In the silence, Lord Francis broke a biscuit into four even pieces, then nibbled at one. “Miss Thompson, you are wiser than men, then, who fortify themselves with strong spirits, and then become a little less…” He tapped his head. “Except Mr. Hughes, that is.” He cast a quick, sharp glance at Celia. “That fellow can make an entire keg of brandy disappear and still come up with ideas that are as sharp as a barrel of nails. It must be how big he is, that he can hold his liquor so much better than a small fry like me. Very wise idea, Miss Thompson, to rely on marzipan instead.”
Now it was Celia’s turn to examine her friend sharply. Why this sudden monologue on Mr. Hughes, and what was he trying to imply? Mr. Hughes and Lord Francis were similar in size, both quick and wiry and without a jot of extra flesh to absorb even an ounce of brandy.
“I don’t like Mr. Hughes’s drinking.” Rose took the literal approach. “At any rate, he is not here to give us the benefit of his real-life army experience, so Henrietta is our general.”
Celia recognized this as a test, to see if Lord Francis would try to take over the meeting because he was a man.
“Lieutenant Frankie, at your service, General Henrietta, ma’am.” Lord Francis gave a flourish of a salute and popped a bite of biscuit in his mouth.
“We were having reports,” suggested Celia, who didn’t want a council of war but wanted everyone to be included.
“On Mr. Robert Thompson,” Henrietta added, with an appraising glare at Lord Francis. None of them had any idea what he knew.
“Ah.” Lord Francis took a sip of tea and raised one index finger. “Permission to report, General, ma’am?”
“Acknowledging Lieutenant Frankie.”
“Discussion of theLittle Beltarose at Brooks’s a few days ago.”
The women startled, first because he knew the ship’s name and then in fear.
Lord Francis lounged in his upright chair, lackadaisically stirring his tea. “There was a question of whether her journey had been unusually long, but a certain Mr. Harold Pine was quite vociferous in his memory that she had left in the winter, and a certain Mr. Archibald Newel was sure she was waiting out our weather in Lisbon.”
“Those are friends of Papa’s. Other scholars,” interjected Rose.
“Just so. And friends of yours, my ladies.” Lord Francis sent a glance around the table. “Their story was accepted easily—too easily. I dare say you have until the end of the Season. Thehaut tonare giving you that.”
“It is the sixteenth of April,” Charlotte calculated. “Town begins to empty mid-June.”
“Unless?” Celia said to Lord Francis, hearing the warning in his tone.
Lord Francis shrugged, but his face was weary. “Unless there is scandal. Unless the men of business start to feelthat association with you no longer benefits their wives and daughters.”
“We have no difficulties with scandal,” Marianne said.
“Eight weeks?” concluded Charlotte.
“Sixty days,” clarified Henrietta.
“Threescore, like the Israelites in the desert—or Solomon’s escort,” teased Rose. “We are quite historical.”
“And then what?” asked Celia.
“Oh, I know!” Charlotte gasped, both hands on her cheeks. “Then you all come to Soreng House and visit me! My mama-in-law has been asking me to have a house party this summer.”
“I shall be most honored.” Lord Francis put his hand on his heart.
“I should be delighted to have you,” Charlotte mumbled.
Charlotte blushed to the roots of her hair, obviously not expecting such a distinguished gentleman to be interested in her humble hospitality. Celia eyed Lord Francis, wary that he was twitting her friend, but saw only sincerity. She touched Charlotte’s hand in reassurance; after all, she would rather sit by the creek at Soreng Park than drag through the upper-class hoity-toity parties, too.
“Sixty days, then.” Henrietta made notes. “From now until the twenty-fourth of June without further scandal. Then thetonwill be leaving London and we leave for Soreng House.”
Celia wanted them at Killyreigh, but that would take longer than threescore days. A house party at Charlotte’s would be the perfect intermission, though, and the perfect way to convince Clarence that she was merely asking for a social nicety that would benefit them both.
“Any further ideas?” Henrietta examined her list, brows furrowed.
“We need to talk about Celia,” Rose demanded.
