"Yes." Willa Sheffield, daughter of the Earl de Courcy, loved the May Day event. Other school friends attended often. Millicent Weaver, a shy young lady with a rapier wit. Sandrine De Compiègne, whose poor parents had fled Danton and his radicals in France. "Willa wrote me the other day to say she'll come if she's recovered from her sniffles. The Frolic is always a wonderful reunion for us."
Fifi gulped down her tea. "And your point?"
"Your Aunt Courtland always ensures there are enough young gentlemen in attendance to partner with each unmarried lady."
Fifi fingered her next treat. "Wallflowers."
"Hmm. Yes. But we ten at Miss Shipley's were never that."
"No." She chewed the pastry, savoring the silky creme. "Something to be thankful for, eh?"
"So that means the numbers are always equal."
Fifi picked up her serviette and wiped her mouth. "Always. And?" She waved her hand. "Come now. Fire, flood, men. You have a solution to any problem."
"You are too kind. That fire—"
Fifi scolded her with a sharp look. "You put it out and saved my life and two others'."
"Only quick thinking—"
"That saved your puppy from drowning, too!" Fifi sniffed. "Your solution here is what? Out with it!"
Mary lifted her nose in the air. "You'll pick one."
"Pick one what?"
"Man."
"Who?" Fifi needed facts, names, not generalities. It's how one kept track of cards at the table. Who had what. When.
"Anyone," Mary said.
"Not one specific man?"
"No. You must choose. Not I. I've not had much luck match-making lately."
"I see. That bit with Millicent went awry. But then why am I choosing just any man? I refuse to romp around the May Pole with Lord Hornsby or that Mister Weymouth." She widened her eyes with seeming implications.
Mary laughed. "With someone who appeals!"
"If they invite the same neighbors who've attended the past two years, my answer is no. We're in for a good snore."
"They won't. They'll invite new faces this year."
"How do you know?"
Mary drew in a breath. "I had a letter from Esme this morning."
"Oh! How could you not tell me?" Esme had often confided in Mary. The were friends, although not as firmly so as Mary and Fifi. And Fifi had never minded. Not really. Because Mary was not a gossip or a snitch. Fifi could trust Mary with her life. "What did she say?"
"That her mama has invited four more gentlemen in addition to the regular coterie of past years."
"Hunh! About time. Ivy and Grace threatened to leave last year after they got tied up in the May Pole ribbons. Trussed up like chickens, they said, with two local men."
"In any case," Mary assured her, "there will be more gentlemen to chose from."
"Did Esme give any names?"
