CHAPTER 3

Miss Whitmore and Miss Yorke's arrival at High Street caused a mild commotion in the house, Lady Cavender being eager to spoil the pair of them. She was the sister of Miss Whitmore's father, elegantly refined, yet occasionally a loose cannon. One of her bouts of insanity included tossing an old bonnet into a warming fire in her study. Not all that odd if one is alone, but this brief lunacy consisted of fourteen on-looking guests and the bonnet burning concluded with Lady Cavender giggling, "I always wondered how quickly those ostrich feathers would burn."

Yes, definitely a loose cannon.

Lord Cavender was a kind fellow with easy manners. Though, unlike his wife, not a particularly memorable man. He was, however, known for doting on her. They had no children aside from a son who died shortly after birth, and as such they were grateful for the young houseguests. Like Josephine, Lady Cavender had an affinity for gossip, both ladies devoid of bad intentions but instead curiosity derived out of boredom. Between this commonality, and Lady Cavender's desire to provide maternal guidance, the two had become close.

Miss Whitmore and Miss Yorke sat upon the sofa, cup of Imperial tea in hand, while Lady Cavender delicately sipped her own. Untapped excitement thrummed in the air.

"I see you have a new carpet Lady Cavender. It is lovely," Josephine complimented.

"Thank you my dear, purchased it just last month. I was fond of the colors, such a pretty shade of pale blue. I simply had to have it." She paused and stared reflectively at the girls for a moment before complimenting, "Look at the pair of you, exquisite. Much like a painting." They looked up offering Lady Cavender a modest grin, before smiling at one another.

She continued, "We are certain to be driven mad by male visitors. I suppose there are worse things. In fact, we should have our first ones this evening at dinner." Lady Cavender directed her attention toward Josephine. "Your Mr. Charles Tennyson is set to join us."

Constance chimed in, "Oh Aunt Elizabeth, I am sure Josephine is wrought with anticipation. As am I."

Miss Yorke set down her cup with a light clatter, and adopting a mild look of annoyance warned, "Please, refrain from calling him my Mr. Tennyson. It is not possible to possess someone without so much as an acquaintance."

Taking another sip of tea, Lady Cavender said, "Do not look so melancholy child, you might actually enjoy his company."

"I am half sure I will not," Josephine promised, trying not to sound like a petulant child but missing the mark. Josephine's nerves were shortening her temper.

"Whatever that means..." Lady Cavender quipped. "Well, this might peek both of your interest. I sent an invitation to Mr. Tennyson's close companion, Sir Cartwright. Although not quite as handsome, a very fine gentleman, and he boasts a friendlier character. So perhaps, if your Mr. Tennyson fails..." Lady Cavender teasingly grinned at her own use of the word, knowing Josephine was a good sport in matters of teasing. "Maybe then, you will find Sir Cartwright of interest. That is, if Constance does not first secure his attention."

Neither Miss Whitmore nor Miss Yorke were shaken at the thought of battling over the attention of a male. The girls had been victims of jealous females on numerous occasions, but never at the hand of one another. One of the many reasons the pair were as thick as thieves. Each were beautiful but in decidedly different ways, the similarities ended at their equally porcelain and unblemished complexion. In contrast to Josephine's dark locks, Constance donned a golden hue. Where Constance's eyes were of a warm brown, Josephine's a striking shade of blue. Constance stood tall and thin, while Josephine petite with an enviable figure. Josephine carefree and unplanned. Constance anxious yet methodical.

But both shared the most important element when finding a prospective husband, a sizeable dowry and good breeding. Armed with beauty and fortune, there was never reason for jealousy toward other females. With the new exception in Constance's case, a certain Miss Mary Pendy. Proof that a girl who seems to have it all, may only have most.

The house steward interrupted the reunion and supplied Lady Cavender with a letter upon a sliver salver.

"Ah, speak of the Devil and he shall appear. The missive is from Mr. Charles Tennyson." Lady Cavender silently examined his letter and with a faint sigh related the contents to her two young companions. "Oh dear it seems he will not be joining us for dinner tonight after all. Something rather unexpected has come up, and he offers his sincerest apologies, but plans to call again soon..."

Constance huffed, "The suspense your Mr. Tennyson is keeping us in, how very inconsiderate of him." Josephine deliberately chose to ignore Constance's choice of words.

suppose I can add inconsiderate to the growing list of his unfavorable qualities.

A pensive Lady Cavender continued, "Yes...but our little dinner party is not a entire loss, it looks like we should still expect Miss Chilcott, and his sister Miss Isabella Tennyson, along with Sir Cartwright."

