Lena Cole

@lenacole.bsky.social

23 Followers 189 Following

Fashion historian and romance writer! Read my sapphic Cinderella retelling, The Happy Secret of It All: https://books2read.com/u/470Rd7

She hadn’t been overly modest. There was a copy of Beethoven’s Grande sonate pathétique on the stand, and she started in on it with halting hands, awkwardly speeding up and slowing down where there were fewer or more notes played at once. This was not endearing, Olympia told herself, although the way Miss Baring flushed in frustration had some appeal. Finally, she stopped. Would she get up and leave the room? Or perhaps come and tell Olympia what a terrible host she was?
“Lady Whately allows her friends the use of her other rooms during a ball, but I cannot recall you ever appearing at her more intimate evening parties.” Mrs. Farrar’s voice was certainly sharp now, as tart as a lemon, and her friend even gave her a sideways look with a hint of disapproval. “Excruciating” began to feel like an understatement to describe the feeling Catherine had in the moment, and the worst part of it all was that her admiration was undulled. She was trespassing in the house, prying into a private room she ought never to have seen. Her cheeks flared hot and she dropped her eyes to the floor to avoid more confusion.
“I'm not angry at you,” she said as further clarification. “I'm — why on earth should Hervey find himself speaking about that? It's none of his business — nothing to do with him in the least — some old scandal of society, and — and I'm surprised you'd give it any credence at all.” Olympia forced herself to stop speaking before she found herself saying anything else about Catherine listening to the talk or bringing the topic up, because even in the depths of irrational response she was aware that that would be extremely unfair. Though maybe I should let myself go off on a tear. Drive her away and make sure that the next time he asks her to marry him, she says yes. That's my problem — I let her be too comfortable here, so she felt like she had another option, when she really hasn't. Unexpectedly, Catherine looked unperturbed, though hardly unconcerned. “He wasn’t really speaking of it. As I said, he mentioned it. But it isn’t important — shall I go prepare for paying calls? Or ought we put it off, if you have a headache?”
Mrs. Farrar’s hand came up near her shoulder, the fingertips brushing the side of her neck. It felt incredibly intimate, as though they were being trailed down her spine. Did she even realize what she was doing? “I’d truly like to see you in my rubies,” she said, suddenly right in Catherine’s ear. “They’d suit you so admirably, and I can’t wear them. But not with this gown.” She turned to the boxes on her dressing table and started sorting through more jewels than Catherine could ever dream of owning — dozens of rings with stones of different colors, strand after strand of elegant gems, gold and silver settings by the score — and pulled out a necklace of identical lozenge-shaped garnets all in a row. “Nearly as good, I think. These will match better, and still look divine on you.” Then she went to stand behind Catherine, and draped the jewels around her throat, where they rested just on top of her collarbones. “There! Perfection.”