21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

F rom the moment that the modiste entered the house, Florence was a bit beside herself with excitement. Though she endeavoured to retain the cool, mature composure that she had worked hard to cultivate, she was unable to stop herself from clapping her hands and bouncing excitedly on her toes. Beatrice did not see much point in rebuking her for this, as she understood the impulse all too well.

In addition to the light muslin, Beatrice had also selected a polished cotton in a lilac colour that would complement Florence's colouring well. It was in this silesia that she also had a new Sunday dress made, which was an integral part of her plan.

"Now, new dresses are just the first step," Beatrice said, circling Florence with a sharp eye as she stood up on a stool so that the modiste could adjust her hem.

"First step?" Florence asked, craning her neck around so that she might better see herself in the mirror.

"Certainly," Beatrice said with a firm nod. "All the pretty dresses in the world shan't help you if you've nowhere to wear them."

"Oh." Florence's face fell a bit at that realisation. "Then I suppose that's it then, for I've no friends and nowhere to wear them."

"I refuse to believe that," Beatrice said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You haven't lived shut up in this house like a hermit for your whole life."

Florence tilted her head, looking thoughtful in a manner so like her father that Beatrice nearly laughed aloud. "I used to play with Anne Fitzroy regularly, but that was years ago now—I doubt that she would remember me."

"Why? Do you think yourself so forgettable?" Beatrice gently teased with a smile. Florence gave her a doubting look, and Beatrice quickly patted her on the shoulder. "Not to worry," she reassured her, "I am certain that we will find a way to renew your acquaintance with her. Do you not see her anywhere?"

"The only place I see anyone is at church on Sundays," Florence grumped, holding her right arm out straight at the modiste's prodding.

"Well, that's a fine start; why shouldn't you speak to her on Sunday?" Beatrice asked pragmatically.

"Because Father always hurries us out as if the building is burning down around our ears," Florence retorted, and Beatrice had to nod in agreement with that. Where most people would spend some minutes outside of the church exchanging pleasantries and news, the colonel shepherded his family and household into the waiting wagons like a sheepdog.

"You let me worry about the colonel," Beatrice said with much more confidence than she actually felt. "You focus instead on Miss Fitzroy."

"But won't it be awkward if I just begin speaking to her after so many years? I can't just pretend that no time has passed." Florence turned around again at the modiste's urging, this time holding her other arm out as a shoulder seam was adjusted.

"Oh, tish-tosh," Beatrice said, taking out Florence's small collection of spooled ribbons. She uncoiled a yellow one first, holding it up to her face and considering before shaking her head and replacing it. "Firstly, you do not know that Miss Fitzroy has not missed your company as much as you have missed hers. Secondly, in my experience, young ladies are not so intractable as that."

"Well, how would you go about it, then?" Florence asked dubiously.

"Begin by paying her a compliment," Beatrice said, holding up another length of ribbon, this time in royal blue, embroidered with little yellow flowers. "Oh, Florence, this colour is truly spectacular with your colouring."

"Do you think so?" Florence asked, preening a little.

"I most certainly do," Beatrice assured her. "See? Instantly disarming. Just make it something small and genuine."

"Oh—oh that is clever!" Florence's face lit up.

"Speak to her as if you are already friends, and she will follow suit. Then, you might invite her over for tea," Beatrice said, re-coiling the ribbons and putting them into the little box.

"Would Father allow that?" Florence breathed, clearly enchanted by the idea. "Oh, to host someone at tea! Such a thoroughly grown-up notion."

"I will speak to him," Beatrice smiled, patting Florence reassuringly on the forearm. "Before you know it, you shall have a whole society of young ladies."

***

B eatrice was as good as her word, though it could not be said that she did not feel some trepidation at approaching the colonel. Ever since their trip into York, Beatrice had felt that they were out of step with one another, as if they were both attempting to dance just a beat behind one another. It was frustrating, as if Beatrice could not catch the rhythm of the dance, or perhaps vice versa.

Still, she came on business on one of her girl's behalf, which gave her courage. Taking a bit of her own advice, she simply sallied forth into the library as if nothing were amiss.

"I should like to have a word, Colonel Hillmot," she announced as she opened the library door. To her surprise, the colonel was not at his desk, but was standing with his back to her, staring out of a window. At her intrusion, he glanced backward over his shoulder, and after a moment's hesitation, nodded his assent without turning around to face her.

Refusing to be put off by his brusque manner, she walked right up to the desk, her customary boundary in the library. "Miss Florence would like to entertain some young ladies at tea," she said, taking the opportunity to inspect the surface of the colonel's desk. Curious by nature, she was delighted by all of the little things put in such rigid order. Without even really thinking on it, she reached out and nudged the quill and pen knife so that instead of lying perfectly parallel, they now touched at the tips.