"Miss Chilcott?" Josephine inquired.

Lady Cavender squinted, trying to form the right words. "His Aunt. Mother's sister, never married I believe. A little peculiar, seems to fall asleep often, and on the oddest of occasions. Not more than a week ago, both Miss Chilcott and I dined at Gosford Square. Upon my word, a few moments into whist, and she was fast out. Four cards still in hand!"

They each let out a slight chuckle, followed by an amusing discussion on the eccentricities of Miss Chilcott, which Lady Cavender admired being a free spirit in her own right. Josephine sat quietly, her mind occupied elsewhere. She couldn't help but feel slightly reduced. As much as she dreaded meeting Mr. Charles Tennyson, Josephine also longed for it to occur. How else could she deny her father's choice of suitor and choose one for herself? She wanted that life chapter closed. Even her father had grown impatient, thereby taking matters into his own hands and forcing an encounter. An encounter that would have to wait.

Drat!

The first dinner guest to arrive that evening was Constance's younger brother, Mr. Henry Whitmore. He shared common features with his sister but with his appearance decidedly masculine. He had been staying in London some two months at the invitation of his childhood friend, a fact which his Aunt Elizabeth wasn't pleased with and purposefully mentioned often. Staying with anyone other than Lady Cavender was viewed as willful disobedience.

Henry Whitmore had no flare for the dramatic as his sister did, and no patience for it either. Had he been present for Constance's hysterics over Mr. Morley's engagement, Henry would not have stood for it.

Although often at odds with his sister, Henry had harmony with Josephine, bonding over their mutual teasing of Constance, as well their love of reading. Never having admitted it, but his fondness for Josephine felt less than sisterly. Henry thought of her often, but quieted those thoughts. She had always been promised to another, although her lack of interest in the intended match left Henry with a dangerous glimmer of hope.

"Hello dear Constance," Mr. Henry Whitmore began. He couldn't resist the opportunity to annoy his only sister and chided, "I hear Morley finally found himself a wife. About time, otherwise he might have settled on you." He grinned in amusement. Constance, however, found no humor in her younger brother. Loved him? Yes. Found him witty? Never.

"You are abominable Henry," she immediately scolded, as her cheeks angrily flushed red. Constance leaned in close as if to intimidate, "You are insufferable and Mr. John Morley's affairs are of no matter to me. And please see to it that you stay out of mine!"

Henry let out a low whistle. "It seems I have stumbled upon a matter of a most sensitive nature. Pray sister, forgive me." He reached out his hand in order to make amends, but Constance rapidly folded her arms in disapproval.

Josephine felt compelled to intervene. A task she had done on many occasions. Attempting to repair the sibling rivalry, she scolded, "Henry you are a cruel tease. You know not to mention such a topic, and if you do so again, I will be forced to write your mother and inform her of your behavior."

With Henry, honesty was always the best course of action, and when in doubt...threaten to tell his mother. His countenance grew nervous even at the thought.

He concluded, "Checkmate! Seems you have vested me again Josephine. No need to write my Mother." He then turned to apologize profusely to his sister.

Josephine looked up at him, then bowed, proud of her victory. Henry looked back at her and withheld his breath, trying to mask his own treacherous emotions, angry that one female could be blessed with so many desirable attributes. Constance appeared satisfied with Josephine's threats, and her brother's cowering at the mere thought of their mother's rebuke left her content.

Next to join the dinner party were The Elberts with their two sons. The last to arrive were Ms. Chilcott and Miss Isabella Tennyson, escorted by a gentleman, no more than five and twenty wearing satin breeches with an expertly tailored dark blue tailcoat.

This must be Sir Cartwright.

Lady Cavender introduced her unacquainted guests. Miss Chilcott was just as Josephine had imagined. She was a matronly woman, with a faraway look, and seemed to complain of being cold often.

Very often.

Josephine made a mental note to start making the lady a warm quilt. Miss Isabella Tennyson smiled sweetly at Josephine. She had a refined elegance for someone so young. Miss Isabella's brown eyes were set close, her nose regal and her dainty mouth turned up gently giving her an affable expression.

Sir Cartwright led the conversation asking, "Did you both recently arrive in London?" The question was a formality. He knew all about the girls arrival in London. Mr. Charles Tennyson had talked of it for weeks. Sir Cartwright fought against staring at Josephine trying to appear aloof, but he found it arduous. His best friend had been betrothed to this woman for as long as he could recall. A figment of imagination breathed to life. The Miss Yorke whom Sir Cartwright had heard about for years was now standing in front of him. He was compelled to carefully survey her appearance and her manner, composing a full mental report to Tennyson.

