bare, bruised lady skin (Bridgerton OC)
“Must you be so mean?”
Cressida turned to the person who spoke, opening a comically large feathered fan to hide her face. She might have taken well to her mother’s lessons on how to be properly cutting, but she had yet to mimic her expression of disdain. The twist of her lips betrayed her inner panic rather blatantly, which undermined her whole attempt at conveying her sense of superiority. Until she could get it under control, the fan was a necessity.
A girl maybe two years younger than her was staring at her curiously. She had a pleasing look, though not unique enough to stand out. Her hair was a dark brown and arranged in a modest fashion. Her eyes were pretty, with long lashes and a fetching mole under the right one. She had a strong, round nose and full lips. She wore a white dress with yellow embroidery, of a shade much more flattering than Cressida had seen from Lady Featherington who was known to favour the colour. She herself favoured pink and couldn’t wait to wear much more colourful dresses after her debut. She longed to enter the marriage mart and finally leave her dreary family home. She still had two years to go.
“It is not mean to tell the truth,” replied Cressida primly, her face still hidden behind the fan. “She has no hope to find a husband and it is right to tell her so. Who are you to care anyway?”
The girl curtsied.
“Camilla Ambrose. I still think you were too mean, but I suppose you’re not quite wrong. She did have rather unfortunate teeth, and boys are judgemental of such things.”
Cressida’s lips pursed. The younger sister of Earl Lucas Ambrose was indeed two years her junior, but she was her social equal. Cressida would have to hold her tongue lest she cause an incident. Her father didn’t want a repeat of what happened when she first met Daphne Bridgerton.
As far as she was aware, Camilla Ambrose was not a social creature. Her widowed mother rarely brought her out, and when she did Camilla was made to stand next to her brother and ensure he wouldn’t sneak out with his friends, which did not give her much opportunity to meet people her age. Speculation had abounded on whether Lucas Ambrose was the poor marital match, or if his half-sister couldn't be trusted to converse with strangers even in the presence of a chaperone.
“Boys are also judgmental of what they call cat fights, you know,” continued the girl. “Maybe antagonising other ladies isn’t the best choice. Boys want their lady to be courteous, pretty, clever but not too witty, humble and talented, of high standing and heavily dowried... All that at once! It’s hard to keep up with, really.”
Camilla didn’t seem concerned over the judgement of boys, which seemed odd to the blonde girl.
“And what do you want your future husband to be?” inquired Cressida.
This was the first time someone approached her without caring much that she was mean. People either fled from her at the first sharp remark or looked on disapprovingly without saying anything. This was refreshing, and so she wanted the conversation to last longer.
Camilla seemed to consider it.
“I would like him to be as far from resembling my brother as possible. Lucas is an idiot and a bore, and he seems determined to spend my dowry in the gambling halls.”
Cressida gasped. She liked a good bit of gossip and yet... “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you seem like someone who wouldn’t mind my frankness. We always have to put on airs and dance to the tune of our mamas, papas and brothers. I’m quite sick of it. I’d like a friend I can let down the mask with, and you look like you need one too.”
Cressida pretended to think about it, but in truth she had already decided. She had always wanted a friend.
“To seal our friendship,” she said after a moment, preening at the way Camilla’s eyes lit up, “I’ll give you a family secret to compensate for yours.” She leaned in and whispered something she had never dared tell anyone. “I do believe my father hates me.”
That was relatively harmless compared to what her new friend had said to her, but it weighed on her much more than Camilla's brother's incompetence seemed to bother her, so she thought it an adequate trade.
Instead of pitying her, Camilla nodded sagely. “Mama hates me too. She didn’t much like to be a wife, and being a mother isn’t to her taste either.”