CHAPTER 5

High Street was filled with mayhem as Josephine and Constance prepared for the dinner at Mr. Tennyson's. Poor Lady Cavender was laid up in bed, having caught a dreadful cold, forced to remain at home. She insisted the ladies not to worry a bit over her, but to enjoy their evening in the company of new friends. Josephine and Constance agreed to comply.

After meticulously tending to their toilette, and second-guessing their wardrobe choices, both girls waited as Sir Cartwright was announced. He had come to visit several times since the Cavender's dinner party, always alone, always attentive to Miss Whitmore.

Upon learning of Lord and Lady Cavender's inability to attend, Sir Cartwright had graciously offered to escort the ladies to Berkeley Square. Although he never wished anyone ill health, Carwright was pleased with the inconspicuous opportunity to escort Miss Whitmore.

The carriage ride was drawn out with Josephine's nerves. She and Constance were seated across from Sir Cartwright, her friend blushing each time he stared. Josephine grew uncomfortable with her two escorts attentiveness to one another.

shall I get my own conveyance? do you two ever look away?

Josephine chose the distraction of gas lit London streets, a warm breeze lifting the air. She found herself missing the smells of home. The air in Hertfordshire was usually cool and floated a diversity of natural scents, from leaves and grass heavy with dew to faint scents of hydrangeas beneath her bedroom window. London air was thick with smoke and fog, none of the refreshing scents which urged you to take a long, deep breath.  Josephine wondered how Elise and her father were getting along in her absence.

I wish Elise would write...I hope Papa hasn't yet strangled Mrs. Biddlecomb or vice versa.

Josephine's reflections were interrupted by Sir Cartwright nervously tapping the heel of his Hessians against the floor of the carriage. "If I may be so bold Miss Yorke..." She stared at him through the dim light, startled by his petition.

Why does he look nervous?

Sir Cartwright continued, "I had not mentioned it before Miss Yorke, but seeing as we are on our way to his house, I...I...I suppose I simply wanted to give fair warning. Um...Tennyson, he can be a little...um..."

Say it already Sir Cartwright!

"A little gruff sometimes."

That was anticlimactic...

"Usually unintentional, he...he...well if you can get past first impressions...the man has a heart of pure gold Miss Yorke."

"Is that so Sir Cartwright?" Josephine didn't hide her amusement.

"Certainly so, I only wanted to warn you, in case he tries to frighten you off." Cartwright ceased tapping his boots, leaning back in the seat.

"And do you think that is your friend's intention?" She had a knowing grin, but did not betray Constance's confidence. "Do you think Mr. Charles Tennyson intends to scare me off?"

"To be forthcoming, I am unsure what he is thinking most of the time," he answered, boots again tapping the floor.

Josephine wanted to sooth his worrying, partly because the nervous tapping of his boots was driving her insane. "Sir, you may feel relief, for I am not easily frightened."

"Very true!" Constance echoed, smiling at Josephine before settling her eyes back on Sir Cartwright. "Something I have seen firsthand."

Ugh! Staring at each other again, what is there left to look at?

Josephine couldn't help but feel anxiety as Sir Cartwright handed her down from the carriage, tensing at the realization that the first to greet her would likely be the host himself. She hadn't been too distressed over Mr. Tennyson not wanting to meet her, since she felt likewise, but now with introductions looming, and Sir Cartwright's ominous pep-talk, the usually unperturbed Josephine felt a smidge of apprehension.

Be pleasant, but distant. pleasant but distant.

They were announced, and upon entering the room, a hush fell among the small number of guests. Josephine came face to face with an unnervingly handsome gentleman, looking down upon her. He was tall, with a black tailcoat expertly tailored to his athletic frame, his sandy brown hair waving slightly, and brilliant sea-green eyes. Josephine noticed their color as her eyes briefly met his, before shyly smiling and looking about the room. He appeared calm and unaffected by her presence, making her feel all the more unsettled.

Be pleasant, but distant. emphasis on the distant.

"Tennyson, may I present Miss Constance Whitmore and Miss Josephine Yorke." Sir Cartwright said with a twinge of shakiness.

"How do you do? I am glad you two could join us this evening," Mr. Tennyson politely greeted, both arms folded behind his back. "And how fortunate we are that you did not catch Lady Cavender's illness, a true shame that would have been."  A heavy dose of sarcasm colored his response. It went unnoticed by Constance whereas Josephine and Sir Cartwright perceived it perfectly. The girls barely curtsied to their host before Sir Cartwright began to cough and motion them towards Isabella who anxiously waited to greet them. While passing, Sir Cartwright offered Tennyson a warning glare.

