“How fortunate for all of us,” Newton said, sitting.
Miss Lancaster eyed Charlie. “Do you find it fortunate, Mr. Jonquil?”
Charlie sat as well, assuming a posture of casual disapproval. “I’d answer, but I promised my brother I wouldn’t insult you anymore.” He needed a moment to regain his equilibrium enough to keep that promise.
Newton far preferred silence when amongst people he did not know well, but he was not so painfully reserved as to be unable to spring to his friend’s rescue. “I understand your eldest sister welcomed a new arrival a few months ago.”
Miss Lancaster allowed her attention to shift to him. “She did. I have a new niece, Lady Hestia. She promises to be quite the heartbreaker, in large part because I intend to teach her well.”
The amusing lady might drive Charlie rather mad, but Newton enjoyed her company. She was quick-witted and self-assured enough to not demur her way into the posture of feebleness too many young ladies were trained to assume.
Henson returned again but without the master or mistress of the house. “More visitors is about to come inside,” he said.
In a quiet voice entirely lacking in mockery or jesting, Miss Lancaster said, “You simply tell us who it is by saying their names before stepping aside to allow them in.”
He nodded, looking both disappointed in himself and a touch embarrassed.
“And I fear you may have forgotten to let Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster know of these gentlemen’s arrival.”
Henson’s shoulders dropped. “I’m going to get myself tossed out of my position.”
Miss Lancaster shook her head with a kind smile. “Mr. Lancaster enjoys having someone around to swap stories of the war with.”
“I like that too,” Henson said.
“And he has told me that he appreciates how welcome you make everyone who comes to the door.”
Henson took a deep breath. “I am trying, Miss Lancaster.”
“I know. And we are all so pleased.”
Newton glanced at Charlie and saw precisely what he’d expected: confusion and surprise. He’d so often described Miss Sham-caster as ceaselessly shallow and self-absorbed. That description did not at all fit with the kindness she had just shown a servant who had inarguably made a mull of his most basic duties.
A knock sounded at the door. The new visitors.
Henson jumped into action, spinning about and rushing out of the sitting room.
Miss Lancaster laughed but not in derision. “He tries so very hard.”
“Where did your brother find him?” Charlie asked.
She quite notably did not look at him. “Mrs. Jason Jonquil is quite an advocate for our returning war veterans. She found Henson struggling to stay afloat in the mires of London and suggested he might make a good addition to this household. Have you heard of her?”
Far from being ruffled by her teasing, fondness touched Charlie’s expression. “Mariposa has single-handedly filled the staff of most London homes with one-time soldiers and sailors.”
One of those former sailors popped inside a moment later and announced the newest arrivals. “Mrs. Napper.” He actually counted them off on his fingers. “Miss Napper. Miss Elfrida Napper.”
Charlie rose, along with Newton, as was expected, but there was exasperation in his eyes, this time not directed at Miss Lancaster.
“You are acquainted with the Nappers?” Newton asked under his breath.
“The reason I tossed myself off a roof.”
Charlie had, in fact, accidentally fallen off a roof the year before while visiting Mr. Lancaster in Shropshire. His injuries hadn’t been minor, but neither had his life been in true danger.
“You insisted Miss Lancaster was the reason you flung yourself from the vicarage.”
Charlie shrugged. “I had a preponderance of reasons.”
Quick introductions were exchanged as well as the requisite bows and curtsies.
Mrs. Napper’s focus turned immediately to Charlie. “Mr. Jonquil. What a pleasure. You remember Lillian, of course.” She pushed one of her daughters forward. “We were, of course, so honored at the friendship you two formed.”
Anyone looking at Charlie could tell there was no actual friendship behind his kind, civil, silent greeting. He didn’t appear to actually dislike Miss Napper, but theirs was clearly not the close connection Mrs. Napper insisted existed.
“I suspect you don’t remember my younger daughter quite as well.” Miss Napper pushed forward her other daughter. The older sister was all narrow lines and angles; the younger was her utter opposite. Her more curved and rounded figure softened her in a way her sister entirely lacked. “Elfrida is much quieter, much more withdrawn. A dear girl, of course, quite sweet. All the Society hostesses just adore her. But she is so demure and sweet natured that she is overlooked, I fear.” Another push at the young lady’s back nearly sent her tumbling to the ground. “She remembers you, of course.”
“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Ellie,” Charlie said.
She smiled briefly. “You remembered my preferred name.”
“Of course.” Charlie chose the word Mrs. Napper had used over and over again since her arrival. The Jonquils were rather famous for their wit, and the youngest of them was no different.
Mrs. Napper all but elbowed Miss Ellie toward Charlie while, in the same movement, she nudged her older daughter in Newton’s direction. “Mr. Hughes, I don’t believe you have met my daughter, Lillian.”
Oh, lud. He was to be drawn into this? Social chatter was far from his specialty. “I have not.” He dipped his head. “A pleasure, Miss Napper.”
“The pleasure, I assure you, is all mine.” She held his gaze a bit too anxiously.
When all the ladies were seated, Miss Napper motioned for Newton to sit beside her. Mrs. Napper repeatedly called for Charlie to sit near Miss Ellie. The young ladies’ mother bore the expression of a terrier in fox-hunting season.
Charlie met Newton’s eye. He raised a brow and motioned to their visitors with a look that said, “This is what I was telling you about.”
Any gentleman in possession of an income and familial connections learned early how to undermine unwanted matrimonial efforts without rudeness and how to tiptoe around traps and snares. Between the unexpected presence of Charlie’s sworn enemy and the pointed pursuit of the Nappers, this promised to be a most unusual sojourn in Bath.
Chapter Three
The Upper Assembly Rooms in Bath held two balls each week: a Dress Ball on Monday nights and a Fancy Ball on Thursdays. Those wishing to attend could either pay for entry upon their arrival or could purchase a subscription to the Dress Balls or the Fancy Balls or both, allowing them to attend week after week. As Ellie’s family could afford subscriptions to only one of the two, her parents chose the Fancy Balls, believing the addition of two cotillions to the list of dances made those gatherings more dignified.