Page 101 of A Shore Thing

“Or something like.” Miss Ellis lifted her magnificent brows.

The two exchanged yet another speaking glance.

Muriel gave a tiny shake of her head and tried to speak lightly. “It would take more than Jupiter, don’t you think? To make a person want to settle down?”

“Oh, but he does want to settle down,” said Miss Ellis, with a mysterious smile.

“He told you that?” Muriel lowered her voice. She needn’t have. Griffith was now on the other side of the room, as though by flitting about he meant to disprove Miss Ellis’s claim.

“His chart told me.” Miss Ellis fingered the shell cameo at her throat, of a Greek goddess, by the look of it. Or Sappho, perhaps.

“His chart.” Muriel sipped her champagne, wondering if Miss Ellis was having her on.

“Kit’s moon is in Cancer,” offered Miss Clarkson.

Miss Ellis nodded. “He’s strong but sensitive. Emotional stability is essential.”

“I am a Cancer,” interjected the third woman, Charlotte Something-Something. “I’m desperately sensitive. For example, Mrs. Pendrake, I cannot think you intended to slight me just now, but I cannot help but feel slighted.”

“Charlotte,” scolded Miss Clarkson.

“Amelia,” retorted Charlotte Something-Something. “We both brought her refreshment, but she took yours and ignored me completely. Now I’m stuck holding two champagnes, like a jilted squire at a country ball.”

“I’m sorry?” Muriel’s forehead flexed. Charlotte Something-Something had a pretty face and a sulky mouth, and she was indeed holding two glasses. “The champagne was in my hand before I knew it.”

“Because Amelia is an Aries. She must be first in everything.” Charlotte Something-Something sighed. Miss Clarkson pursed her lips.

“I’m not upset, truly, with anyone,” Charlotte Something-Something continued. “The sting has worn off. Here you are, my dear.”

She passed a champagne to Muriel. Now Muriel was the one holding two glasses. She smiled at the women, wondering if they were all of them having her on.

“Hot as hades in here.” The Major-General herself strode up to them, divested now of her jacket but no less martial in appearance. Her upright carriage was augmented by a long, tightly fitted cuirass bodice, gray as armor. “Does anyone care to join me as I seek fresher air?”

No one did, except Muriel, and so she and the Major-General stepped together onto the shadowy terrace.

“Call me Octavia.” When she wasn’t spouting rapid-fire nonsense in character, Octavia spoke with a slow, silky drawl. “I hear you’re a bicycling botanist.”

Muriel acknowledged this with a nod. “And you are a singer?”

“Seriocomic vocalist.” Octavia struck a pose. “Music hall sensation. Star of the stage.” She winked. “Did you recognize me?”

“Only your talent,” said Muriel, politely. “Champagne?”

“No, thank you.” Octavia lifted her own glass. “I usually drink one at a time.”

“So do I,” Muriel assured her. She contemplated the glasses in her hands with bemusement. “This has something to do with the zodiac.”

The first notes of a quadrille tinkled merrily from the parlor.

Muriel raised her eyes and looked through the open doors. Couples had formed in the center of the room. Griffith was paired with an elfin young woman, slim and ethereal, with a pointy chin and a cloud of nut-brown curls. They passed close to the doors as they promenaded.

“Our newest member.” Octavia followed Muriel’s gaze. “Mrs. Dorothea Yarrow. Care to supplant her?”

“What?” Muriel curled her fingers more tightly around the stems of the glasses.

“As our freshman.” Octavia’s voice grew even silkier. “I’m delighted to propose you. Grace will second.”

Muriel’s gaze swerved from the dancers. “Me? A member of the Hesperus Ladies Club?”