Today's Reading
They almost made it upstairs when the butler announced visitors. "Mr. John Lansing and Miss Eleanora Lansing."
"Dash it," Effie muttered. He had been to a ball yesternight, and he'd forgotten to instruct the staff that he was not at home to visitors today. Callers always came out in droves after a night out. He was, if he did say so himself, the life of the party.
"My lord." Miss Lansing blushed as she curtsied, and Effie might have been mistaken but he rather thought Mr. Lansing went a little pink, too, as he bowed.
The Lansing siblings were the last people he wanted to see just now—or ever—but he could hardly shuffle them off now that they were face-to-face.
"We best have that tea after all," Simon said, after introductions were made, and no one but Effie noticed the face Archie pulled.
"Did you enjoy the ball, Lord Featherfinch?" Miss Lansing inquired.
Had he? He didn't quite know. Effie used to love balls. Music, gaiety, dressing up, dancing. He'd had a fine enough time last night, he supposed, though he had been stuck playing cards with Mr. Lansing for what had felt like an eternity.
"It was a lovely party," he finally said, and thus began thirty interminable minutes of chatting about the various personages who'd been assembled. He had trouble caring. He couldn't even get himself exercised over an analysis of the outrageous gown worn by a visiting Italian baroness.
"It was so kind of you to dance with me twice, my lord," Miss Lansing said.
The word wasn't kind so much as it was forgetful. Miss Lansing had hinted that she'd like him to sign her dance card early in the evening, so he had, and a little later, her brother had done the same, and Effie had complied, not remembering the earlier encounter. So he'd ended up dancing both a quadrille and, unfortunately, a waltz with the young lady.
"Yes, wasn't it?" Mr. Lansing was doing something with his eye in Effie's general direction that Effie supposed was meant to be winking but looked more like an early sign of an impending seizure.
"I do so admire your coiffure, if I may be so bold," Mr. Lansing went on to say. "When my sister asked me to escort her to visit you today, I resolved to tell you as much."
"Thank you," Effie murmured.
He stifled a sigh. This happened. Women flirted with him. Sometimes men did, too. Usually, he flirted back. It was an enjoyable enough way to pass the time, and what was life for if not enjoyment? He was aware that as the heir to an earl, he was no doubt attracting people for reasons other than his sparkling wit and legendary head of hair, but what of it? The days had to be filled somehow.
The Lansing siblings began hinting rather heavy-handedly that they would like him to make an appearance at Vauxhall that evening.
"We could take a walk," Mr. Lansing said, his eye once again signalling either romantic interest or impending doom.
Effie was accustomed to such overtures from both ladies and gentlemen, but he'd never been the recipient of such from a pair of siblings. He wondered idly what Mr. Lansing's endgame was. To marry his sister to Effie, thus gaining proximity? If so, he wondered whether Miss Lansing was in on the plot.
How exhausting.
But, again, how interesting that he regarded it so. A year or two ago, he would have found this brand of low-stakes drama diverting. He was never stirred to desire by these kinds of overtures, but he would have played along with one or both siblings, just to amuse himself. Now, he just wanted to escape.
Handily, he had just the excuse. "You will forgive me, but I must take my leave. Lords Harcourt and Marsden are here because we're about to depart on a holiday."
An interrogation followed: Where? For how long? Would he bring Miss Lansing a memento? Would he bring Mr. Lansing a memento?
"I should never have gone out last night," Effie said when he and the boys were finally liberated and climbing the stairs toward his bedchamber. "I forget that as amusing as a ball can be, the aftermath is decidedly less so."
"Poor Effie," Archie said. "So handsome and eligible and charming, you can't go anywhere."
"I've been thinking," Effie said. "If women become old maids at a certain age and are considered on the shelf, why isn't there an analogous state for men? I am nearly thirty. Will I reach a point at which the marriage-minded schemers will leave me be?"
"I don't think so," Archie said. "Regardless, I imagine at some point your parents will force your hand."
...
