Ladies in Waiting by Laura L. Sullivan Page B

“To deny him anything would be treason.” She smiled at Zabby, no more jealous than a soldier is of another soldier when fighting for his king. She raised her large body rather ponderously and nodded farewell, leaving the three Elizabeths together.
    “I didn’t know you had it in you, Beth!” Eliza said. “Serves that cat Simona right. Hope you got her kidney.”
    “I should never have done that,” Beth said, hanging her head.
    “Yes, you should. We swore an oath. D’you see how Simona and Anne squabble all the time, concoct little bedevilments for each other? Even the dressers, Lady Mary and that Scroope, do nothing but foul each other’s name. And none cares a farthing for the queen. We three, we stand by each other, and we stand by Catherine. That way we’ll all get what we’re here for. By the bye, Beth, any rich young fops catch your eye today?”
    Beth blushed. She was always talking about falling in love, though she never so much as raised her gray eyes to any of the admiring gallants. Love, she firmly believed, was not a quest—it was an epiphany. She had no desire to flirt and lure, because she was certain, with all her heart, that there was, somewhere, the man she was destined for. She would not mock love by playing at it with fops, batting her eyes and letting them touch her hand. When true love found her, there would be no need for such rituals of courtship.
    “Lord Halifax tried to speak with me last night.”
    “And?” Eliza asked excitedly. “He’s prime prey. How did you answer him?”
    “I didn’t.”
    “Not a syllable? Darling, you have to talk to them to make them propose, even if all you say is yes before they ask. Why are you so pitifully shy, with all the charms you have to offer?”
    “My mother doesn’t like me to be pert,” Beth answered, avoiding their eyes. “She . . . she’s always watching.”
    Beth trembled, but Eliza didn’t notice. “Now, me, I couldn’t catch a man save I lured him on with a trail of guineas laid behind me, then snatched him in my snare. But you—why, with that face you could have any man you chose!”
    “Not in marriage,” Beth said miserably. “For a night, for a month, but not for good. Not without money.”
    “Poor child,” Eliza said, taking her in her arms. “It’s a thousand pities we can’t marry, eh? You need a fortune; I need a grand title. Tell you what: when I find a proper doddering old impoverished duke for myself, I’ll stipulate in the contract that you come with me.”
    “You’re an angel, Eliza,” Beth said, dabbing her tears. “But kind as you are, I know you’d never take my mother too.”
    “Ah . . . no. Not even in play. I’m sorry.”
    “I know how everyone feels about her. Sometimes I hate her. She’s such a bitter, cruel, heartless thing now. But she was soft and good once. I remember. My father made her what she is. For so many years, she’s struggled to keep us alive, to keep us on the fringes of respectability. Whatever else I do, I must take care of her. I’ll marry whomever I can, so long as he’ll give her a good home. But I know no one will take me, with her.” She gave a sardonic smile. “Even you. Besides, I couldn’t let you support me, with or without Mother.”
    “What good is money if you can’t spend it on whom you like?” Eliza said. “But it’s not really mine, though I spend freely enough. I’ll see none of it if I don’t marry with my father’s blessing. Precious little, anyway—two hundred pounds a year in my own control, left me independently by an aunt. God’s mercy! I spend that much on gloves in a month! Come, let us join the barges. You can tell us your philosophies of panoply, Zabby, and you, Beth, can give us the gossip. For so chaste a maid, you’re certainly well versed in scandal.”
    “I’ve been watching it for years,” Beth said.
    “And I’ll compose couplets on them all, and turn their sins to song.” Eliza took her friends’ arms, and they