“Yes, Mother,” Beatrice told her. “That was his goal, and he has pursued it admirably. He has danced with many women, and then, when he found one who was titled, attractive, and didn’t mind him being American, he closed in on her.”
Charlotte giggled. “Like a spaniel at a pheasant hunt.”
“Someone from a family I know?” Felicity asked.
“Lady Emily St. George,” Beatrice told her mother. “Do you know her or her parents?”
“No. I don’t think they’ve ever placed an order at our shop. Do you like her?”
What a strange question for her mother to ask. “It is of no concern to me except in wishing Mr. Carson the best of luck.”
“I see,” her mother said, giving her a long look. “In that case, give the lady no reason to feel jealous. If he has made a match, I suppose you and Mr. Carson should part ways. I shall escort you and Charlotte for the rest of the Season.”
“Are you saying I can no longer be friends with him?” Beatrice knew it was for the best, but it gave her a shock all the same.
Her mother looked thoughtful. “Married men do not have single female friends. That is simply a known truth, a fact as irrefutable as grass being green. Besides, it is irresponsible, ill-advised, and looks sordid even when it isn’t. While Mr. Carson is still unengaged, you may call him your friend, but as soon as he has offered for Lady Emily, it would be wise to withdraw from any association with him.”
Beatrice felt morose, and her expression must have shown it.
“Mother’s right,” Charlotte chimed in. “You don’t see Amity taking tea with her old beau, Mr. Cole, since marrying the duke.”
“That’s because the duke wouldn’t approve, and Amity wouldn’t want to hurt her husband’s feelings even if he did.”
“Exactly,” their mother said. “Lady Emily deserves the same respect afforded the duke. Moreover, Mr. Carson wouldn’t want to be put in a position wherein he must choose between you. If he truly intends to wed the lady, then you, dear daughter, will be in the way, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Very well,” Beatrice said. “I shall keep my distance. After all, I don’t wish to be hurt either.”
“It’s a pity,” Charlotte said, then she sighed. “He is good company in the carriage and at the events.”
“He is,” Beatrice said, trying not to sound wistful.
For the next three weeks, despite having a very busy social schedule, she hardly saw the American. All the fun went out of the Season. Lord Melton seemed to always be buzzing around like a bee to a flower. He was usually witty and sometimes made an amusing remark, although it was often cutting or sarcastic, a different kind of humor from Greer Carson’s lighthearted silliness.
And Greer didn’t ask her to dance once. He kept his distance, as her mother predicted he should. Nor did he return to the shop for toffee or to chat. It was as if after the incident at the gazebo, they left the blossoming friendship on the banks of the Thames.
Beatrice had to keep reminding herself it was for the best. After all, she had grown so terribly fond of him, it had been hard to see him with another woman. Now that she’d grown used to that, it didn’t sting quite so much to see him waltz with Lady Emily. If she were pressed, however, Beatrice would swear Greer and she danced more smoothly than he did with the earl’s daughter.
Regardless, she expected an announcement in the newspaper any day. She hoped he didn’t feel cheated, having paid for all her gowns and her tickets so she could invite him as the guest of the Duchess of Pelham’s sister to the Season’s best balls. As it turned out, once he got his foot in the door of thehaut ton, he had been well able to keep his foot and the rest of his person on the inside without her help.
But there was still the costume ball at Marlborough House, hosted by the queen’s son and his wife, and none of them would be going without the particular benefaction of Amity’s husband.
“I have something to tell you girls,” her mother said upon entering Rare Confectionery one afternoon. Beatrice poked her head out from the back room at such a serious utterance.
The day before, they’d been at Lord’s Cricket Ground at St. John’s Wood. Beatrice and Lord Melton and Charlotte and Lord Someone-or-Other — she couldn’t recall whom exactly — had been partnered to watch the match. She’d spotted Greer and Lady Emily eating flavored ices under a nearby umbrella. At one point, the American had looked over and noticed her.
Mortified at being caught spying, Beatrice nodded and quickly looked past them, pointing at something in the distance that didn’t exist and nudging Charlotte to look, too. Hopefully, Greer believed her silly pretense that he and his lady-love had not been the object of her scrutiny.
Having thought of little else except the happy pair all day, Beatrice now waited to hear news of her former friend’s engagement.
“Your father and I are going to France to see his family,” her mother said unexpectedly. “If you need anything, Amity and the duke will expect you to turn to them. And if you wish to stay at St. James’s Place, you will be welcome.”
Beatrice glanced at Charlotte, already bright-eyed with anticipation at the notion of their being without supervision for...
“How long will you be gone?” Beatrice asked.
“The better part of two weeks, I expect.” She looked around the shop. “I hope no longer, but one never knows. I suppose I ought to take my in-laws some of our best confectionery. Obviously, they have Debauve and Gallais at their disposal, but they don’t have my clever girls, do they?”
Felicity beamed at them, and Beatrice’s heart warmed. “Charlotte and I will make up some special tins for you to take. When do you leave?”