"Young ladies? Which young ladies?" the colonel demanded. Though he did not turn to address her, Beatrice could hear the frown in his voice.

"Respectable young ladies from the neighbourhood that you will find no fault with," Beatrice replied, sighing. "Well, other than they are likely to be prone to chatter and giggling, which will surely disrupt your household to an irreparable degree."

"And when is this tea to take place?"

"Well, that's the crux of it," Beatrice said, her eyes lighting on an open pocket watch on a ribbon fob. She picked it up, admiring the beautifully engraved back and enamelled cover. "You must find a way to occupy yourself on Sunday so that we are not sprinting out of church as we usually do."

"What? Why? The church is a house of worship, not a conversation parlour," the colonel argued, turning around and giving Beatrice an exasperated look that she readily ignored as she continued her explorations of the things on the desk.

"It's important to Miss Florence," Beatrice replied readily. "She is lonely, and really, you've two choices in the matter: She will be deprived of feminine company and the society of others her own age, and the moment she comes of age, she will be off like a shot to find her own; or you allow her some friends, and she is more inclined to think kindly of you in your old age."

Having concluded her little speech, Beatrice's eyes fell on the colonel's pipe, laid to one side of the desk. Her eyes immediately widened, and her mouth opened in a silent oooh of interest. She plucked it up boldly, balancing it by the stem and bowl between her fingers, and brought it to her nose. She inhaled deeply, for though it was empty, it was still redolent with the warm smells of vanilla and tobacco. She smiled as the smell hit her nose, sighing appreciatively as a wine connoisseur might over a freshly opened bottle.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," the colonel said, clearly put out. He stepped forward in one great stride and snatched the pipe away from Beatrice, startling her. "You are worse than a cat—get away with you, before you make things further untidy."

Beatrice, very much unbothered, merely gave the colonel a grin. "Perhaps you need a little untidying in your life," she replied, the words slipping out without her notice. The colonel stared at her, and she soldiered on, refusing to be upended. "Besides, it isn't my fault; you really do have the most appealing blend," she said, nodding toward his pipe. "It smells divine."

The colonel, as if seeing his pipe for the first time, stared down at it. "I did not think ladies cared for the smell of a pipe," was all that he managed.

Beatrice shrugged. "I knew more than a few ladies who smoked them in St. Petersburg."

The colonel's head snapped back up and he stared at Beatrice, clearly unsure if she was having him on or spoke earnestly. She merely gave him another enigmatic smile, then in a casual, sweeping tone, said, "Well then, I will tell Miss Florence that she might invite some young ladies over then."

She turned and was halfway out the door, hoping to exit before the colonel could nay-say her, when she felt a hand lock about her wrist and halt her. "Oh, no you don't," the colonel said, his voice deep in his chest, reeling her back in as if she were a fish. "I'm onto you and your wiles, Miss Heart."

"Me?" Beatrice asked, languidly blinking at the colonel in a picture of innocence. "Whatever do you mean, Sir?"

"I've learned your tactics," the colonel said, pointing at her with the stem of the pipe he still held in his free hand. "You seek to discombobulate me with your shenanigans, and when I am thoroughly distracted, you take the chance to simply do as you please. Well, it shan't work this time, Miss Heart."

Beatrice, unable to help herself, allowed her lips to curl up in a defiant, coy little smile. Her green eyes, already a fetching picture as they sparkled with mischief, became heavy-lidded. "Well, I'm a little disappointed you've figured me out, but pleased it took you so long."

"Hah!" the colonel said, jabbing the pipe in her direction again. "You've been fortunate so far—now that I know what you are about, you shan't get away with so much again."

Beatrice, undaunted, had to resist the compulsion to bite the pipe stem, seizing it in her teeth as she did so. Her eyes flicked down as if she meant to do that very thing, and the colonel, as if realising how close they were standing, straightened and shifted backward a little. "That's what you think," Beatrice said archly. "You assume I haven't a dozen other means at my disposal to get what I want."

"Get thee hence, you impudent baggage," the colonel said without any real ire, finally releasing Beatrice's arm. "Good gods, what sort of governess have I brought into my home?" His eyes narrowed. "What, precisely, are you teaching my girls?" he demanded suspiciously.

Unable to stop herself from another grin, Beatrice cheekily replied, "How to run rings around you, naturally."

"Oh good, then there will be four of you about the house," he groaned, returning to the chair behind his desk and sinking heavily into it.

Beatrice shrugged, unrepentant. "It's a skill to serve them in better stead than darning stockings, that I can assure you."

"I somehow do not doubt that."