Josephine was the first to answer, unaware of Sir Cartwright's scrutiny. "Yes, we recently arrived," she replied, before Constance eagerly took the conversation reins.

"...Just this morning. How long have you been acquainted with my Aunt and Uncle, Sir Cartwright?" Constance asked, playing with one of her golden curls.

He was diverted from Miss Yorke, as the beautiful young blonde stole his concentration. "Well, that is hard to say really..." he began, and the pair continued in light conversation as Miss Isabella Tennyson addressed Josephine, "I have been very anxious to meet you Miss Yorke." Josephine shuttered a bit at this proclamation surmising the reason for her sentiment.

Oh please do not mention your brother, please do not mention your brother.

She was able to breathe a sigh of relief as Miss Isabella continued, "I believe our mothers were the best of friends growing up."

She smiled at Josephine with abounding affection and sincerity. "How long do you plan to stay in London? Not a short stay I hope."

Josephine happily answered, "I think not. Our arrangement is to stay for what little remains of the season and a few months more, but nothing absolute."

Miss Isabella's eyes lit up and looked upon Miss Yorke. She then strongly encouraged Josephine to call on her in Berkeley Square as soon as she and Miss Whitmore were able. Their conversation was interrupted by the announcement of dinner.

Constance was seated beside Sir Cartwright, a cleverly devised arrangement courtesy of her Aunt. Lady Cavender perfectly understood her commission, helping secure proposals for both her young houseguests. A commission she gladly undertook.

Mr. Henry Whitmore, much to his delight, sat beside Josephine. By the end of the evening, Miss Chilcott was fast asleep in a corner chair beside the fire. A substantial grin crossed Josephine's face at the sight. She and Miss Isabella Tennyson engaged in easy conversation.

Enjoying Miss Isabella's company, so much so she had almost forgotten about her Mr. Charles Tennyson and his last minute absence. She wanted to ask his sister the reason for his missing this occasion, but knew the impropriety of such a question. Instead, they spoke at great length on Miss Isabella's foremost interest. She was an accomplished artist and delighted at Josephine's consideration of the subject. Sir Cartwright continued his particular attention to Miss Whitmore, and she gladly welcomed it.

As the dinner guests left for the evening, Miss Isabella reminded the girls to call upon her, which they promised to do. Mr. Henry Whitmore was the last to depart but not before annoying his sister. He reached down grabbing Constance's hand, bowing over it saying, "How fickle you are sister, although I am glad to see you have moved on." Her face grew hot, as she jerked her hand with all the force she could muster.

"Again, mind your own affairs, brother!" she fiercely replied. Constance hadn't realized how obvious her attention to Sir Cartwright had been, and her brother's teasing was dampening the wonderful evening she just spent with the new gentleman.

Mr. Henry Whitmore bore a mischievous expression, obvious pride in vexing his sister. He turned to Josephine whispering, "Please, keep your eye on her Josephine. I fear her biggest danger is her own self...And I know it will be difficult, but try not to miss me too much, after I am gone." He winked at Josephine before leaving. She was oblivious to his flirtations, viewing them as brotherly banter, and nothing more.

All the guests gone and with Lord and Lady Cavender retired, Constance reclined on the edge of the four-post bed twirling a golden strand around her finger. Josephine relaxed by the freshly lit fire. Her loyal companion, Red, curled up beside her feet.

"What a splendid first night in London!" Constance exclaimed. "Such excellent company. And we have only just arrived. Imagine what the rest of the season might be."

"A splendid night to be sure." Josephine turned back in her chair slyly grinning at Constance and with her voice slightly raised teased, "And Sir Cartwright seemed to enjoy your particular attention."

Constance quickly sat up. "Oh, you think it so? I liked him enormously, I mean, I know it is too soon to put so much stock in a solitary gentleman, but he was very handsome, do you think?"

"Yes, although I had little occasion to converse with him, but from my recollection of our brief encounter he appeared an amiable man."

"Constance wrapped her arms around one of the ornate wood posts and leaned against it saying, "You seemed to favor Miss Isabella, but for your sake I hope her brother does not share her plain appearance," she said in a concerned tone.

"Do not be so unkind Constance. She deserves no blame for her appearance, any more than you deserve praise for yours...but yes, I liked her very much. She is something of an artist," Josephine fondly replied.

"Oh, but I cannot believe your Mr. Tennyson did not come. Did you ask his sister the reason for his absence?"

