The Katsaros family lived several miles out of town, on the cliffs, too far for them to walk, and so they had taken the carriage. Cathy was excited. She had heard a lot about the siblings. Apparently, they had grown rich on diamonds in South Africa, and the brother was a widower, almost like in a novel (too bad he was new money and didn't have a title) and his younger sister was Cathy's age. She hadn't had yet had an opportunity to be introduced to them, and so she had been happy to learn that the siblings had invited them to tea. 

She was dressed in one of her favourite dresses: a gentle salmon pink piece with white lace around the high neck and shoulders, puff sleeves, a scarlet ribbon to mark her thin waste, and a small bustle to create more curves than her frail body naturally possessed. Her blond hair was up in a perfect bun on the back of her head, and a pearl dangled from each earlobe.  

Cathy turned her eyes from the window to her sister. "Must be nice living in the country so far out of town. Have you been there before?"

Felicity had been surprised when the Katsaros siblings had invited them for tea. They had not lived in … well, near … Whitby long, and while she had never seen the brother, she had noticed the sister get out of her carriage once and enter the jewelry store. It was the carriage that had drawn her attention first. It was really fancy and was pulled by no less than eight horses. They definitely liked to show off their wealth.

She fiddled with the folds on her mint green skirt as the carriage trundled toward their destination. Felicity had chosen one of her newest gowns to wear to tea. No matter the time of year, she always wore pastels as they suited her pale coloring. Her outfit featured a white bodice inset of French hand-stitched lace framed in a ruffle of matching lace. A pink silk flower and white and lavender ribbons decorated one corner of the square inset. It featured leg-of mutton sleeves to make her waist look smaller. Felicity envied Cathy’s tiny waist and hoped hers would narrow as she grew older.

The skirt was gored and featured three horizontal ruffles at even intervals ending at the hem. A wide lavender ribbon encircled her waist, also decorated with a pink flower and white ribbons. Still young enough to wear her hair down, her flaxen tresses had been painstakingly arranged into barley curls, the front pulled back from her face and tied in the back with mint green ribbons with another pink silk rose in the center.

“I don’t think I’d want to live so far away.” Felicity had never been fond of spending too much time in a carriage. The ride was so bumpy. Train and ship travel suited her much better. One could walk around and didn't have to sit in one place. “I haven’t but one of my friends rode up there once. She said that the residence is more like a palace than a mansion and that parts of it were being renovated. I’m really curious to see it myself. I wonder what it’s like inside.”

Cathy watched her younger sister with a smile that masked nervous envy. Felicity was still a child, but a fair child, a child budding into a young woman, who was already starting to turn heads. A child who had spent less time in school than her, but had a better sense of fashion. Every week, the girl looked a little more like a woman, and every week, Cathy realized she’d have to hurry up finding some lord and have him put a ring on her finger, lest Felicity turned old enough to be her rival in more than style and looks alone. At least the chances of Felicity being presented at court were low. How much could change in her family’s connections one or two years? Nothing, she hoped.

“A mansion like that is more suitable for the country,” Cathy ‘explained’ to her little sister. “I doubt they do their shopping in Whitby. Last time I was in London,” – Cathy had gone to stay with her uncle and aunt some month ago, had done all the fashionable things, and wouldn’t shut up about it to her younger sister who hadn’t been in London for years – “I made sure to send enough pieces up not to need anything from here any time soon. There’s no Harrods or Liberty in Whitby.”

This recent experience of superiority provided some comfort for the fact that the purpose of the trip had failed. Her uncle’s networking had not been enough to get her presented at court. In London, Catherine Ennington had been a nobody. She had never experienced anything as painful as that. But here in Whitby, Catherine Ennington was the rich, fashionable girl from an important family, who did her shopping in London.

A bump in the road jostled them in their seats. “I’m certain they have better drivers too,” she added petulantly. She brought her hand up to her head to check if her hairdo was still in place.