"Miss Whitmore, Miss Yorke!" Isabella beamed, clasping each one of their hands. "I am overjoyed you are here. After learning of Lady Cavender's illness, I sat in dread that one of you would succumb to her fate. But alas you are here, alive and well, just as you ought to be!"

Isabella gave introductions to the remaining guests and shortly thereafter dinner was called. Other than their brief introduction, Josephine had not spoken a word to Mr. Tennyson and had purposefully avoided looking his direction, so she was startled when he appeared beside her offering his arm to dinner.

"Miss Yorke, if you please." She lightly placed her arm through his feeling more awkward than ever. Josephine knew he did not want her there, but as a gentleman he was obliged to offer. Her discomfort only growing when Josephine realized she would be sat beside him at dinner with Miss Whitmore and Sir Cartwright seated at the opposite end.

so much for emphasis on the distant.

She drew some comfort at being so near to Miss Isabella who leaned down and whispered to her, "Forgive my seating arrangements. I desired you both to become more acquainted, please do not be angry with my meddling."

Josephine squeezed Isabella's hand which rested on her shoulder and offered her a merciful smile saying, "It would be a difficult thing to be angry with one so thoughtful."

Isabella hadn't spoken much about her brother to Miss Yorke. Perhaps, she had nothing favorable to say, or Isabella did not want Josephine hurt by the information which Sir Cartwright had already divulged. In either case, one thing was clear, Isabella was eager for them to meet and talk, which Josephine could only view as a compliment.

Minutes passed without so much as a glance from Mr. Tennyson. He sported an unamused scowl, leaning heavily on his right side.

not a very gentlemanly posture.

The rest of the table seemed deeply engaged in their own conversations, perhaps methodically planned, in order to force a conversation between them. Rapidly growing tired of his expression, Josephine felt impelled to attempt polite conversation and questioned, "Mr. Tennyson, do you have any particular hobbies or interests?"

Barely glancing at her, he replied with a mere, "Yes."

Expecting him to expound on the topic, but when he did not she was forced to further inquire, "And could you enlighten me as to a few of them?" His obvious disinterest in conversing with her was quickly wearing on her nerves. Josephine reminded herself of Sir Cartwright's warning.

gruff. accurate depiction Sir Cartwright.

"The same as most gentlemen," he said shifting in his chair.

This was going nowhere.

Josephine was many things but a quitter was not one of them, feeling determined to find a new line of questioning, she asked, "I greatly enjoy Covent Garden. Do you often attend the theatre Mr. Tennyson?"

"No."

Still resolved not to be shaken by his abrupt responses she persevered, "May I ask, is there a particular reason you do not often go? Miss Isabella seems to share in my enthusiasm of the theatre."

"I dislike many things."

Josephine had an easy time believing that. It was apparent that the usual conversation topics were fruitless, so she endeavored to change her tactics. Josephine thought deeply for a moment, and confidently stared at Mr. Tennyson before boldly asking, "And tell me Mr. Tennyson, if you had to choose between the two, and I insist you make a choice..."

The words "I insist" instantly irritated him, as Tennyson continually forked bites of pork into his mouth, hoping the increased interest in his plate would diminish Miss Yorke's interest in conversation. He enjoyed giving commands, certainly not receiving them.

Josephine leaned in closer to him, realizing the question not appropriate for a lady of society, but determined to illicit some response, she mischievously asked, "Would you rather be robbed by a highway man of £50, or lose the same amount at Faro?"

His sea-green eyes grew wide in astonishment, before choking on the pieces of pork, violently coughing while fisting his chest, causing the entire dinner party to look his way. Josephine lowered her gaze, attempting to hide her amusement. At least he couldn't ignore her question.

"My apologies," Tennyson said addressing the concerned onlookers, wiping the edge of his mouth with a napkin. "Just a little choked up is all."

"Perhaps you should slow down," Josephine teased, and Tennyson tightened his lips as he glared at her in confusion, but with a glimmer of amusement.

Noticing the table's attention was no longer upon them, she added, "Was my question too shocking, or will you oblige me with an honest answer?"

"Unexpected, yes. Shocking, no. And my answer should be obvious."

"We have only just met, so I do not know how you would answer."

