Josette (9 page)

“Yes,” said the redhead. “Though I'm sure mother would have thought of it even without Philip's determination. And despite the state of affairs,” she added quietly.

Josette blinked. “We hope to have you to dine with us before the year is out.”

Caroline condescended to a little dip in reply. They finished their tour back into the arms of Edward and Millerd who were contriving to start a game of cards, but Josette refused. Motioning to Edward with as stern
a composure
as she could manage, she insisted they start their long way home. He acquiesced, but unhappily, and Amy took Caroline warmly by the hands and begged that she could write.

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As if by design, Carter was at the door waiting to escort them out to the carriage.

Caroline had drifted away into the arms of her other admirers.

“My aunt is pleased you could come. And everyone the better for sharing your talents.”

Amy beamed at his compliment. “You will come to Beddingfield Park again? Papa sends his best wishes.”

Josette grimaced at her sister's impulsiveness even as Carter nodded.

“And when does the siren of the sea call you back, Captain?” Edward bounced into the carriage behind Amy, the both of them leaving Josette in the heavy cold.

Edward’s question earned him nothing more than a stone-faced reply, saying that when the Admiralty sent word and not a moment sooner.

“Then you will be missed,” Josette said with bite. “But I'm sure you would prefer a command rather than escorting your aunt's protégées to every soiree that London can offer.” She gave him a curtsy but let him take her hand and help her into the carriage.

“I prefer home and a chair in front of the fire, Miss Price,” he insisted. Josette wondered at his queer defense. Before the door was shut, he met her inquiring mind with a fixed gaze that took her once more by surprise. Why should it matter to her, what he fancied?

After the door closed, she huddled up beneath the heap of heavy furs and sighed sleepily to herself.

“There's a strange fellow,” Edward said to no one in particular as they drove away.

“He's very kind,” Amy offered.

“So is Bernard,” Josette reminded her, and they broke into giggles only the depths of fatigue could arouse. Suddenly Josette remembered his remarks and sat up straight. “Amy, tell it, did he really say I was unspirited?”

“Did he what?” Amy asked in startled response.

“Did I not overhear it said that he found me unspirited, when compared to you and George?”

“Oh, Josette,” Amy yawned, and she waved her sister off in the dark. “Go to sleep, you suspicious thing. He only said that you were spirited but not as brash as George by half.”

“I love a brash woman,” Edward said with a wicked drawl, and Amy giggled.

“Edward!” Josette scolded.

“What exactly does brash mean?” queried Amy.

“Madcap and impetuous, and he could have included the pair of you.”

In a matter of a short while, both of her companions settled into dozes. Josette reached for a twilight sleep as they bumped along but it eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Captain Carter staring. How he vexed her thoughts and feelings! She heard the deep resonance of his voice. She smelled the sea. She felt his manliness.

Her thoughts tossed to and fro. He had honored her parents with his visit to Beddingfield Park. Did it matter that he had other commitments to keep? He had visited his aunt, distant and disapproving of his occupation though she appeared to be. And according to Caroline, he had overtures of charity that he attended to, albeit with little privacy.

His behavior had indeed turned curious. She had blamed him for her brother's death and it had all been very unfair. Perhaps her father was right. She did lash out at anyone who brought her pain, undeserving or not. She wondered if he would call again at Beddingfield Park. Her stomach fluttered at the prospect. If he did, she promised herself, she would be more pleasant and fair, and as spirited as it was proper to be. She decided, as sleep at last devoured her, that she almost looked forward to seeing him again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Although she did not call after George's accident, Lady Berclair waited only five days before she returned the visit to Beddingfield Park. The monogrammed carriage rolled up the drive with four horses and a chilled driver. In the library, Josette was reading the ship-news and Edward penning a play, one in which he had promised Amy a part, when she herself bolted through the doors to announce the arrival.

Edward hurried from the room.

Josette snatched her wrap from off of a chair and patted her hair down in the reflection of a clock face. “How excellent of her to come,” she said, worrying that the nephew had, too. She shut the library doors behind her and crossed the hall with fingers clutching the fringe on her shawl.

Voices from the drawing room made her pause until Hannah bustled past. “Lady
Berclair's
come,” she said breathlessly.

“So I’ve been informed.” Josette could not find the courage to ask if Carter had as well. She pushed the door aside and entered, heart thrumming.

Lady Berclair sat on the rose settee with Caroline beside her. The pair was dressed in velvet, and Caroline wore a blue pelisse that made her auburn hair gleam. Captain Carter, to Josette’s relief, was not present. She curtsied and took a chair opposite her mother and listened to Amy's chatter.

“Goodness, child, you are well informed for a girl who must stay at home.”

Ignoring Lady
Berclair's
hint that she should still be in sack cloth and ashes, Amy rattled on. “The weather is not too fierce this year. And mother says an occasional concert is not out of the way of things.”

