Faces of the Wind

Chapter 4

"I assumed you would be at the card table," William said, catching Jeffrey alone in a small balcony.

"Not anymore," Jeffrey replied, "I think I've done enough gambling in my life."

"You sound like a dying man."

Jeffrey acknowledged his friend's joke with a sneer.

"Will you be staying the night at the Medleys'?"

"Indeed, even though Adrian has run off with my pipe," Jeffrey replied, "it's too late to travel home now."

"Do you still loathe them?"

"Who doesn't?"

William smiled in agreement. "It wasn't my desire to attend their ball, but I thought it would be a chance for Arden to find an eligible man. It is time she settled and quit her nonsense."

"Her nonsense?" Jeffrey grimaced, "Your daughter is a genius stifled by society's crap standards. I don't see her with some eligible husband but Steventon's next woman writer. I hope she gets luckier than Jane Austen though."

"I want her to be content and lead an easy life, not one where she is alone battling with society."

"Your daughter, like my Adrian, won't be content unless she's constantly clashing with society. It is some kind of an itch; they simply cannot help it."

"For how long will you stay in Steventon this time?" William asked, changing the subject.

"For as long as I am alive," Jeffrey patted his friend's back.

***

Irene flaunted her refined social skills as she stood chatting with Dora Medley, Bernard Horraid and Edward Armitage, all of whom acted like little puppies begging for her attention. Arden tried to act as casual as possible as she approached the group to deliver Adrian's letter.

Dora studied her from head to toe before she said, "Such a lovely frock! It is quite bold though and makes only two statements; either that you snob us all or that your sanity must be in question." The group giggled.

The Medleys' only daughter, Dora, was plain to some extent but her family's flourishing trading businesses gave her glamour as well as status. She was square-faced, short and slim like an adolescent boy, one would think her head was too big for her shoulders. Her smile was always shallow and drew not a single line on her face as if its only purpose were to parade her wide mouth and abnormally big teeth.

"While some of us struggle to fit into high society, some others are born into it and feel the need to rebel against its constraints," Arden replied, maintaining her composure despite her raging heartbeat and shaking hands—one of which clutched Adrian's letter.

She casually turned to Irene, forced a soft smile and said, "May I have a word, Irene?"

Irene's eyes beamed while colour seemed to have drained from Dora's face. Bernard and Edward were as mute and useless as the hall's soaring walls. Their loyalties lay with the Medley girl, so they had to suppress any urge to laugh.

"Sure, my dear," said Irene before she ran along with Arden, taking her arm in hers as if they were best pals.

Bernard moved to stand closer to Dora. He fake-grunted, "That brat is very smug; someone must teach her a lesson. Who does she think she is—insulting her host? I am personally offended."

Dora fluttered her black lace fan, slammed it against the floor and deserted the tall, chubby man without a word.

***