He leaned back a bit in consideration and squinted his eyes at her, as if sizing her up before saying, "If I am to lose £50 in either case, obviously it would be in the enjoyment of cards, rather than at the hands of a blackguard."

"Hmmm...interesting."

"How so? Would you choose differently Miss Yorke?"

Feeling infinite pride at having coaxed him into conversation, Josephine answered, "Certainly so. Losing at faro, although the safer choice, holds little excitement, whereas being plundered by a highwayman," her eyes grew excited at the thought. "Well that is not something one could easily forget, a tale to share for generations!"

He gave an odd smile and leaned in close to her, propping his elbow on the armrest of his chair.

why does he smell so good?

She became uncomfortable at his proximity and her discomfort only grew as his face turned serious and began to scold, "Miss Yorke, I am unacquainted with the manners of Hertfordshire, but in polite society, ladies generally exhibit greater decorum in their conversational topics, and being this is my dinner party, would you oblige me with keeping to discussions which befit your status. Might I suggest the weather or embroidery."

He slowly leaned back and resumed his unamused scowl, as Josephine's embarrassment flushed her cheeks. She wanted to sink into her chair, but likely her poor posture would also offend the arrogant host. Instead, she resigned herself to dining in silence until relief came in the form of an all ladies drawing room.

Constance, noticing Josephine's look of distress, took her friends arm and led her to the sofa.

"What is the matter? You look a bit peaked," Constance said visibly concerned.

Josephine rubbed her brow as if her head ached. She didn't want to reveal her own embarrassment. "A little tired is all, certainly not the most pleasant dinner I have shared."

"I imagine so. It seems you and Mr. Tennyson scarcely conversed, very unlike you. I assumed you would have forced conversation upon him."

"I made a failed attempt." Josephine looked down at her hands folded in her lap, remembering Mr. Tennyson's censure. She was angry with him for the scolding but angrier with her own behavior. Those were the sort of conversations she would have with close friends, not new, pompous, and frustratingly handsome acquaintances.

"Under the circumstances, I expected no less," Constance explained.

The ladies' conversation was interrupted by a joyful Miss Isabella seating herself in the remaining space on the sofa, turning her attention to Constance saying, "Miss Whitmore, I believe Sir Cartwright's gaze barely left your beautiful smile throughout all five courses."

Constance's face glowed at the thought. Miss Isabella continued, "He has been a friend of my brother's and myself since childhood and I promise there is no finer a gentleman to receive attentions from."

Constance leaned in so that the three girls were huddled together and quietly whispered, "I am quite fond of him too. He is so handsome and kind, and very attentive."

"I feel your whispering is unnecessary Constance. The sheer amount with which you two gaze at one another is unmistakable," Josephine said sourly, folding her arms across her chest in a childish pout. Constance, knowing her closest friend well, took little offense, realizing her frustration was with Mr. Tennyson and not her personally. But feeling compelled to defend Josephine's remarks in Miss Isabella's presence, Constance explained, "Pay little heed to her, she is only disappointed in your brother's lack of visual assurance, as well his lack of conversation this evening."

Josephine frowned at the mention of Mr. Tennyson, particularly to his sister, but shrugged her shoulders acknowledging the truth in Constance's words.

"It is my fault Miss Yorke," Isabella said remorsefully, as she fidgeted nervously, and bit her lip, as if contemplating a solution. "Charles is not always good at first impressions, and I am certain, even worse in these circumstances. Perhaps I should have warned you...it is just that you are so wonderful that I thought...well I hoped at least, that once he met you, he would feel much differently. Sorry, you must think me talking nonsense, I fear I must explain, and I beg take no offense..."

Josephine interrupted before Isabella could make her confession comfortingly saying, "Please do not allow yourself any trouble on my account, I already know what you are to say to me."

"You do? How?" she asked doubtfully.

Constance glared, shaking her head at Josephine, as if saying please do not betray Sir Cartwright's confidence, but Josephine already knew enough of Sir Cartwright and Miss Isabella to understand that both parties were as good as family, and only acting out of concern for their brother and friend, so there would likely be no dissension, and aside from that, she was just plain dreadful at keeping secrets.

Sorry Constance.

"Sir Cartwright," responded Josephine. Constance took a deep breath of disappointment in the wake of her friend's mild betrayal, but was quickly relieved when Isabella replied, "I see...well, I am glad he told you." Isabella reached for Josephine saying, "The entire affair is writhe with awkwardness! I hope you realize, my brother has nothing against you personally, but rather the situation our parents have put him in. Although, I think you would make a splendid wife for him."

