with my work even…” Max looked thoughtful for a moment, and then, “He’s probably right, you know.”
Will glanced at Max. “Your father? How?”
“Maybe it is time to grow up. I’ve been avoiding stepping into his shoes for so long, I—”
“Never really found your own place?”
Max nodded silently. “Now I have to find a wife.”
“Well then,” Will replied, lifting his own cup of chilled tea. “A toast. To your future wife. Whoever she may be.”
“To my bride.” Max drained the remains of the too-sweet, too-cold tea. The taste had him grimacing.
To his bride. The search would begin in the morning.
Seven
THE ball was a smashing success. Romilla could not be happier. Well, she could be, she supposed, if she had been able to secure a royal or two as guests, but her husband assured her that the court was far too busy while removed in Brighton to attend. They would have to content themselves with ordinary aristocrats. But other than that, Romilla was a very pleased hostess.
As she looked out across the ballroom, which was teeming with colored silks and black evening coats lit by a thousand crystalline candles, Romilla took a great sigh of relief. All of her guests were enthusiastic and happy, all of the best character. The musicians kept the dancing going, and she was certain no other hostess this Season would be able to boast of such a fine punch—from her mother’s own recipe. And if a whisper of the words nouveau riche floated through the air, Romilla was content to ignore those snobbish remarks in favor of seeing the better side of the snobbish guests who said them. After all, a person is only looked down upon until they are looked up to. And everyone had to admire the Alton ball—whether they wanted to or not.
All might not have turned out so well, Romilla thought. There had been a potential disaster just that morning while calling on Lady Charlbury, when Gail accidentally spilled tea on that lady’s favorite cat. Gail had apologized quite sincerely, but Lady Charlbury almost refused to attend the ball, and without her attendance, half of London would have considered the event not worth the effort. Lady Charlbury managed to be reclusive and yet quite ruled society in a way Romilla aspired to.
Luckily, Lady Charlbury accepted Gail’s apology. Romilla grudgingly gave the girl some respect for the way she handled the old woman. Gail had simply picked up the teapot while the cat and its owner were making a mewling fuss, and said, “I’m so sorry ma’am. At least now your cat won’t try to take tea with you again. Perhaps he’ll just settle for the cream.”
Lady Charlbury had blinked at the audacious girl. Romilla was afraid she had made the situation all the worse, but suddenly Lady Charlbury started to chuckle.
“Why young lady, I never looked at it that way! I’ve been trying to break him of the habit for years!”
“Did you know,” said Gail, sitting beside Lady Charlbury, “that some ancient cultures revered cats as equal to humans? Sometimes gods? I daresay they would have been honored to have had wise old Tom for tea.”
And from that point on, Lady Charlbury and Gail spent the morning thick as thieves, discussing cats throughout history. When Romilla and Gail were taking their leave, Lady Charlbury made a point of saying she was eagerly anticipating that evening’s ball. Once the door to the carriage had closed, Romilla made certain she paid the child a compliment.
“My dear, that was a very successful morning. I was impressed with your poise. I do hope it won’t escape you by nightfall. And for once your penchant for useless knowledge has come in handy!”
Gail and Evangeline shared a glance.
“Father always told us that everyone has their own special interests. To carry on a conversation all one needs to do is to find it,” Evangeline replied, smiling at her sister.
“How did you know her interest was her cats?” Romilla inquired.
“Well,” Gail drawled,
Will glanced at Max. “Your father? How?”
“Maybe it is time to grow up. I’ve been avoiding stepping into his shoes for so long, I—”
“Never really found your own place?”
Max nodded silently. “Now I have to find a wife.”
“Well then,” Will replied, lifting his own cup of chilled tea. “A toast. To your future wife. Whoever she may be.”
“To my bride.” Max drained the remains of the too-sweet, too-cold tea. The taste had him grimacing.
To his bride. The search would begin in the morning.
Seven
THE ball was a smashing success. Romilla could not be happier. Well, she could be, she supposed, if she had been able to secure a royal or two as guests, but her husband assured her that the court was far too busy while removed in Brighton to attend. They would have to content themselves with ordinary aristocrats. But other than that, Romilla was a very pleased hostess.
As she looked out across the ballroom, which was teeming with colored silks and black evening coats lit by a thousand crystalline candles, Romilla took a great sigh of relief. All of her guests were enthusiastic and happy, all of the best character. The musicians kept the dancing going, and she was certain no other hostess this Season would be able to boast of such a fine punch—from her mother’s own recipe. And if a whisper of the words nouveau riche floated through the air, Romilla was content to ignore those snobbish remarks in favor of seeing the better side of the snobbish guests who said them. After all, a person is only looked down upon until they are looked up to. And everyone had to admire the Alton ball—whether they wanted to or not.
All might not have turned out so well, Romilla thought. There had been a potential disaster just that morning while calling on Lady Charlbury, when Gail accidentally spilled tea on that lady’s favorite cat. Gail had apologized quite sincerely, but Lady Charlbury almost refused to attend the ball, and without her attendance, half of London would have considered the event not worth the effort. Lady Charlbury managed to be reclusive and yet quite ruled society in a way Romilla aspired to.
Luckily, Lady Charlbury accepted Gail’s apology. Romilla grudgingly gave the girl some respect for the way she handled the old woman. Gail had simply picked up the teapot while the cat and its owner were making a mewling fuss, and said, “I’m so sorry ma’am. At least now your cat won’t try to take tea with you again. Perhaps he’ll just settle for the cream.”
Lady Charlbury had blinked at the audacious girl. Romilla was afraid she had made the situation all the worse, but suddenly Lady Charlbury started to chuckle.
“Why young lady, I never looked at it that way! I’ve been trying to break him of the habit for years!”
“Did you know,” said Gail, sitting beside Lady Charlbury, “that some ancient cultures revered cats as equal to humans? Sometimes gods? I daresay they would have been honored to have had wise old Tom for tea.”
And from that point on, Lady Charlbury and Gail spent the morning thick as thieves, discussing cats throughout history. When Romilla and Gail were taking their leave, Lady Charlbury made a point of saying she was eagerly anticipating that evening’s ball. Once the door to the carriage had closed, Romilla made certain she paid the child a compliment.
“My dear, that was a very successful morning. I was impressed with your poise. I do hope it won’t escape you by nightfall. And for once your penchant for useless knowledge has come in handy!”
Gail and Evangeline shared a glance.
“Father always told us that everyone has their own special interests. To carry on a conversation all one needs to do is to find it,” Evangeline replied, smiling at her sister.
“How did you know her interest was her cats?” Romilla inquired.
“Well,” Gail drawled,
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