“Humpf . . . it’s no wonder that you haven’t married yet.” Genevieve waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. There will be plenty of time for us to work out a strategy. Now, Parker . . . I will leave it to you to speak to cook. I’m off to bed for the evening.”
“But it’s only five o’clock,” Francis put in. “Won’t you join us for dinner?”
“No, no . . . I’ll take my dinner in my room—Parker will bring up a tray for me, won’t you, Parker?”
“As you wish, my lady,” Parker replied.
Sweeping past all of them, her cane thumping loudly as she went, Genevieve climbed the staircase and disappeared out of sight.
“She’s rather forthright, is she not?” Beatrice eventually remarked.
“My apologies,” Francis muttered. “I hope you didn’t take too great offense.”
“Not at all,” Claire exclaimed. “We love eccentric relations—is that not so, Emily?”
Emily gave her sister a sharp look of warning before turning to Francis. “I think your aunt is absolutely charming,” she said. “I have no doubt we’ll get along splendidly with one another.”
“Good.” His tone was curt, but the flicker of appreciation in his eyes did not go unnoticed. It was gone as swiftly as it had appeared.
“Not to rush you, sir,” Parker interjected. “But perhaps we ought to follow her ladyship’s advice—I asked cook to prepare a snack in time for your arrival. This way, if you please.”
They all followed the butler into the parlor, where some cucumber sandwiches, cut neatly into triangles, had been carefully piled onto a couple of plates.
“It isn’t much,” Parker told them with an apologetic smile. “But there really isn’t long until dinner. This is just to tide you over.”
“Thank you, Parker,” Francis told him. “You made the right decision.” Then, pausing for a moment, he turned to halt the retreating butler. “We shall be ready for dinner at seven.”
“Yes, my lord.” Parker then ducked through the door and vanished in order to take the guests’ bags to their prospective rooms.
Beatrice picked up a sandwich and took a small bite out of one corner as she wandered over to the bay window together with Francis. “Thank you once again for hosting us,” she said as she looked out over the garden. “It really is most kind of you.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I merely thought it might help.”
“I’m sure it shall,” Beatrice assured him as she glanced toward Emily. “We were very worried about her, you know. We still are.”
For a while they stood there, side by side, taking in the view of the rhododendrons that were in full bloom throughout the garden.
“I hope you will not take offense to what I am about to tell you,” he suddenly told her in a muted tone. Beatrice said nothing. She merely waited for him to continue as she dusted her hands free of crumbs with her napkin.
“I intend for the three of you to enjoy your stay here,” he explained. “You shall be my guests at the theatre and at all of the balls that you wish to attend; Jonathan will show you the invitations tomorrow so that you may begin your selection.
“However, it’s a few years since you’ve attended such formal events. I don’t believe that Claire ever has, seeing as she’s only eighteen, and I daresay, neither has Emily. Am I correct?”
Beatrice gave a small smile. “Yes, you are.”
“But I’m sure that you must have,” he continued with a frown as he turned his head to look at her directly. “Then you know that you shall require new gowns.” A pained look flashed across her face. “I’m sorry, Beatrice, but you know that I’m right. But,” he continued, his tone lightening. “You must not worry about the expense. I will see to it that you are adequately dressed.”
Her eyes shot up at him. “We cannot possibly allow you to . . .” Her voice had initially risen, but she instantly dropped it to a low whisper as her eyes darted frantically across at where Emily and Claire were sitting.
She was too proud to accept so much, he thought. He was adamant about wanting to do it, however, so he played the one card that he knew would work. “It was my aunt’s suggestion, actually. She believes it will help Emily.” He paused momentarily before continuing. “If we take her out to some extravagant events and let her be seen, she will soon have a long line of suitors following in her wake. Even if it turns out that she isn’t interested in any of them, it will at least take her mind off Adrian. He’s lost to her forever and it’s important that she sees that there are plenty of other options available to her. But you will all need to fit the part. Thus, you will need a decent wardrobe. Consider it a favor.”
Biting down on her bottom lip, he saw that she wished to say yes. And yet she hesitated. He understood her completely; she’d always managed to keep her sisters dressed and fed without ever asking for help from anyone.
Taking a deep breath, he decided to play his second card. “You have to forget about your pride for a moment, Beatrice,” he told her. Her eyes narrowed into a frown as she opened her mouth to protest, but he plowed on. “Think of what is in your sisters’ best interest. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for them—the chance to find the eligible husbands that I know you’ve always hoped for them to marry. You have to let me help you.”
Breathing a deep sigh, she nodded, her eyes flooding with thankfulness as if he’d just pulled her out of a crevasse. A smile crawled across her lips. “All right,” she said as her nod grew more self-assured. “All right, Francis, I accept . . . though I have no idea how I will ever repay you or Lady Genevieve. Thank you.”
