Page 36

Daphne nodded slowly. “An introduction, then. Several, if necessary.”

“Though we ought to choose carefully,” Amelia said. “Charlotte will recognize an unsuitable gentleman before he has finished bowing.”

“She will recognize our intentions sooner than that,” Elizabeth replied, with a rueful smile.

“Then perhaps we should take a different approach.” Daphne reached for her tea and lifted the cup in a small salute. “We give a small gathering. She attends because we are her friends. We include someone she might enjoy talking to.”

Amelia considered this, tapping her chin. “Someone who will not agree with everything she says.”

Elizabeth looked up. “She might occasionally appreciate being agreed with.”

“Occasionally,” Amelia conceded, with a grudging smile. “But he must have an opinion of his own.”

“And the sense to listen to hers,” Daphne added.

Elizabeth glanced toward the flowers, watching a petal tremble in the draft from the window. “Someone who takes as much care of her as she does of everyone else…”

Her friends grew quiet, and the teasing light faded from their faces. That was what she wanted most for Charlotte. Someone who would remember her preferences without being reminded. Someone who would ask what she wanted most and make sure she had it. Someone who would see her friend beneath all that confidence. The woman who gave so much and asked so little.

“He must make her laugh,” Daphne said at last, her voice gentle.

Amelia nodded. “And he must be rather difficult to intimidate.”

“That may narrow the field considerably,” Elizabeth said.

“Good,” Daphne said. “I have no wish to entertain half of London.”

Elizabeth laughed and reached for a fresh sheet of paper from the little writing table beside her chair, the crisp edge whispering against her fingers. Amelia watched with interest, leaning to see. “What are you doing?”

“Making a list,” she said.

“Of gentlemen?” Amelia asked.

“Of the people we might invite. We cannot hold a gathering with Charlotte and a few suspiciously eligible men,” Elizabeth said, uncapping the inkwell.

“No.” Daphne smiled. “She would leave before the tea arrived.”

“And take us to task afterward,” Elizabeth said.

Amelia leaned nearer as Elizabeth drew the paper onto her lap, her skirts rustling. “We must include enough married couples to make it seem ordinary.”

“It will be ordinary,” Elizabeth said. “That is rather the point.”

“Of course,” Amelia said. Her innocent tone made Daphne laugh, a bright, helpless peal that set the teacups trembling.

They began with friends they knew Charlotte would be pleased to see, and Elizabeth wrote each name in her neat, careful hand. Then they discussed numbers, whether cards would be welcome, and which gentlemen they could trust. Some men spoke only of their own consequence. Amelia passed judgment with a flick of her fingers. Daphne countered with gentle reason, and Elizabeth laughed as she struck names from the list.

One name was rejected because its owner had spent an entire supper discussing his horses. Another fell away when Daphne recalled his habit of correcting women before they finished speaking. Her mouth turned down in remembered irritation. By the time Elizabeth set down the pen, her fingers faintly stained with ink, they had agreed upon very little beyond the gathering itself.

She found that reassuring. They were planning an evening, not Charlotte’s future, and the distinction felt like a small, important kindness. “We must all think about it,” Daphne said, rising reluctantly and shaking out her skirts. “There is no need to hurry.”

Amelia stood too, smoothing her gloves. “Though we ought not to delay until she finds husbands for everyone else in London.”

Elizabeth folded the paper along its creases, pressing each fold flat with her thumbnail. “I shall speak to Julian about an evening here.”

“Tell him to think of someone Charlotte might like,” Amelia said.

“I shall tell him we wish to invite our friends,” she said.