Fanny entered with the drinks, and they managed the complicated business of formal clothing while chatting about Henrietta’s party that evening. It was full of her friends from the Leamington Young Ladies’ School, and Celia noticed that Henrietta kept mentioning the brother of one of her friends.
“So this Mr. Pipperly is a contender, then?” Celia did not really think he was, but she wanted to hear Henrietta’s reasoning.
“For my hand?” Henrietta laughed. “Oh no. He’s only a couple of years older than I am.”
“That sounds like a positive attribute,” Celia murmured. She had noticed that Henrietta had to work hard to converse with fully-grown gentlemen; she was not yet interested in the things that concerned them.
Henrietta laughed again. “But my Mr. Charles is the third son. He works for a lawyer, but he needs a couple promotions before he can support a wife. I must simply do the trick.”
Henrietta deserved to enjoy her first Season with no expectations, but Celia knew she would just mention theLittle Beltand shake her head. If Celia married, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to sponsor Henrietta for another Season, but if they all went to Killyreigh she certainly could. Celia knew all the fine families in Omagh, or they could do the Season in Dublin.
“Do you like him?” Rose asked.
“He is funny, and easy to talk with.” Henrietta shrugged. “And he is all the go! Have you seen him? Larky!” She waved her hand, fanning herself, and Fanny giggled.
“What do his looks matter, if you don’t wish to marry him?” Rose sounded genuinely perplexed.
“It’s a nice tingle when you hold hands to dance,” Henrietta answered, “and a special kind of warm when you stand close. It’s fun, that’s all, Rosey-Posey.” She turned and added under her breath, “not that you would know about fun.”
“Rose, tell about Mr. Hanson tonight,” Celia suggested. As she hoped, Rose’s face brightened, and the sisters’ eyes connected.
“Lord Francis was kind enough to invite a gentleman just for me,” Rose said, blushing.
While she talked, Celia thought about the way she felt when a man stood close. She remembered the thrill Henrietta mentioned, from when she was that age and they went to parties in Omagh. Or—now that Lord Francis had reminded her—there had been the cabinetmaker’s son, who held her a little too close during the festival dances, and Celia hadn’t minded at all.
But then the red fever had come through, and Celia had stopped thinking about how men made her feel.
“So he was very knowledgeable, but I don’t know what you mean about a tingle,” Rose concluded, as Fanny left.
Henrietta sighed. “It doesn’t matter. This spring we are approaching men with a thoroughly businesslike mindset.”
“I don’t want to kiss anyone anyways,” Rose said.
Kissing Mr. Hughes—the image sprang into Celia’s mind. But two Seasons in a row, he had made her think that he cared and then disappeared. The only tingle Celia had left was the desire to slap him.
“Right.” Celia agreed, because she was horrified with her own thoughts. Tingling or slapping—either one was completely unacceptable!
“On a businesslike note,” Rose added, “Mr. Hanson has read my articles. Or rather, Father’s articles.”
“Which you actually wrote,” Henrietta clarified.
Celia thought that Rose did not thoroughly understand the business of courtship. But Mr. Hanson seemed both intellectual and practical; perhaps he had a better chance than Mr. Jones with his motherless children.
If Celia married like her aunt requested and Lord Francis believed possible, she could not immediately ask her groom to allow all three cousins to live with them. If they returned to Kilairne…Celia tried to visualize the logistics of four unmarried ladies attending social events in Dublin, and failed entirely. No, if they were to have social opportunities beyond this year,then two of them needed to marry. It would be perfectly unexceptional for one sister to host the other, and everyone knew that Marianne would go with Celia.
Rose said—frequently—that Henrietta was the pretty one and the charming one and the one whom gentlemen would love. But deep in Celia’s stubborn mind, she believed that Rose ought to be the one to marry. Rose had not only a proposal, a second serious suitor and a third paying attention, but she had also already enjoyed seven years of being a coddled daughter allowed to pursue her own interests. Henrietta deserved just a little bit of the same.
Now in their night robes, the ladies curled up with their hot drinks.
Henrietta found lap blankets for everyone and stoked the fire. “What about your gentlemen, Celia?”
“They aren’t mine,” Celia replied automatically, but had to consider what to say next.
“All are respectable, well-spoken, and have some connection to politics,” Rose answered.
Celia hadn’t noticed that last bit.
“Was there anyone”—Henrietta giggled—“who made your heart go pitter-pat?”