Francis opened his mouth as if to say something just as Claire came over, putting her arm around her sister and resting her head against her shoulder. “What’s the conspiracy about?” she asked as she gave Francis a cheeky smile. He merely drew his eyebrows closer together and held her gaze. “The two of you look as thick as thieves,” she explained as she gave Beatrice a slight pinch. Beatrice shrieked and reeled away from her sister. “Come on then. I’m desperate to know!”
“Shall we tell her?” Beatrice asked, eyeing Francis.
“Hmmm, I don’t know if we can trust her,” he said with extreme severity. “What if she gives us away under torture?”
“You’re quite right,” Beatrice said with a slight giggle, her serious expression beginning to slip. “In fact, I know she’ll crack under torture.”
“Is that so?” Perhaps we ought to put it to the test.”
Stuck between them, Claire had no time to escape before Francis held her still and Beatrice fell on her, tickling her until she squealed with laughter and was begging them to stop.
From her corner, seated on a toffee-colored velvet sofa, Emily regarded the scene with growing interest. For the five minutes or so that it lasted, it was as if she found herself transported back in time. They were all children again, horsing around the way they had once been so used to. They were happy, devoid of any worries or concerns for the future—content to know that they were well taken care of by their parents, who loved them. It was bliss and it was fun and for just a while, Emily forgot.
The fun drew her in and swallowed her up. She forgot that her parents were dead, that their cousin had taken everything from them, including their mother’s jewelry collection. In short, he had left them with nothing by which to remember their parents. Most importantly, she managed to forget the pain that came from losing both Kate and Adrian.
As the hurt and the anger dwindled with each of Claire’s squeals, Emily found herself truly smiling for the first time since Adrian had told her he would marry Kate. Jumping to her feet, she immediately hurried to join in the fun.
Claire’s eyes grew big when she saw that they were now three against her, except she suddenly heard Beatrice screech. Emily had joined her side, she realized with relief. They were now evenly numbered, though Francis still counted for two in terms of sheer strength.
Beatrice screamed again as Emily squeezed her sides in a rough tickle. Using her as a shield between themselves and Francis, Claire and Emily both half-hid behind their elder sister, holding on to her firmly so she couldn’t attack them. Their breath came raggedly as they peered out to find Francis coming toward them with a vengeful grin painted upon his face.
“We’ll have mercy on you if you join our alliance,” Emily whispered in Beatrice’s ear.
“And if I don’t?”
“We’ll tickle you until you’re blue in the face.”
Beatrice gulped as if truly frightened by the prospect, and then nodded her head definitively. “You have a deal.”
Seeing Beatrice released and the same smug grin on all three faces, Francis halted in his tracks. He began backing away. “Treachery!” he called out as he fled, putting the toffee-colored sofa between them. “Beatrice,” he stammered in an exaggerated tone of disappointment. “How could you? I trusted you!”
“They made me an offer that I simply couldn’t refuse,” she said with a smirk.
As Emily and Claire made their way around each side of the sofa, Beatrice guarded any escape route that Francis might contemplate taking.
“OK,” he said, feigning desperation. “I surrender.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Emily chided him, with a playful twist to her mouth. “You’re not getting off that easily this time.”
“Oh?” He didn’t smile, but his eyes held a warmth that she had long since forgotten he had in him.
And then they were upon him, grabbing him by the arms and tackling him to the floor. He probably could have fought them off easily, had he tried, but why ruin the moment for them?
“Don’t think we don’t remember where your weakness lies, Francis,” Beatrice giggled as she reached for his feet. His eyes grew wary, then truly worried.
Oh no . . . not my feet.
He tried to kick them away but it was futile. They’d managed to gain the upper hand.
Pinning him down, the sisters wasted no time in removing his shoes. Then, showing no mercy whatsoever, they proceeded to tickle him.
Within seconds Francis was roaring with laughter as tears welled in his eyes. “Do you surrender?” Emily demanded.
Francis coughed, attempting to stifle yet another laugh, and managed a choked “yes.”
Helping him to his feet, they handed him back his shoes. He lowered himself onto the sofa, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as he straightened his jacket and began putting his shoes back on. “Remind me never to take the three of you on again,” he said. “At least not singlehandedly. You’re stronger than I remember.”
Claire looked most triumphant. “We’re not little girls anymore,” she smirked.
“I know,” he muttered with a frown. And just like that, all the amusement was unwillingly gone. They had gotten carried away and acted completely inappropriately. He was a grown man and they were women to whom he wasn’t even related. What had he been thinking?