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“And he’s been a sweetheart,” piped up Mathilde.
“It has actually been quite fun,” Fen admitted.
“Don’t go clucky on me now,” said Hester darkly.
“Pardon?”
“Broody.”
“Oh,” Fen colored up. “There would hardly be any point.” To her dismay, the regret in her voice was only too apparent. At both her friends enquiring gazes, she added. “I have been married for years and never caught, after all.”
Hester cleared her throat. “Forgive me dear,” she said tactfully. “But was not Thane absent from the country for a good deal of your marriage.”
Fen opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Well yes,” she admitted.
“Whereas your current husband hardly seems to let you out of his sight now does he?” Hester said sotto-voiced.
Fenella looked back at Archie who held up his arms to Mathilde in an unspoken demand. Her friend delightedly complied. A baby of her own? She tamped down the brief flicker of hope she felt ruthlessly. It would not do to cherish false hopes which probably wouldn’t come to fruition. Mathilde kissed Archie’s chubby cheek and rocked him in her arms. If she wasn’t careful, Fen knew she’d be wearing the same expression of gentle yearning on her face. She gave herself a brief shake. This was not what she wished to discuss after all! “Have you had a chance to read Mr Entner’s play, Hester?” she asked, after clearing her throat.
Hester was peeling a grape and popped it in her mouth before answering. “The first act,” she said nodding her head. “I am a lamentably slow reader and Andrew kept talking last night when I was trying to start the second.”
“And what do you think?” asked Fen anxiously.
“A little slow to start,” said Hester tipping her head to one side. “And one does rather want to wring Lady Mawby’s neck at times. Your pardon,” she said glancing at Fen. “But she is rather verbose.”
“Lady Mawby is the character based on me,” Fen explained to Mathilde.
“How nice,” said Mathilde who was gazing worshipfully at Archie.
Fen tsked. “It is not nice,” she said firmly. “Lady Mawby is a ninny who runs around wringing her hands and soliloquizing when she should be…Oh I don’t know.”
“Riding up to court and demanding an Earl’s hand in marriage,” suggested Hester slyly.
Fen huffed. “That is not quite how it happened, Hester. Despite what court gossip says!”
“Oh, but I love that story,” said Mathilde. “You are like a fearless heroine from a ballad.”
“Heroines from ballads are never fierce,” Hester corrected her dampeningly. “They always expire of broken hearts. Which I suspect Lady Mawby will by the end of Act three, am I right?”
Fen nodded dismally. “But not before she has spoken a great many more lines and been forced to marry the cold and unfeeling Lord Orlando.”
“Now I’m looking forward to that part,” said Hester holding up a finger. “I expect sparks to fly.”
“You will be disappointed in that hope,” said Fen. “Lord Orlando is a complete cold fish.” And absolutely nothing like Oswald.
“That’s a shame,” tutted Hester.
“All he cares about his honor and advancement at court.”
“And Lady Mawby fades away?” suggested Hester, helping herself to another grape.
“Entirely.”
“Oh dear. What a pity.”
“What do you think I should do?” asked Fen helplessly. “Can I insist on a re-write?”
“Oh indisputably, if you are his patron.”
