"I will."
"Aunt has decided we are to sit as Prinny does in his dining room in the Pavilion," Marjorie announced with a chuckle.
"A woman beside a man and so on," said Delphine, wiggling with anticipation. "We change our attentions at each course."
Bee laughed. Del would applaud that arrangement, the more men to enchant. "When did you change the seating, Aunt?"
"An hour ago. Simms did it in a thrice!" She snapped her fingers.
"The footmen," added Marjorie, "did a fine job. I inspected the table."
"Been at work, have you, match-making?" Bee ventured.
"The assignments seemed fine for tonight," she cooed, the sticks of her Chinese fan to Bee's glove. Bee thought her words a bit too reassuring and wondered what she was up to. "We’ll change throughout the week."
“Oh?” Bee squinted at her sister. "That sounds dubious. Who am I to sit beside tonight?"
"On your left, Belinda," said their aunt, "is Lord Carlson. I decided he was a good choice for you."
Bee wanted to run but knew she’d cause a scene. What Bee knew of him was gossip her aunt had told her. He was a widower. Older than Bee by a decade or more. An active politician, he loved to talk. And talk. Well, one consolation, she'd not have to work at conversation. But she would have to work at diplomacy, for it was rumored, Carlson was a roué who pinched and tickled a lady under the table. Worse, the man actively sought a second wife.
"And on my other side?"
"Lord Hallerton. Recently home from the Continent, you know."
Bee did. Hallerton had been in the news with his work with Wellington in Paris on French trade. Continental ports newly opened to Britain still required regulation. Reginald Winslow, the fourth Viscount Hallerton owned lands along the Sussex coast and so understood commerce.
"You mustn't worry, Bee," Marjorie said, understanding her hesitance. "Hallerton is not in the marriage game."
"To choose a man," gushed Aunt Gertrude, "we have days and days for you girls."
"And Aunt has invited a bevy of eligible ones," said Del, bubbly with the prospects.
"Yes, it's Christmas, my chicks, so let us begin. I say, Simms," Gertrude hailed the butler, as he entered through the private hall. Stiff as a statue in his formal navy livery with woven gold passementerie down his chest, he appeared even more officious than usual. "We should open the doors."
"As you wish, ma'am." He strode to the far set of double doors that led to the foyer and set them wide. Guests murmured and milled about, dressed to their chins in their silks and satins, their diamonds and medals. They formed a small receiving line, choosing by rote their ranks in precedence, and filed into the salon with felicitations of yuletide cheer. Aunt Gertrude cooed her delight, took the courtesies and bows with aplomb. Then she passed the honored guest on to Bee. Marjorie and Delphine came next and all the guests came through like water through a lock. The footmen arrived with their champagne and sherry. Simms supervised like a Yeoman at the Tower, then floated away like a ghost to his duties.
Most took chairs or settees, but a few rose to greet others. As the chatter rose to a pitch, Simms re-appeared at the doors. Fighting to suppress a smile lest his all-too-stoic face break like glass, he stood aside to reveal three more recently arrived guests. All were tall, powerfully formed males who smiled like loons.
Bee caught her breath.
Aunt Gertrude gasped, rose and halted, one hand to her bosom. "Dear heavens."
The guests turned to the sight that so stunned her.
"Happy Christmas, Mama," said the vision on the threshold. Griffith Harlinger, the earl of Marsden, appeared hale and hearty.
Bee stared at Griff who'd grown more imperial since she'd last seen him. He stood foursquare on the threshold,his royal blue and gold trim uniform a formidable exclamation against the white foyer walls. A benevolent smile wreathed his face. His brown hair tussled, his sculpted cheeks pink from the wintry winds, he opened his arms to his step-mother and with a cry, she rushed in.
As he bent to embrace her, Bee examined the two men behind him.
One in a uniform of scarlet with gold bands, had a hopeful smile, curly auburn hair and soft grey eyes. Looking anxious, he scanned the crowd until he paused to stare at Delphine. At Griff’s introduction, he greeted Aunt Gertrude, then walked haltingly toward Delphine with help of a cane. Her youngest sister locked eyes with Major Lord Bromley, Neville Vaughn, the man whom she'd once loved and lost because she had no dowry.
Beside Bromley stood a man whom Bee knew... and yet not.
He smiled at her, this man.
A phantom of some dream she'd had, he was as regal, as broad-shouldered as Griffith Harlinger, his friend. Closely shaven, his sun-kissed hair glistening, his endearing sable eyes shining, he wore an ebony serge frock coat and pinstriped blue satin waistcoat, smart formal attire. Hisfrock coat contrasted with his crisp white cravat. The black and white were stark on him, but highlighted his bright blond hair and a certain frailty she’d never noticed in him. Some hazy memory drifted through her mind of this man in a bright red coat with gold buttons and a tall military helmet with black plumage.In this formal attire, he seemed strange, but familiar.
