Josephine's Lists

Chapter 28- Who Invited Her?

Overcooked meats and lackluster tarts were just two of many offerings spanning the white lace-clad table. Tennyson eyed the mediocre refreshments with distaste. The Gastrell ball was unseasonably late and intensified his sour mood. Every coy giggle, the artless spinning on the dance floor. It was enough to make a man cast up his lots.

Tennyson thought he had despised social gatherings before. But now? Despise wasn't strong enough a word. He was contemplating if a slow torturous death might be preferable to his current occupation. While Tennyson imagined his fingernails being ripped out one by one, Sir Cartwright interrupted, "If your scowl grows any deeper, I doubt even the most determined of women will talk to you."

"I do not need the most determined of women. My choices have already been narrowed down to two. And either are eager to secure my attention." Not really his choices. Products of his father's ultimatum. Miss Durham, overly demure and painfully shy. Tennyson wasn't certain the girl could string three words together, but her dowry could fatten the emptiest of pockets. A detail his father had emphasized. Tennyson, however, was leaning toward his father's second option, Miss Amelia Becker. A decently pretty and altogether miserable human being. It was no secret why she was still single despite her lineage and enviable finances. Miss Becker was an absolute pill. Her one redeeming quality? Tennyson's guilt would be minimal when he inevitably shipped her off to a country house the moment they said 'I do'. They could easily suffer marriage in separate residences.

The thought of watching someone besides Miss Josephine Yorke walk down the wedding aisle was flaming his ire.

Sir Cartwright caught sight of Miss Durham, one of Tennyson's potential brides, sitting quietly in a corner. Prompted to speak up, he wrung his hands. "I know you do not want to talk anymore about it, but are you truly considering this? Will you seriously give up Miss Yorke?" Sir Cartwright rushed on before Tennyson could get a word in edgewise. "I know she would take you back in a heartbeat. Miss Whitmore said..."

"Enough!" came Tennyson's whisper-shout. Cartwright stiffened. "I do not care what your fiancé has said. I am done with Miss Yorke. As I told you, it was not worth the headache. I have made up my mind, so leave it be. And as a loyal friend, I expect you to drop the subject indefinitely. Do you understand?"

Cartwright gave a frustrated nod. He was the rule follower. Tennyson the rule maker.

Miss Amelia Becker sidled next to the gentlemen, her younger sister in tow. "Good evening Sir Cartwright and Mr. Charles Tennyson. Are you both enjoying the Gastrell ball festivities?"

What festivities? Horrible food and even worse company? Tennyson had to bite back that internal response.

"Yes." Tennyson's curt reply didn't dull Miss Amelia Becker's interest.

She glanced about the room, likely looking for someone to gossip about. "Have you gentleman heard..." Winner, winner. Tennyson could read people incredibly well, especially the annoying ones. "...Mrs. Gastrell's nephew was recently disinherited because of..." Her words sank into the background as Tennyson tuned out the irrelevant chatter. He needed Miss Becker to realize his lackluster interest. Marriage had been reduced to a monetary transaction, and he needed both parties to see that fact with clarity.

Tennyson sipped his claret glancing up to see a new edition to the party. Immediately, his heart rate ticked up speed. Palms began to sweat. He employed every shred of willpower to school an indifferent expression. Sir Cartwright didn't possess half Tennyson's skill. Rather, Cartwright nervously volleyed his sights between Tennyson and the new arrival, mouth agape.

Miss Amelia Becker, oblivious to the disruption, continued blathering on. Tennyson finally made an effort to appear interested in what the young gossip queen was saying. Offering well placed 'ahs' and 'I see's'. His eyes may have been trained on Miss Becker, but every other sense was occupied by the woman in the doorway. The woman standing beside Lord Grimsby. Tennyson could feel her from where he stood. Could hear her sweet laughter from across the room. He swore he could even smell her scented perfume sweetening the stifling air.