyship has arrived,” Francis remarked, breaking the strained silence. He cast a quick glance about the room. “Take a deep breath, ladies, and just relax. Oh, and Emily, do try to smile a little. You look positively glum.”
    The remark had no other effect than to aggravate Emily even further. Following her conversation with Beatrice, she had finally agreed to join her sisters at least once during the upcoming season. Not for her own sake, but for that of Beatrice and Claire, who had stubbornly refused to go without her. She had very rationally concluded that, since she had no intention of securing a husband for herself, all the money spent on gowns for her would be a ridiculous waste.
    Now, Emily suddenly had the urge to leap from her seat, run upstairs, and lock herself in her room. Her eyes were already navigating around the furniture in search of the fastest escape route when a shrill voice interrupted her train of thought.
    “Francis!” Veronica made her appearance with outstretched arms in a dress and bonnet that Emily wasn’t likely to forget, ever. It was bright blue in color, trimmed with scarlet ribbons. Over it she wore a Spencer jacket in a deep shade of green. Her bonnet was dressed with matching ribbons and feathers so fluffy that Emily immediately likened her to a peacock. Even her cheerful greeting sounded like a squawk, now that she thought about it.
    “Let me introduce you to the three Rutherford sisters,” Emily heard Francis say.
    A pained expression passed over Veronica’s face as she held out her hand toward Beatrice. “I knew your parents quite well . . . quite well, indeed,” she said. “What a tragedy.”
    “You are most kind, my lady,” Beatrice replied as she gave her a polite nod.
    Stillness followed as a heavy blanket of silence settled over them, each of them thinking—with the appropriate amount of respect—just how tragic the loss of Lord and Lady Hillsbury had been. But something about Lady Giddington’s attire and voice—coupled with her solemn demeanor—just looked too much like a parody for Emily to take seriously. She couldn’t help but find herself biting down on her lower lip in an attempt not to laugh.
    But then suddenly it happened all the same, in spite of her efforts.
    It began with the twitch of her lower lip as it took on a life of its own, rippling outward to the corners of her mouth and forcing them upward into a helpless smile. She instantly clasped one hand over her mouth in a frantic attempt to silence the sound that was coming from her throat. The result was that she half-spluttered, half-coughed, her eyes painfully wide as she desperately wished a hole would emerge in the oriental carpet and mercifully swallow her up.
    Fortunately, she had appeared to be choking rather than concealing an onset of laughter, thus supplying a very fortuitous excuse.
    “Are you quite all right?” Veronica asked, turning her attention on Emily.
    “Yes, quite,” Emily managed, adding a cough in order to prevent the urge to smile. “Please excuse me. I believe I must have gotten a speck of dust caught in my throat—it happens sometimes.”
    Thankfully her eyes had also begun to water, adding to the plausibility of her lie, but as she looked about, she caught Francis giving her a stern stare. It was as if he’d caught her in a terrible act and was silently admonishing her for it. Embarrassed, she quickly averted her eyes to look at a potted plant in the corner of the room.
    How was it possible for him to make her feel so rotten about herself? She had never cared about his opinion in the past. Yet at that very moment, the look that he had given her had made her feel so very small.
    Of course it wasn’t that she thought