“He’s not my fiancé!” Rose snapped, and Charlotte shook her head.
“Working as a governess is hard, hapless work,” Celia said. “We wouldn’t be treated like a tutor at Oxford.”
“We, not you,” Henrietta said significantly.
Celia had her own family; Clarence would take her in if he had to, and she had aunts and cousins in Ireland.
“Social class is not significant to us, is it?” Rose addressed Marianne, who had been known to use those very words, but now appeared torn.
Charlotte turned to Rose. “You would be ostracized from polite society. Never have the chance to marry, never receive invitations or have friends in our own class. You might make fun of thehaut volante, Rose, but for all of us, this is our only life. This is what we know.”
Rose looked even more defensive, in a way they all knew meant that she was almost ready to concede the point.
What they knew…it occurred to Celia that blaa buns and whiskey and the mournful leaps of a tin whistle were not her cousins’ world, either.
“Governess,” Henrietta said deliberately as she wrote. “It will be on our list, somewhere above laying in the gutter to freeze to death. But perhaps we can devise some other stratagems as well. And now, a report regarding Mr. Thompson. Celia, perhaps you will do the honors.”
Celia swallowed, not wanting to say the terrible things out loud.
“I already know,” Charlotte whispered, which meant it was only Marianne who did not know about what her own father had done.
“Hurry up, or I shall do it myself,” Henrietta warned.
Celia had a flash of revulsion, not wishing to withhold information from Marianne in the same condescending way that Mr. Thompson had done to Rose, his own pet among the family. She began to stumble through an explanation of their discoveries last month, and had gotten to theLittle Beltwhen there was a knock at the door.
Everyone froze.
“Tea, ma’am.” Lily entered with a nervous giggle. “And—how d’ye say it, now—here is his lordship Francis Burnett. My lord, sir.”
Celia was stunned and felt Charlotte stiffen next to her, while Lily clattered the tea things and giggled.
“Good day, good day, most pleased to see all you beautiful ladies.” Lord Francis circled the table, kissing each lady’s hand or cheek. “This place for me? Quite right?” He pulled out the chair beside Marianne, deliberately not taking the head of the table.
Celia felt that it was incumbent on her to take some charge of the situation, given that poor Charlotte was shrinking in her chair and even Henrietta was taken aback.
“My lord, I’m always glad to see you,” Celia said with a light laugh. “But what on earth are you doing here?” This was not the sort of thing she thought he meant, when he offered to help her out.
Lord Francis opened his eyes very wide. “It is precisely what was on my invitation. Breakfast room, specifically.”
“Marianne…!”
“I didn’t!” Marianne raised her hands in shock, and Celia believed her. Despite all her bravado at home, Marianne didn’t go out in company and had never met Lord Francis.
That thought led to a clear answer. Celia turned to Rose and raised her eyebrows.
Rose was busy with the teapot. “Very well, very well! It’s nothing to fuss over!” She glared warningly at Charlotte, who was looking very fussed. “I just thought over Marianne’s notes, all serious, and thought how helpful Lord Francis was at the dinner. I thought he might… like to be here.” She shrugged, very slightly.
“Quite right, quite right. Two sugars, no milk, thank you, my dear.”
“We are not merely having a comfortable coze, Lord Francis.” Marianne was not cowed for long. “I invited everyone to a Council of War.”
“Mm, mm. Just what I was looking for.” Lord Francis crossed one foot neatly over the other knee; he was wearing the modish new stirrup pants.
Rose pushed a plate across the table, loaded with three iced biscuits and a marzipan. Lord Francis raised his eyebrows.
“We are fortifying ourselves.” Rose put up her chin.
“Aha! Fortification for our Council meeting.” Lord Francis smiled ingratiatingly. They were all still watching him warily, and Charlotte had sunk back in her chair, shy in his erudite presence.
