Lady Martha stopped playing.
“Miss Parker wil need private dance coaching. She has made entirely too many mistakes.”
Chloe folded her arms. “I may have made mistakes, but they have nothing to do with dancing.”
Mrs. Scott adjusted the feather in her turban. “Ladies. I have changed my mind. Let us break from dancing for a moment. I want to work on: fanology. The art of sending messages to your love without a word. You can say ‘I love you’ or ‘kiss me’ or ‘I wish to speak to you’ al with a flick of your fan. I realize it’s a bit old-fashioned and now used mostly at court, but I find it delicious.”
Chloe sighed. “How romantic.”
Grace slumped over in a chair.
“Your fans, ladies? Lesson one.” Mrs. Scott dropped her fan. Chloe picked it up for her.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Miss Parker,” Mrs. Scott said. “When a woman drops a fan, or a glove, or a book, you must al ow a man to retrieve it. Again.”
She dropped her fan again. Nobody picked it up, because al the footmen had bolted when they’d had the chance.
“Your ladyship, pray tel me what it means when a lady drops her fan.”
“It means ‘we wil be friends.’”
Mrs. Scott’s fan, splayed upon the floor, seemed much larger than Chloe’s, and more ornate, with tortoiseshel sticks and black lace. Grace’s fan sticks glistened in the natural light streaming in from the windows. Her fan seemed to be made of mother-of-pearl with little mirrors embel ishing the tips, and an elaborate scene of two young people dancing had been painted on it. Chloe’s fan had wooden sticks. The scene on her fan depicted a woman, classical y clad, playing a lute, alone.
When Abigail was in preschool, she went through a phase where she folded fans out of paper. Pink, purple, and yel ow construction-paper fans of al sizes were al over the place. Those were the days when business was brisk, when people were spending money on letterpress-printed invitations, business cards, menus, and booklets. Then, as suddenly as it began, the fan folding ended, and so did the brisk business.
“Miss Parker. Are you paying attention to me? What could possibly be more interesting than learning to flirt without saying a word? Mrs.
Crescent, your charge has offended me most deeply by not paying attention, and I wil not tolerate it.” She swooped up her fan, put the back of her hand to her forehead, and fel back into the fainting couch. Mrs. Crescent frowned and Fifi got up on al fours.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Scott,” Chloe apologized.
“It’s too late for apologies. I’m hurt. Wounded. My lady? You know the fan language so wel . Would you do me the honors of reviewing it with Miss Parker?”
“My pleasure.” Grace stood, looking down on Chloe, her free hand on her hip. She let the fan rest on her left cheekbone. “This means ‘no.’”
She opened and shut the fan. “This means ‘you are cruel.’”
She drew the closed fan through her hand. “This means ‘I hate you.’”
She twirled it in her left hand. “This means ‘I wish to get rid of you.’” She waited for Chloe’s reaction.
Chloe’s ears burned, her hands shook and so did her fan. The cameras were on her. She fanned herself, quickly, and an idea came to her. She could bend al her fingers down and leave the middle one. “Do you know what that means, Lady Grace?” She would say, shoving her middle finger toward her, just for emphasis. But instead she just continued to fan herself. “How kind of you, Lady Grace, to teach me al this. But I’m sure there must be something positive you can say with your fan, is there not?”
Grace dropped her fan.
Chloe looked down at it. “Dropping your fan means ‘I’d like to be friends.’ And of course, I’d love to. The pleasure’s al mine.”
Mrs. Scott lifted her vinaigrette to her nose. “Oh my, oh my. How can I bear it? I do regret that the lovely Miss Gately had to leave! You two are like oil and water.” She breathed into her vinaigrette. “Miss Tripp?”
Julia was practicing the dance steps off to the side with her chaperone, who looked quite worn-out and happy to sit down.
“You wil resume Miss Parker’s fanology lesson in your spare time.”
Grace sighed. “Thank goodness. If you wil excuse me, ladies, I real y must get dressed for my excursion with Mr. Wrightman. I see the stable boy has already brought our horses, Lady Martha.” She nodded toward the window.
Mrs. Scott crossed her arms. “Ahem. There wil be a fanology test soon. I expect everyone to know the terms.”
A chestnut Thoroughbred and a creamy mare shook their manes in the courtyard.
Lady Martha pressed the sheet music against her dress with a crumple.
Chloe stepped toward the door, but Mrs. Crescent yanked her back. “The woman of highest rank always enters and exits a room first,” she whispered in Chloe’s ear.
“Perhaps they don’t have such customs in America,” Grace said. “From al accounts I hear, Americans seem quite wild. It’s no wonder we’re at war with them.”
Chloe put a hand on her hip. She was surprised Grace would be smart enough to reference the war of 1812. “It’s war, al right. And the Americans declared it against the English on June eighth—just a few weeks ago. The gauntlet has been thrown down. I wonder who wil win?”