"You flatter too much, but I am not sure I would make a splendid wife for anyone just yet. But to answer you, yes, I perfectly understand, and I share in his feelings. But I was prepared to be quite civil and broach the subject naturally, after getting to know one another a bit. Considering his unwelcoming behavior, perhaps we should discuss matters sooner rather than later."

Isabella knew her father's unwavering plans for Charles' future, and an alliance with Josephine was aligned with his purpose. Isabella worried for Charles. Their Father was not a man to provoke. He had made his wishes crystal clear to his son, and if he wanted funds from him, then he must abide. Isabella knew Charles hated taking orders, always choosing a lashing from his Father rather than letting him control his affairs. Was her brother stubborn enough to forego financial support in order to defy their Father? She wasn't sure, but if so, she had to help him, and therefore said, "May I ask something of you as a friend?"

"Of course you may, Miss Tennyson."

"Please, I prefer you both call me Isabella." Josephine and Constance smiled in agreement. They had only known her a week but Miss Tennyson, Isabella, was feeling more like family by the minute.

"Will you promise me to further your acquaintance with Charles before making any final decisions? I know he has been cold this evening, but I feel it is unfair to both of you, to assume that a forced match could not very well be a good match..."

"You realize I cannot accept any suitor's attentions until I have made my intentions clear to your brother? I am stalled on the marriage mart. How long do you suggest I wait?"

Isabella began to feel desperate for her brother's sake. She needed them to at least consider the match, and that meant first convincing Miss Yorke, so she encouraged, "You admitted to being unsure if you were yet capable of being a splendid wife, so surely you can spare some time." Josephine looked as if not satisfied with Isabella's response, so she further suggested, "A month perhaps..."

"A month?" Josephine sputtered, expressing that was too much time to invest in a fruitless endeavor. But noticing the pleading expression in Isabella's eyes, she capitulated. "I will agree to it Isabella, but mostly because I am confident your brother will end our acquaintance long before I need to."

Isabella's smile grew wide, as she let out a grateful breath.

"I give him three days with Josephine, before fleeing London entirely," Constance teased. Josephine pursed her lips, holding back an amused grin. She didn't say it but Josephine thought three days was rather optimistic.

"Since you are so set on me getting to know your brother, perhaps you could enlighten me as to how to converse with him? I fear I made quite a muff of it earlier."

"In all our years of friendship, not once have you sought direction in speaking to a gentleman," Constance said in astonishment, "oh how the mighty have fallen!"

Unfazed by her friend's jest, which to her sounded more like a compliment, Josephine replied, "Even the largest of oak trees fall eventually, and it is much harder to stay upright, when you actually want to be felled to the ground."

"Spare us your philosophical nonsense Josephine. Isabella will think you a Bluestocking," Constance said exasperated.

"Oh pray, but I had a clever bit where I was going to say 'and Mr. Tennyson is wielding an axe, or some such thing like that," Josephine jokingly replied.

"Perhaps you could lead with that when he rejoins us in the drawing room," Constance retorted, and doing her best Josephine impression, exaggerating a jovial grin she said, "Mr. Tennyson, if I were an old oak, would you be inclined to chop me down, Sir?"

"Yes, I should certainly use that. What do you think Isabella? He is your brother after all."

"Isabella could not stop herself from grinning at their verbal exchanges, and added, "For one, you are much too feminine to be compared to an oak Josephine, a willow tree perhaps, but not an oak. And for second, my brother is far more likely to commission someone else to chop the tree for him."

Their quiet laughter was interrupted by the gentlemen entering the drawing room. Hoping to be helpful, Isabella encouraged Josephine whispering, "In earnest, be yourself. There is plenty enough for him to like."

Constance excused herself, making haste to Sir Cartwright's side, as he was eyeing her sweetly from across the room. Last to join the drawing room was Mr. Tennyson, still sporting an indifferent scowl.

Does he ever look happy?

Isabella left Josephine on the sofa, but not before giving her a reassuring look. She joined the majority of the party at a game of cards, an invitation Josephine had declined. The only ones not playing, being herself, a sleeping Miss Chilcott in the corner, and Mr. Charles Tennyson quietly sitting in a large chair beside a smoldering fire, swirling his glass of port. Josephine could remain on the sofa and watch the merriment of the many card players, but as she looked at Mr. Tennyson sitting alone, she felt compelled to swallow her pride, and accompany him on an adjacent chair. He barely glanced up as she approached, and Charles made a low grumble sound. He was used to persistent females, but had little tolerance for them.

