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“I think you should wear the purple gown your mother picked for you.”
Was that his subtle way of saying there wouldn’t be a new gown made? She didn’t care. She loved the purple gown. It was the last one her mother had purchased before she died.
“I think that’s a lovely idea, Papa.” She glanced at Mr. Baxter, then back to her father. “Is that all, or was there something else you wished to discuss with me?” There was still a chance he would tell her of their troubles.
He shook his head. “That is all.” He frowned. “You look tired, dearest. Why do you not take a nap?”
She smiled at him. “That sounds like a fine idea. Good day, Papa.” She dipped her head at the steward. “Mr. Baxter.”
“Good day, my lady,” Mr. Baxter said, a look of pity in his eyes.
Pippy fisted her hands at her sides. While she hated feeling like a burden, she hated being pitied even more.
Three
Freddie straightened his waistcoat as he walked to the front door of the Goodmans’ townhouse. Hanover Square was not as fashionable as it once was, but it was not Cheapside, by any means. It was respectable.
The door opened, and Freddie handed over his card. The footman motioned him inside. “The party is about to begin, my lord. If you’ll follow me, I will show you to the parlor.”
“Thank you,” Freddie said. Dash it all. He’d hoped he’d arrived late enough for the party to be well underway. Next time he’d need to dilly-dally longer.
He followed the footman down a corridor and into a room dotted with tables. Freddie grunted. Guests milled about talking, while the tables sat empty.
“I thought you had cried off this evening,” Fin came and stood next to him, his eyes staring out at the room.
“I intended to arrive after the games had started. Deuced inconvenient, is it not?” Freddie asked.
Fin shrugged. “That it is. While I loathe the Season and everything that comes with it, I’ll be glad for an expanded society.” He looked blandly at the crowd. “If I have to hear all their stories again tonight, I think I might throw myself into the Thames.”
The corner of Freddie’s mouth ticked up. “Are you feeling well, Fin? You’re leaning a bit toward the theatrical this evening.”
Before he could answer, Mrs. Goodman clapped her hands, calling the room to attention. “Thank you all for coming to our little party this evening.”
“Little, indeed. There’s got to be at least sixty people here,” Fin hissed.
“There are papers posted on the sideboard with numbers. Each number has a game listed and a corresponding table.” She motioned to the table on her left. “You must sign your name under the number to secure your spot at the table. Else wise, you may find yourself relegated to playing a game not to your liking.”
“What if none of them are to my liking?” Fin asked with disinterest.
Freddie glanced over at him. “Why do you come if you do not wish to participate?”
He sighed. “I had nothing better to do this evening.”
“What have I missed?” Stan asked as he stopped next to them.
“It seems we cannot just seat ourselves at a desired table, but must sign up for spots,” Freddie said.
“Maggots.” Stan crossed his arms over his chest. It was a rather strong word for a man generally known to be rather even-keeled.
Fin nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
Freddie rubbed his hands together. There was no point in delaying the torture any longer. “Tell me, gentlemen, where should we try our luck?”
“The library?” Fin asked.
“I wish to see the lists first,” Stan said. “Then I’ll determine where I wish to settle.”
“Sound wisdom,” Freddie said. He’d caught sight of Mrs. Hellingsford and had no desire to be stuck at a table with her.
