The infamy still burned Bee to the quick. Life could be unjust. "What is it that persuades you, Aunt?"
"Griffith." The lady spun, a grin on her lips, her parchment aloft in her hand.
So. Her step-son, the earl of Marsden, attached to the Duke of Wellington's general staff in Paris, had written the letter.
Why did Griffith's letter indicate a party was in order? "Does he return home for the Christmas Season?"
"He hopes to receive permission. He'll bring a friend or more. Those men need gaiety in their lives. I do hope those he brings will be bachelors. Isn't that wonderful news?"
"I say! Good afternoon to you both." Delphine stood in the parlor doorway, her cheeks bright pink, her platinum blonde hair wild from the wind. "What is wonderful news, Aunt?"
"A house party. We'll host one. I do wish you'd tidy yourself, dearest Delphine, before you join us. How do you expect to gain the attentions of a beau if you are so careless with your toilette?"
"Oh Aunt, I'll worry about that when I find a man I favor."
Bee mashed her lips together. Delphine favored any man she met.
"Oh, look! Cook's scones!" Changing the subject, Del gave a giggle, then dutifully tucked her errant curls behind her ears. Of course, that did nothing for the stray strands that fell down her neck minus their pins. Wild hair, no matter the color, was a Craymore trait. Del took a seat on the settee and waited for her aunt to offer her tea and refreshments. "I am ravenous."
“Do eat up, my dear.” Their aunt was nothing if not indulgent, especially when it came to feeding herself and others. As a result, Delphine had taken to enjoying her food with glee and she filled out her corset in generous proportions. "Come, tell us how your brood is today? It's a miracle you can teach them anything at all."
"They're poor, Aunt. But bright." Delphine slid a sideways glance at Bee as their aunt returned to her chair, leaned over and selected with her silver tongs a few tiny sandwiches and a scone from the tea tray, all for Delphine. "Thank you, ma'am. Do tell me what is the wonderful news you discussed."
"I've the inspiration to host a house party. Seven exciting nights.” Her aunt hoped to be once more a doyenne of Brighton social circles. "I've itched to hostess a party since that monkey Bonaparte departed for Elba. A joyous occasion, that. We thought we were rid of the creature."
"He was a bad dream," said Delphine, accepting her cup of tea. "But up he popped again."
"He's done for now, don’t you think? I do. I do," pronounced their aunt as if the gypsy mesmerist in the Lanes had enchanted her. "And we shall have a ball to celebrate."
Delphine paused, her scone mid-way to her mouth. "Oh, a ball, too?"
"A must for any proper house party, my dear."
"But—” Delphine stared at their aunt in shock. "Can we dance?"
"Of course you can," their aunt said with certainty. "You don't have feet of bricks."
"No. I meant,shouldwe?"
Aunt Gertrude skewered Del with beady eyes. "You've been keeping company with those Methodists too often.”
Bee cleared her throat, suppressing a chuckle.
"They’re wonderful, Aunt, and I—”
"I’m certain they are but they don't like gin and they don't like to dance. What are we about if one cannot drink or dance, I ask you?"
Del acknowledged that with a bark of laughter. "We'll just ask Bee not to fire her pistol."
"Oh, now, that is unfair," Bee objected crossing her arms.
Del couldn't control herself. "You shooting old Mersdale gave everyone a laugh. Even him."
"Poor man," Bee said, ashamed she had nothing to compensate the man with except her personal mediocre medical care. "It was an accident."
"You are too diligent, Bee. A poacher, indeed! Whom else have you discovered?"
Hmmm. Words like that put Bee on guard that Del knew about Blue Hawker, just as Marjorie might.
