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“Oh, Mrs. Bradwell, I have been so eager to make your acquaintance,” Mrs. Dodwell said, her eyes brighter than the plethora of yellow and orange flowers adorning her bonnet. “Please tell me Lady Edith intends to host a ball.”
“That is her intention,” Henry said. “And I expect you will all find invitations in the post shortly. Mrs. Bradwell has been busy writing them herself.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Whaley exclaimed, quite impressed by this apparent feat. “How good of you, Mrs. Bradwell.”
“I am grateful for Lady Edith’s good advice and sacrifice in hosting a ball for me. It is the least I can do to make myself useful.”
The women shared a look, and I did not know for certain, but I believed that I had gained their approval.
“Forgive my impertinence,” Miss Whaley said, her mousey voice matching her petite figure, “but where is Mr. James Bradwell today?”
“Unfortunately, he and my brother Benedict were called away on a family matter, but they should be returned to Chelton soon.”
She appeared disappointed, and I did my best not to search too far into the potential reasons for it.
“If you will excuse us,” Henry said, laying his hand over mine, the one which rested upon his arm. “We must continue the introductions.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Dodwell said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “I imagine there is much dawdling today so everyone can have a chance to meet our newest parish member. Welcome to Bakewell, dear.”
The sincerity in her warm tone reached into my chest, and I smiled, dipping my head in acknowledgment, while Henry pulled me away.
The following half hour was spent in a similar fashion, meeting members of the local parish and giving excuses for James’s and Lady Edith’s absences. Henry, for all his dislike of Society and preference for remaining far from it, was adept at navigating the people of Bakewell. He had successfully orchestrated no less than eight different families’ introductions and extricated me from each one before I was pulled into a lengthy conversation. We had worked our way toward the street and had nearly made it to the curricle when a woman stepped into our path, her daughter just behind her.
I recognized them immediately from the modiste’s shop. “Good day, Mrs. Whitstone. Miss Whitstone.”
“It is such a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Bradwell. I do hope Lady Edith is not ill?”
Henry stepped in. “She suffers from a headache, ma’am.”
Miss Whitstone tsked. “And how are you enjoying our little corner of England, Mrs. Bradwell?”
“Immensely. It is lovely, and the people today have proved to be equal to it. I look forward to getting to know both of you better at tea this week.” Especially Miss Whitstone. I was determined to learn what about her had seemed so lacking to James.
Mrs. Whitstone nodded absently, glancing from me to Henry. “Of course. Friday, then.”
I dipped a curtsy and stepped around them. Henry retrieved his curricle, and I could not help but feel a little empowered by the accomplishments from the day. Without James’s assistance or relying upon Lady Edith, I had managed to meet nine of the leading families in the parish and would now have nineless stops to make with Lady Edith in the barouche this week.
Once we had mounted the seat and took off in the direction of Chelton, I turned toward my brother-in-law. I spoke up to be heard over the noise of the road. “I must thank you.”
He looked at me briefly before returning his attention to driving. “I did nothing, Felicity. You are a natural.”
A laugh tore from my chest. “Indeed, I do think you must be brown-nosing for some purpose. A natural, I am most definitely not.”
He did not laugh. “Whatever you would like to title it, I was hardly more than your driver, Felicity. You performed to perfection, and it is my prediction that you will soon have the whole of Bakewell eating out of the palm of your hand.”
I thought of the woman in the churchyard with narrowed, eagle eyes. “Well, not the whole of Bakewell.”
“Believe me, my brother leads the pack.”
My body jolted, for I had not been considering James. Though it was true that I would not predict him to be in my pocket quite yet—if ever—I had been thinking of someone else entirely. A person who had lately become Lady Edith’s adversary.
“I meant Mrs. Whitstone.”
Henry laughed awkwardly to cover his blunder. “Ah, touché, Felicity. It would take a feat of great proportions to accomplish that. But Miss Whitstone appeared to like you well enough.”
“I cannot tell.”
He smiled. “She is quiet, yes, but very kind. I think you will like her.”