“We plan to have all of our friends to dine on Christmas,” announced Lady Berclair. “You will be spending a subdued holiday I presume?” She cast a baleful look at Lady Price, and Josette's mother nodded.

“Well you are welcome,” Lady Berclair dared, but it held no encouragement.

“We plan to spend a quiet evening,” Lady Price insisted. “And your sister, she will come from London?”

“Yes,” Lady Berclair replied.

Caroline made an amusing face for the girls' benefit, showing her opinion of the intended company. Her mother was saying that her sister's family and two married cousins, one with young children, would put in appearances.

Josette could not resist chiming in. “Miss Berclair will have the opportunity to enjoy herself with the children.”

The young woman bit her lip before coolly responding, “I love children as much as small animals, but in their proper place.”

“I thought you were allergic to cats?” Amy asked. I put Aster out as soon as I saw you'd arrived.”

“How thoughtful,” Caroline smiled, but it was more of a smirk in Josette's opinion.

Edward who had been observing the feminine ritual of gossip no longer seemed able to restrain himself. He stood behind Josette's chair and leaned into it as he addressed Caroline.

“You are a great horsewoman, I understand. My uncle says you joined the ladies at the first hunt of the season.”

Caroline smiled, pleased, but did not blush at all. “Mr. Price, you should have joined us.”

“I had rehearsals,” he said apologetically and motioned toward his own cousins.

“Edward’s writing a play,” Amy tattled.

“Indeed,” said Lady Berclair with her lips pruning. She turned on Edward like a distracted bull. “I knew your father, you understand.”

“Yes, your ladyship. I am ever aware. My mother has written and made mention of it to me.”

“Your father used to hunt with my husband.
Efficient man.
He never concerned himself with the theater folk.”

“And he trained a bitch pointer for him.”

“He was good with animals.”

With soft words, Lady Price changed the course of the conversation in her firm way. “And your nephew, Captain Carter, how does he find the season?”

“My nephew has taken leave.” Lady Berclair divulged this as if it wounded her. “He received his letter from Whitehall and 'wasted not a minute' as those sailors so coarsely say.” She frowned as if this were a disability of some sort. “But he enjoys the hunt.” She motioned toward Caroline whose chin rose. “Other than that his conversation does not please me, and he's very poor at cards.”

Josette watched Caroline carefully and saw her simper again. She decided she was a conceited girl and that it was not as impetuous a judgment as she had doled out against Carter. Anxious to know and for some reason, bashful to admit her curiosity, Josette asked, “Will he will be back for Christmas?”

“So soon?
Doubtful,” Lady Berclair answered. “He said he would send word and thanked us for our hospitality.”

Josette stared into the fire glowing from the hearth.
Gone to Whitehall.
His ship's repairs were more than likely complete. Heaviness thunked in her chest and settled there. Behind her, Edward inclined once more over the chair.

“You must not stay away,” he chided Caroline. “We're always a player short at cards.”

“Lady Price does not care for drawing room games?” Caroline accused.

“Not at all, unless I am fervently beseeched.”
Lady Price smiled. “You should join us for a night of games after Christmas as soon as your young charges have taken leave.”

“Or perhaps before.”
Caroline seemed unable to hid her displeasure at being cooped up with youngsters in wintry weather.

Amy laughed. “You shall bring them here, and Edward and I will entertain them.”

Josette felt Edward tense and smiled to herself. Children were not in his line of frivolity. “Yes,” she added, “and he will perform for them.”

The ladies smiled, Amy laughed, but Edward pressed the back of her neck with a little pinch that made Josette join her sister.

The Berclair women stayed for tea. After giving Lady Price her opinion of what remained to be endured for the period of mourning, Lady Berclair insisted her daughter help her with her thick wraps and ordered the carriage to be readied. They departed in a parade of fur and feathers.

Josette excused herself to her room to lie down but first went to the window to watch the carriage disappear into the naked trees. She could not remember a time Lady Berclair had ever taken it upon herself to make the trip to Beddingfield Park. There were foggy recollections of the woman's trumpeting voice perhaps years ago, but nothing came immediately to mind.

She traced the windowpane until the cold of the glass turned her fingertip numb. Captain Carter was gone. He had not sent word to Beddingfield Park. No goodbyes or further acknowledgements of their association. But why should he after she had all but thrown him off the grounds? And still, he had shewed forth kindness. Lady Berclair had probably come at his request.
Be mindful of the lieutenant’s family,
she imagined him encouraging his old aunt.

Since the concert, she had been unable to find little else to occupy her mind. Over and over the events of the night would play out in her thoughts, and always she would unavoidably dwell on Captain Carter leaning over to whisper, his stare across the room, and his firm grip on her hand as she lit into the carriage. Then there was that final look before he shut the carriage door. It was not one of reproof or distaste. She was not a romantic, but she knew the difference