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Elise became aware that Beatrice was waiting expectantly for her to continue. ‘I will try to get you your wish...’ Elise squealed as Beatrice rushed to thank her with a hug before she’d finished speaking.
* * *
‘Ah...Mr Chapman is here!’ Elise exclaimed in relief. She urged her sister to pick up her portmanteau.
‘So sorry to be late,’ Anthony Chapman burst out as he heaved his bulk from the trap to politely assist the young ladies on to it. ‘A costermonger had turned his cart over and I had a devil of a job getting through the press of carriages. It all got very heated and I thought a fight might break out between two jarveys.’ He wheezed in air. ‘I hope the way is now clear or we will be delayed on the road back.’
Verity’s papa seemed stricken to have missed the appointed hour to meet them on alighting from the mail coach to transport them to his home in Marylebone.
‘It is no trouble to us to have waited a few minutes,’ Elise replied soothingly. ‘It is very kind of you to fetch us. We could have hailed a hackney, after all, and saved you the journey.’
‘No...no...’ Mr Chapman flapped a stout hand whilst the other assisted in hoisting him back up on to the carriage seat. ‘Wouldn’t hear of it, m’dear. It’s a pleasure to see you both and looking so very well.’ Having sucked in a heavy breath, he turned his head and beamed at the young ladies seated beside him. ‘And your papa is in good health, I trust?’
‘Indeed he is, sir, and he sends you and Mrs Chapman his very best wishes.’
Anthony patted at Elise’s closest hand. ‘Verity will be so pleased to see you. As will Fiona, although she is in a tizz over Mr Whittiker.’ His mouth drooped to blow a sigh. ‘Her mama is pleased, of course, that she has a beau.’
Elise noticed his furrowed brow and had the impression that Mr Chapman was no more enamoured of the idea of Mr Whittiker joining his family than was Verity.
Chapter Three
‘For country misses you have pretty manners.’
Elise rewarded the fellow’s faint praise with a cool smile. ‘Indeed, thank you, Mr Whittiker.’ He’d come too close to her and, stepping away, she added, ‘We like to think ourselves housetrained.’ She dipped him a curtsy but he continued smirking and Elise realised he was too thick-skinned to comprehend the insolence in her answer.
‘We were reared in London, sir,’ Beatrice cheerfully explained, having overheard his crass remark yet seemingly unaffected by it. ‘We moved to Hertfordshire many years ago, worse luck...’ She fidgeted uneasily beneath Elise’s swift cautionary look.
‘Have some more tea, sir.’ Verity had grabbed up the pot and hurried towards him to hinder him from pursuing the conversation, or Elise for that matter. He had seemed to dog her friend’s footsteps as she moved from bookcase to bookcase, attempting to shake him off her shoulder. ‘I tried to give a hint about him when I last wrote to you,’ she murmured, refilling Elise’s cup.
‘I fear no hint could do justice to Mr Whittiker,’ Elise returned ruefully, stirring her tea and watching Fiona shyly conversing with her beau. Elise had always considered Fiona to be a bit too nice, but nobody’s fool. She certainly still thought her over-obliging, but was beginning, sadly, to suspect perhaps she might be a fool to be encouraging an oafish fellow to court her.
‘I’m baffled, too, by what Fiona thinks she is about.’ Verity had correctly read Elise’s concerns as they settled down together on a sofa. ‘But I know what’s drawn him in.’ She glowered sideways at James. ‘Our grandmother has recently passed on and left Fiona a little nest egg.’ Despite their distance from the room’s other occupants Verity continued concealing her lips with her teacup. ‘She has left me the same amount, but in trust until I reach twenty-one. On reflection I’m quite glad of that as Mr Whittiker might have turned his attention to me instead.’
Verity was six months younger than her, thus Elise knew her friend must wait another year and a half to lay claim to her cash. ‘You think Mr Whittiker has found out about the inheritance and is a fortune hunter?’
‘I’m almost certain of it. It is three thousand pounds, not a fabulous sum, but I overheard Papa telling Mama that the fund is enough of a lure for a man like James Whittiker who has his pockets permanently to let. Papa seems very suspicious of his motives, but Mama is simply relieved that one of us might soon be sporting a ring.’ Verity sighed. ‘She has been chivvying Fiona to get herself off the shelf. Whittiker can claim good connections—and believe me, he does constantly boast about his uncle who is a baronet.’
