She removed them and slipped them in her pocket. "I cannot read or write without them. I apologize."
"No need," their aunt said. "What were you doing that you're late?"
"Letters I had to attend to. I am so behind in my correspondence."
Lately Marjorie had occupied herself writing quite a few letters. To whom, was a mystery. On what subject, was the bigger one. Bee had been asking. Marjorie was not confiding. Her letters and her friendship with the Earl of Leith's daughter, a pretty girl too wise for her own good, had aroused Bee's suspicions that her sister was back to her old card tricks. Or rather, a pack of new ones.
But she asked, “What’s this about Prinny’s butler?”
"Not his butler,” said Bee, knowing Marjorie was trying to change the subject.
“We're to host a house party," Del told her. "Eight days. One ball. With the Prince of Wales invited too. Do you think he’ll come, Simms?"
“Ah, well—” the butler began.
“I do hope so.” Marjorie sat up in her chair, the greedy twinkle in her violet eyes a sight that shot alarm through Bee. "That would be superb."
No, it would not."He might be quite busy hosting his own parties at the Pavilion."
"Oh, but he likes to go about town." Marjorie looked like a well-fed cat, licking her lips at the prospect of the prince to entertain...or fleece.
"He's attended my soirees before." Their aunt reached for a plate to pile high items for Marjorie. "I know he'll find you charming, Marjorie."
Bee bit her lip. She hoped the Prince didn't find her sister so charming that he was tricked into betting against her. Every man initially judged Marjorie to be studious, a bluestocking, off-putting because of those spectacles. Little did they suspect that beneath that crown of honeyed hair lay an eagle-eyed card sharp.
"The Prince will delight in each one of you," added their aunt. "He'll certainly aid us in the search for proper young men to entertain."
Bee stifled the urge to groan. Marjorie wanted no particular man, but as many men as might find her talents intriguing. Delphine, however, wanted to charm any man in her path.And as for me? I want the man I've always cared for and never had the right to claim.
"Society! It's the cure," announced their aunt with a flourish of one hand and the assurance of a lady used to histrionics. Gertrude, their mother's young sister, had left home at age eighteen to make her mark in the London theater. She'd trod the boards only a few times when the widower Earl of Marsden discovered her and swept her up into his arms, his family and his fortune by marrying her. "We’ll make the season bright. Heaven knows, we need a bit of cheer."
Bee still had doubts. "Aunt, what of a simple dinner party instead? Should we not remember your recent malaise?"
"No. We shouldn't. Not to worry, my girl." The roly poly silver-haired Countess winked at Bee and took two more scones from the tea tray for herself. This past May, Aunt Gertrude had suffered heart palpitations. Only the victory of the Allies on the field at Waterloo on her birth date had put a spring in her step. Lifting her dish of tea with one hand, she fluttered away Bee's objection with the other.
Simms cleared his throat. “Will that be all, Madam?”
Their aunt got a devilish gleam in her eye. “Do tell Cook I want a grand ice for the center of the table.”
“Any special form, Madam?”
“Napoleon,” she said with a giggle. “A melting Bonaparte! Too delightful! Too, too! Well. What do you think?”
Del laughed.
Bee caught her breath.
Simms said, “Perhaps a unicorn?”
Marjorie said, “I’d like a cupid.”
“A naked little boy on the table?” Their aunt chuckled and fanned herself like a fainting actress. “No, it wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t. Ahem. At all. I like Napoleon better, Simms.”
“As you wish, Madam.” His upper lip twitched as he suppressed a grin. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Tell Cook we want duck.”
“Ten,” said Del because duck was her favorite dish.
