‘I can’t imagine,’ Josephine replied wryly. ‘Pray, do tell.’
Miss Amelia leaned forward, her pretty china-doll eyes wide with intrigue. ‘He said…“imminently”!’ She caught her breath before glancing around again, almost as though she expected Sir Francis to spring from the bushes. ‘And then he said he was “expecting a ball invitation from Sir Fairfax shortly and was looking forward to seeing me there”. Which isthe plan…isn’t it!’ she whispered triumphantly.
Josephine felt her eyes widen almost as much as Miss Amelia’s. ‘The plan… for what?’ she repeated.
Amelia stared as though she couldn’t believe Josephine could be so dull, before letting out a little sigh. ‘Why, you are so very noble and proper, Miss Josephine, it’s little wonder you cannot immediately see it, but you shall wonder how you didn’t, when I explain!’
Josephine waited with no such expectation as Amelia drew a breath, ready to impart her winning shot.
‘We are to elope from the Knightswood Ball!’
* * *
‘Well, the Ball part is accurate anyway, dearest,’ Phoebe mused after Miss Amelia left and Josephine had related her tragic entreaties. ‘I had a letter from Thomas this morning saying he’d fixed a date and invitations had been dispatched. I don’t think he’s mentioned the betrothal announcement, just given notice to the great and good, but it is uppermost in his mind, of course. As for Sir Francis’s plans—’ she frowned ‘—who knows for certain? But Miss Amelia wouldn’t be the first young lady to have misunderstood a gentleman’s intentions. The Lord knows I hardly understood this one’s father for most of the first six months of our acquaintance!’
She paused to lean forward and tickle her baby son with the most doting expression, making Josephine wonder at the dramatic effect of motherhood on her trouser-wearing, highwayman-fighting rebel of an older sister.
‘Where has Miss Amelia gone now? Is she staying locally?’ Phoebe added as an afterthought.
‘With some maiden aunt, who knows themost divine modiste, apparently,’ Josephine replied, taking Thomas’s letter from her sister’s outstretched hand. She sighed at his scrawl, written and overwritten to save paper, as was always his way.
Swiftly, she scanned the formalities to reach the part Phoebe had mentioned.
…You will be interested to know I’ve fixed a date for the Grand Knightswood Ball and invited all the usual families, of course. A handful of guests will stay with us, and I’ll depend on yourself and Sophie to help host the occasion.
Matilda has also requested I organise a steeplechase for the following morning, which I’ve refused, naturally. One event is costly enough and will serve to announce both Matilda’s forthcoming season and Josephine’s betrothal. Indeed, I hope the occasion will also serve Matilda’s betrothal, for what other social event could she possibly need to secure an eligible offer? As such, I flatter myself I have handled both matters most efficiently…
‘He flatters himself he’s got rid of the last of his sisters, more like!’ Josephine scowled, passing the letter back to her sister. She suppressed a rise of anxiety as she recalled her own recent letter, which entreated her brother to delay any betrothal plans until she’d had time to speak with him. She’d not yet had the opportunity, but if Ball preparations had begun, there was very small chance of Thomas changing anything.
‘You can’t let Miss Amelia’s account of Sir Francis upset you, dearest,’ Phoebe advised. ‘She must learn for herself that gentlemen speak in riddles they barely understand themselves. And I know Lord Huntingly isn’t a love match for you, but you seemed quite settled on the matter the last time we spoke. Has something changed your mind?’
Josephine eyed her sister carefully. While Sophie’s offspring often distracted her from reading her younger sister too well, Phoebe was an entirely different matter. And yet how could she tell her most protective sister that she now suspected Huntinglyhadmurdered Pellham in Italy, and hidden the deed, even from Pellham’s own mother? She had no proof and was far from safe herself. If she told Phoebe her suspicions, and Thomas refused to release her from the betrothal, she would tell Viscount Damerel and the Captain, and there was a very good chance one of them would take matters into their own hands. For a moment, she recalled the viscount’s clash with Lord Rotherby, Sophie’s husband, at Versailles, and closed her eyes. Far better she try to speak with Thomas directly.
‘Just pre-betrothal nerves,’ she assured her sister. ‘I always imagined I’d marry someone more…’
‘Heroic?’ Phoebe filled with a chuckle. ‘So did I, dearest, but heroes can be a little de trop when it comes to everyday matters. Far better to catch a real gentleman who cares to behave nobly, than a noble gentleman who does not care tobehave at all. Lord Huntingly is kind and gentlemanly when you spend time together?’
Briefly, Josephine thought of Lord Huntingly’s unpredictable behaviour every time they crossed paths.
‘Oh yes,’ she replied with a tight smile. ‘Quitegentlemanly.’
ChapterSeventeen
The Grand Knightswood Ball; French Lace and Moorland Hair
Two weeks later
‘Ihonestly cannot believe that all three of you sold your souls in such a way!’ Matilda exclaimed heatedly. ‘You spent years telling me how modern and independent you are, and then willingly incarcerated yourselves in one of these? A literal cage!’ She huffed at the looking glass as one of the housemaids pulled her new corset even tighter.
‘It’s just a corset, Matilda,’ Sophie chastised, closing her eyes. ‘You’ve worn one before, and this is one of the newer designs Madame Montmartre sent from Paris– at no small expense too, I can tell you!’
‘Yes, but mine are comfortable! I don’t cinch them in so I can’t even sit down, and I always have ribs left at the end of a day… Indeed, that’s it! Let me out! It’s bad enough that I have to go through with this charade, let alone be tied into the underbelly of a whale.’
All three of her older sisters, who were sprawled across her bed, began to laugh.
‘Matilda, I swear you are the most dramatic of all of us,’ Phoebe chuckled. ‘I’ve never heard such a fuss about a coming-out gown! Just wait until you get to The Queen Charlotte’s Ball, which involves more pomp and ceremony than any girl can reasonably bear; you just have to keep telling yourself you can tear the wretched thing off as soon as you get back to your bedchamber.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite the right attitude either!’ Sophie exclaimed, heaving herself on the bed cushions and staring down at her considerable bump. ‘And, quite honestly, I miss having a waist. There’s no allowance in any of the new Romantic fashions, so I would make the most of yours while you still can, dearest sister.’
