Mrs Fishingham could not stop exclaiming about the beauty of Haverford House, her own good fortune, and the duchess’s condescension in inviting her and her daughters for tea. The daughters giggled nervously every time the duchess addressed a comment to them, and spent the rest of the time gazing about them.

Her Grace had met the eldest child, Charis, and found her delightful. A pity she was married, and not included in the invitation. The duchess’s good manners and her sense of her position required her to treat them better than they deserved, for silliness and vulgarity were not crimes. If Her Grace snubbed them or even cut this afternoon tea short, word would percolate out through the walls in the mysterious way gossip had, with none of the servants in the least to blame for spreading it. They were not to the duchess’s taste, but nor did they deserve to become social outcasts.

The girls were probably not nearly as foolish as they appeared. The mother certainly was, and it was a wonder that she had managed to raise Charis as a kind, courteous, gracious, and intelligent woman.

Fortunately, the regulation half hour was nearly at an end. Her smile became more genuine as she waited for the torment to be over.

The Fishingham ladies appear in the story I am writing for the Belles 2019 Valentine box set. More news to come in the next three months. In the excerpt below, they are travelling home after an assembly.

As always, Mama used the trip home to compliment or castigate each of her daughters for their performance. Matilda had danced twice with the same man; one, furthermore without a fortune to commend him. On the other hand, she did not miss a single turn on the floor, and went into supper with a marquis, so could be forgiven much. Eugenie had missed several dances, giggling in a corner with the Lacey sisters. “It will not answer,” Mama pronounced, “for their brother is too young, and is heir to a dukedom, besides. You are pretty, Eugenie, and of good birth, but a duke is above your touch.”

However, though her supper escort was not titled, he had the redeeming feature of an enormous fortune, so Eugenie, too, was forgiven.

Charis’s turn began with the usual complaint about hiding in corners, but Mama’s scold was perfunctory. “For the second part of the night, you did very well, my dear,” she said. “I knew you could if you only tried. You are the most aggravating… But there. I was so pleased to see you dancing with Lord Chadbourn; amusing him, too, for everyone could see the pair of you chatting away as if you were old friends. Whatever could he have been saying that entertained the pair of you so well?”

“He was explaining the new method of crop rotation, Mama,” Charis said.

Mama’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Truly? How peculiar.” She frowned but then her face cleared and she shook her head as if to clear it. “No matter. He looked to be enjoying himself, so of course other young men wanted to follow his example. You did not miss a dance from the one with Chadbourn until Lady Wayford engaged you in conversation.

“Interrogation,” Matilda muttered to Eugenie, but not quietly enough for Mama to miss the remark.

“ You will refer to Lady Wayford with respect, young lady. Her interest in Charis was most gratifying. Word is that she seeks a husband for her disreputable son — imagine if she were to choose Charis!”

“Mama!” Charis protested. “Why would I want a disreputable man for a husband?”

“His shocking reputation is the reason for our opportunity, Charis,” Mama explained. “We are not wealthy and normally I would not look as high for one of you, but those considering the Wayford title and lands must consider the reputation of this earl and his predecessors. Both his older brother and his father were wild, and if you were to be fortunate enough to marry the earl, you could not expect him to be attentive or faithful.”

“He is scarred, too, Mama,” Eugenie said. “Lady Eleanor and Lady Alice met him in London, and they say he looks very fearsome. He is haughty, too, they say. Almost as haughty as Lady Wayford.”

“Go on,” Mama encouraged. “I normally abhor gossip, as you all know.” She sighed, heavily. “But I will make an exception for the sake of my dear girls.”

Charis exchanged glances with her sisters. Far from abhorring gossip, Mama was addicted to it, and had a biweekly subscription to the Teatime Tattler, despite the cost of having it delivered from London.

Eugenie frowned as she reported, “He frowned the whole time, and they tell me that he acquired the scars duelling. Are you sure, Mama?”

Mama gave a dismissive wave. “A title, Charis, and more pin money than you can dream of. I daresay he will leave you to live with his mother, and only visit to get an heir on you, so you will hardly need to spend any time with him. Just think! Perhaps he will let you remain at home!”

“Hardly, Mama,” Matilda said. “What would Society say about that?”

“Impertinence,” Mama scolded, but confirmed the justice of Matilda’s observation by adding, “a long visit would be perfectly acceptable. My Charis, a countess.”

Charis saw no point in arguing that such a marriage would be hell on earth. Lady Wayford was just being polite, and there was nothing in the encounter to encourage the castle Mama was building from pure air. Another day and evening at Bath was over, and they were nearly home.

Surely, this close to Christmas, the fine weather could not hold much longer?