“Imagine being married to a man twice one’s age,” interjected Harriet. “If I were twenty, he would be forty. And by the time I reached that age, he would be eighty!” C.J. had to remind herself that she was dwelling in an age where it was popularly held that female children had no need to learn mathematics. “Besides,” Harriet continued, “I hope that Captain Keats will be here this evening. He looks so splendid in his uniform,” she confided to C.J.
“Captain Keats is a poor officer with nothing of substance to recommend him,” her mother said dismissively.
The pretty blonde sighed petulantly over her mother’s ignorance. “He has a medal for valor, Mama, which is more than any man of our acquaintance can boast.”
As if on cue, a tall young gentleman, resplendent in his scarlet coat with its gold braid and shiny silver buttons, and decorated with an item that Mrs. Fairfax was quick to discredit as a mere tin trinket, approached their party.
Harriet blushed. “Captain Keats! We were just discussing your merits. Do join us for a glass of punch.”
“I should be only too happy to oblige,” the dashing captain replied, as he stood beside the infatuated Miss Fairfax. “I could not help overhearing as I approached, mum, your daughter’s mention of my medal for distinctive service.”
Mr. Fairfax presented Captain Keats to Lady Dalrymple and her “niece,” and the officer explained to the little group the history of his decoration. “I was one of Sir Ralph Abercromby’s expedition to Egypt this past March, you see, and each of us was granted the distinction of the Sphinx. If you inspect the order more closely, you will see that it is inscribed with the word Egypt.”
Miss Fairfax was only too happy to oblige. “Oh, bless me! Goodness if it does. Egypt,” she mused. “That must be terribly far away.”
“Indeed it is, Miss Fairfax. And a rather more arid climate than we are used to in England.”
Quickly losing interest in a discussion of North African weather, C.J. scanned the room, noticing the earl and Miss Austen in the company of Lady Oliver and an older couple. Darlington was glancing in her direction as they sought chairs, none of which appeared to suit his esteemed aunt.
After a few moments, the earl approached their party, greeting each of them warmly. He allowed that he remembered the Miss Fairfaxes, yet there was not a hint in his manner of anything beyond cordial recollection. Mrs. Fairfax would have to wage an aggressively persistent campaign on behalf of her nubile offspring if she wished the earl to entertain even the slightest inclination toward espousing either of her daughters.
Darlington surreptitiously leaned forward to speak to C.J. “I should like a word in your ear, Miss Welles, if you can spare me a moment this evening.”
“You have piqued my curiosity, your lordship.”
“I should be quite honored if you would join me in a set.” He inclined his head toward the center of the room. “As you are no doubt aware, propriety prohibits me from engaging your company more than twice this evening—and my aunt’s wishes are rather adamant in my halving that number—which will not afford me nearly as much opportunity as I should like to enjoy your delightful company. Perhaps the supper dance would be best, and then we may talk more freely afterward.”
C.J. was learning something else about the inhabitants of this society. Nearly everyone here danced around his or her intentions, cloaking them in nuance, riddle, and understatement. Would she ever become used to it? “I should be honored, your lordship,” she replied, and dropped a respectful curtsy.
“My cousin would like to say good evening to you, Miss Welles, if you will allow me to separate you briefly from your companions.” Darlington nodded to the Fairfaxes and to Lady Dalrymple and begged their indulgence while he spirited away Miss Welles to greet his cousin, his arm lightly guiding C.J. by the elbow as they crossed the room to address the other party.
“Miss Jane’s cousin’s first husband and my late wife were brother and sister—if you can follow that rather knotty family tree,” the earl informed C.J., who did not recall hearing about Darlington’s first marriage from his own lips. She supposed that among the ton everyone knew one another’s business regardless of whether or not the source of the intelligence was firsthand.
They reached the opposite side of the ballroom, and his lordship made the introductions all around. “Miss Jane Austen, with whom you are of course acquainted, Miss Welles. And Miss Jane’s uncle and aunt, with whom she is staying in the Paragon, Mr. and Mrs. Leigh-Perrot.”
C.J. offered them shallow curtsies and tried to express her pleasure in the opportunity to make their acquaintance. She felt woefully inarticulate and socially inept.
“This is Miss Welles’s first season,” prompted the earl, surprised at her unusual muteness.
Fortunately, C.J. was rescued by the articulate Miss Austen. “It is a pity you were not here earlier in the year.” Jane surveyed the room, and shook her head. “The crowd is shockingly and inhumanly thin for this place, though there are people enough, I suppose, to make five or six very pretty Basingstoke assemblies.”
“Yes, Jane never tires of poking fun at poor little Basingstoke’s countrified remoteness,” Mrs. Leigh-Perrot agreed, then excused herself and her husband to join another couple in one of the few country dances requiring a square.
Darlington held out a chair for C.J. “You would not think it to know her, for her manner is always so gentle, but my cousin has an exceptionally wicked predilection for gossip,” he commented. “You were treated to a taste of that at tea the other day, Miss Welles. Cousin Jane, do share with our companion what you were just telling me.”
Miss Austen slid her chair closer to C.J.’s and spoke in a confidential tone. “I have a very good eye for