"No, of course not. I could not stomach even saying his name. And I dreaded too much the conversation thereafter. Miss Isabella did not mention him, perhaps for my sake, so I did not broach the subject."

"Josephine, if I tell you something in confidence, do you promise not to be angry?" Constance reluctantly asked. "It is about your Mr. Charles Tennyson."

"I assure you, it cannot make me any more angry than you repeatedly referring to him as my possession, let me remind you, a man I have not even met."

"That is it precisely! Dear Josephine, I fear Mr. Tennyson may not wish to meet you at all, although I do not see how he can avoid it." Constance looked up, biting her lip in frustration.

"Him not wish to meet me? It is I who do not wish to meet him. How has this insight come about?" Josephine replied in astonishment.

"Now please, I asked you not to become angry. I was made aware of Mr. Tennyson's feelings within the strictest of confidence by Sir Cartwright."

"Strictest confidence? You have only just met the man. Tonight," Josephine observed.

"Oh I know, but it feels as if we are old friends. But never mind that, do you not wish to know what he has told me?"

Josephine's annoyance grew. Every new discovery about her intended husband left a sour taste in her mouth. "I doubt it could be believed by someone with so little propriety, as to disclose private information with such a fresh acquaintance!" Josephine exclaimed with distrustful indignation.

"As someone who readily admits their own fault at keeping confidential matters confidential, I believe you have no basis for the argument. Now, do not think badly of Sir Cartwright, perhaps you might consider him confiding in me as a service to you rather than an injury. For you, he may have thought this knowledge essential."

She sank into her chair at Constance's reproof. Josephine knew that she was unfit to judge a flaw in someone's character so prevalent within her own. "Fine, do tell me...what has he told you? I will not pretend that I am not anxious to hear it. I will take any scrap of information you have to offer, and worry over it's validity later."

"I knew you would be, as would I, in your position. It seems Mr. Charles Tennyson is none too pleased with not choosing his own wife, has no intention of following his parents expressed wishes, and has little care for beauty or fortune, and thus will not be taken in by you." Constance confessed seemingly in one solid breath.

"That is quite a conversation you shared with Sir Cartwright. Taken in by me? Am I a fisherman's hook? What a horrid thing to say! I am as unjustly bound as he." Josephine paused in scolding reflection and with realization her expression went from anger to excitement in an instant. She then exclaimed, "but that is splendid news! You know what this means? We are both against our alliance. It is imperative I meet Mr. Tennyson, if only to confirm what we both already desire. To go our separate paths."

"I do not see how, for I think he means to avoid you as long as possible. And how could you possibly address the subject? It would be most vulgar to discuss, and remember your behavior is under the strictest scrutiny. My Aunt loves you dearly, but she will certainly write to your father if she thinks you are not at least showing effort with Mr. Tennyson. And he could deny having said such things to Sir Cartwright, as it was told to me in confidence, and instead he could cite your impropriety as his cause for disliking the match. Allowing you to shoulder the blame while securing his own freedom. Oh and think of the repercussions!" Constance dramatically protested.

Josephine stood up swiftly placing one hand atop her head, Red lifting his head off the ground to observe his master pacing the floor. "A matter to give some thought, but first, a meeting must be arranged, even if I have to appeal to his sister. Surely, Miss Isabella Tennyson would oblige me, and knowing our family's intentions, she would see little amiss at my hope to make his acquaintance."

"Yes, I would think not. But pray, what is your stratagem thereafter?" Constance restlessly inquired, her hand again furiously twirling a golden curl around her delicate finger. Josephine wondered how Constance had never twirled a curl out of her scalp.

"I suppose I will let things occur naturally. I already dislike the man, so it should be no feat for Mr. Tennyson to discern my opposition to the match."

Josephine knew she could convince Mr. Charles Tennyson of her disinterest, and she was already aware of his, but also knew she would have to tread lightly. The last thing Josephine wanted was her father intervening. This marriage alliance went beyond their mother's mutual friendship. The financial benefits played a much larger role. But the financial gains meant little to Josephine in comparison with a life spent bound to a man she did not love, nor like.

"What a pair we make Josephine. Me trying to secure a husband, while you desperately try to rid yourself of one." Both girls began to laugh loudly before remembering the hour, and lowering their voices.

Josephine then whispered, "We will call in Berkeley Square tomorrow. Miss Isabella Tennyson twice requested our visit, and perhaps we will have a chance meeting with your Sir Cartwright and his infamous friend. Mr. Tennyson does not realize he has it all backwards. He must meet me first, then ignore me, not the other way around."

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