Page 17 of Unending Joy
As she turned back to the pastries, Joy came to one conclusion: it was going to be a very long Season indeed. But she would be dashed if Freddy settled for someone who couldn’t even abide a kitten.
It did not take longto realize Lady Maeve and the Duke of Thornhill were not far from a match. Freddy may not boast the sharpest of intellects, but even he could see that they had eyes only for each other. When Thornhill giggled—the indignity!—Freddy had had enough. He cast his gaze across the garden, seeking respite from the matrimonial machinations that now surrounded him. He spotted Joy, lounging near the pastry table with her customary air of rebellion and biscuit crumbs. She was the only soul who understood his plight.
Crossing the lawn, he addressed her with an air of tragic resignation. “I knew I should find you near the treacle tart,” he said, dropping into the seat beside her without ceremony.
Joy didn’t flinch. “You look as if someone tried to foist a bonnet onto your head.”
“I feel as though someone did,” Freddy replied grimly. “You must save me, Joy. Lady Maeve and Thornhill are all but composing poetry to one another, and every débutante here either simpers like a sick bird or proses on about embroidery.”
“Were you lectured about embroidery again?”
“Miss Plumb gave me a twelve minute discourse on her sampler. I now know far more about silks and stitches than any man ought.”
Joy sighed dramatically. “Poor lamb. Would you like a tart?”
“Desperately.” He reached for one. “Tell me—have you anyone else for me to meet before I offer myself up to the mercy of a vicar’s daughter with a claimed fondness for kittens she has never actually met?”
Joy, ever practical, took a sip of her punch and surveyed the blurred garden party like a general reviewing a battlefield. “Well,that one,” she pointed discreetly with her chin towards a tall, elegant young lady in violet, “thinks Byron was too restrained.”
“Too restrained?”
“I heard her say she writes poetry of her own about stormy emotions and dead flowers.”
“Good Lord.”
“That one,” she gestured again to Miss Henley, “laughs at everything. Even when someone spills tea on her gown. Hysterical, giggling laughter—all the time.”
“Is she the one who laughed when the pigeon dived for something?”
“The very one, though I confess I also laughed a little. You remember the hyena we saw at the ‘Change?”
Freddy suppressed a shudder.
Joy nodded gravely. “And then there is Miss Franks.”
“What is wrong with Miss Franks?”
“She is perfectly lovely, until you realize she has memorized every one ofFordyce’s sermonsand recites them when she is nervous.”
“Surely there must be someone with a tolerable sense of humour and an affection for animals?” Freddy asked plaintively.
Joy shook her head. “If there is, she is disguised as shrubbery. Now, doyouhave anyone formeto meet?”
Freddy gazed about. None of his new friends were on the hunt for a bride—not that any of them were terribly appropriate. Joy would not mind that so much, but he knew Westwood would be quite particular. Joy was a favourite with all the gentlemen. She was pluck to the backbone, as his friends would describe it, but the problem was it was hard to see Joy as a wife and mother. Well, other than to animals, of course.
“Well…Worth is charming, but he is as poor as a church mouse from gambling debts and is on the hunt for an heiress.Godwin is a devilish boor, and Singleton is hopelessly devoted to a French opera singer.”
“So your prospects are no better than mine,” Joy concluded with a sigh.
Just then, his mother approached in a swirl of silk and gardenia scent. “Frederick, darling,” she cooed, “have you made any progress?”
He looked at her blankly. “Progress?”
“With the eligible young ladies! Lady Constance is hosting a dinner party, and you must attend. Joy, you too, of course. There will be eligible gentlemen present.”
Joy opened her mouth to reply, but his mother had already swept away with the regal determination of a mama with a singular purpose.
Freddy turned to Joy with a dramatic shudder. “Eligible young ladies.”