Undeterred and motioning to the seat beside him, she asked, "May I?"

Mr. Tennyson refrained from speaking and simply gestured his glass of port towards the empty chair. Not wanting to repeat her earlier conduct she endeavored again at simple conversation and said, "I wanted to apologize for my earlier impertinence."

Mr. Tennyson sat stone-faced neither acknowledging her apology, nor lifting his gaze which currently rested on the small fire, his right ankle resting upon his left knee. Josephine's posture remained straight, but she angled in her chair so as to face him more directly. "I do not wish to brag, but generally I am skilled at light conversation. My younger sister, Elise, she rarely speaks, so growing up I was forced to do most of the talking. My governess, would call me 'Jabbering Josie', a name which I still loath, most likely because of its accuracy. However, if you would grant me some semblance of pleasant communication, I might allow you free use of my atrocious epithet."

Though not removing his gaze from the fire, Mr. Tennyson replied, "And why is it, you so desperately wish to converse with me Miss Yorke? Unlike you, I do not boast of my conversational skills."

Give me patience.

"In truth...I fear you already dislike me, and thus am determined to make a friend of you...and...I promised Isabella."

"Ah. Isabella? You are already using Christian names I see...and what precisely did you promise my meddling sister?" he questioned, finally allowing his eyes to meet hers, causing her to squirm in her seat.

"Not much really, to befriend you or at least attempt to."

"Miss Yorke, I am not in want of a friend," Mr. Tennyson declared, an effort to stave further discussion. Charles frequently endeavored at civility with the many ladies and their eager mothers struggling to gain his attention, but recently his patience was nonexistent. And Miss Yorke was proving to be one of the most relentless females in history, his only option was downright incivility. "And even if I were in search of a friend, do you think I would choose you?"

"Perhaps not. And you may not be in want of a friend, but you might need one. Especially seeing that your current closest friend is preoccupied for the time being," she glanced over at the card table with Sir Cartwright and Constance making eyes at one another, yet again. "And if I am not mistaken, we will be forced in one another's company, whether or not we like it."

Mr. Tennyson gave another low grumble as he looked across the room at the two recent lovebirds.

"May I speak plain with you Mr. Tennyson?"

"I assumed you already were. I am afraid to know what your idea of forthright is."

Josephine smiled and lightly shook her head saying, "True, I doubt you wish to know. A few things about me I will share however...first, a five-year-old can keep secrets better than I am able."

"Useful and not surprising," he coolly replied.

"Next, I am brutally honest, sometimes to a disadvantage," Josephine admitted.

"And how can I be sure you are not lying about that?" he retorted. She smiled, recognizing the playfulness in his observation.

he has wit at least.

"And lastly, I strive to find joy in all things, whether miserable places or miserable people." He looked up again catching the smile behind her eyes.

"Are you suggesting I am miserable Miss Yorke? I believe you should add, 'terrible at making new friends' to your list."

"You may be right, but I did manage to get more than one word answers from you, so at the moment I am feeling accomplished," she said folding her arms across her chest in victory.

"Perhaps I should tell you a few things about myself."

"Certainly you should," she said optimistically.

"For one, I highly value people who can keep secrets. For second, I have never been renowned for my honesty," he leaned in closer, staring directly in her eyes, causing her discomfort to grow and gooseflesh about her skin. "And lastly, I find joy in very few things, particularly females desperate for my attention."

Josephine froze in her chair, mouth gaped open at his second verbal assault of the evening. She wanted to scream, but wouldn't give this arrogant barbarian the satisfaction. She calmly stood, her head held high, and said, "Mr. Tennyson, I will gladly leave you with the only person in London foolish enough to like your company. Enjoy the time by yourself." She walked away with a satisfied smirk. Josephine couldn't wait for this night to end.

Charles was fuming, as Miss Yorke calmly walked away. He knew his words were harsh, but he had justified them as a necessary evil. She needed to understand that, despite their parent's insistence, she would never be his wife, nor would she want to. What Miss Yorke described as friendship, he perceived as entrapment. But, as she sat in the chair beside him, her beautiful blue eyes begging for acceptance, he started to feel his resolve weaken.

desperate times call for desperate measures.

Tennyson wouldn't allow kindness and a pretty face to sway him. He had to be rude, but he hadn't counted on feeling so lousy about it.

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