There is nothing more tiresome than a gathering of London's self-proclaimed brightest – especially for an occasion of this nature. Proper and primped, gossip-mongers twitter to each other in every corner, and tonight there is plenty of fuel for their fire.
Henry is late for his own engagement party.
I know his work has been keeping him quite busy, and he knows that I would wait until the end of time for him, but even now my patience was running thin. Not because of him, no; but because of the gaggle that decided at that moment to make their presence known.
"He's lucky he lives in modern times. Today's penalties for heresy are not what they should be." The high-and-mighty Bishop of Basingstoke, and he was, again, speaking of my future husband. I could not help but notice that Henry seemed to be the topic among the... I suppose they consider themselves his superiors. Ever since he gave them his proposal he'd been the talk of the town; or at least of the council that was flooding into my father's house like rats fleeing a sinking ship. I tried to continue my conversation with Claudia, but the sight of the collected Governors – currently a party of three – held my attention more than my friend's raptures over the newest Parisian couture.
They agreed with the honorable Bishop, of course. General Glossop was the first to raise his voice, and I just managed to refrain from rolling my eyes; to do so would have been most unseemly, after all. Casting a glance towards my father, I despaired to find him far too busy with his own conversation to catch my pleading look. I wished with all my heart that the three men of the Board of Governors had not been invited for this, our special occasion; but they were my father's friends and part of Henry's work. I am not sure what the proclamation was about, but it managed to get even dear, and usually silent, John into the conversation. I could have released a sigh of relief when I heard his kind voice speaking up to those men.
"It's not that I agree with Doctor Jekyll's 'blasphemies', Your Grace. I simply believe that one shouldn't be penalized for speaking out, especially when it is to assist one's fellow man." He glanced from one to the other, swirling gin within the small glass, clinking the ice against the sides. When he turned to the Bishop, I listened even more closely. "A person can preach in more than the pulpit of a church, Your Grace; just as you're revealing to us now. You seek the support of your committee, and Doctor Jekyll seeks that of society in general, and the church in particular." I could have kissed the man!
"Miss Carew!" Claudia finally silenced when someone called for me and I turned, lifting a gloved hand in a wave to Lady Postlethwaite with an inward grimace. I hadn't seen the woman in a year and it looked as if she had placed on enough weight to last five times that! Nevertheless, I glued on a pleasant smile when she waddled near to kiss me upon both cheeks. "Wonderful to see you, Lisa," she smiled brightly, her cheeks dimpling. As far as I could remember, she hadn't had dimples before. Truly, she was nearly another woman.
"He laments that there are the mad and the poor roaming the streets," came the voice of Lord Savage. I cursed inwardly. No, no, no! I was missing the gossip. Gossip I had the right to listen to! "As long as I've lived in both Saint Judes and Oxford – which is all of my life – I have never laid eyes upon a mad, or a poor, person."
"Gwyneth," I finally responded distractedly, laying my hands upon her taffeta-covered arms, managing to keep the smile at my lips instead of the worried frown that wanted to surface. "It's a pleasure to see you as well. Where is your Lord husband?"
"Oh, he's still at home, probably drinking himself to death..." her voice faded away into the background as I gazed through her, listening to the nearby conversation.
"If anyone is mad, it is the Doctor himself." My fingers tightened upon Lady Poselthwaite's arms, wanting to strangle that self-righteous Lady Beconsfield for her scathing words. In a crowd of people tastefully garbed in neutrals and soft pastels, she'd had the poor taste to wear a God a hideous gown of bright purple, black and red, standing out just as she had desired. She held my father trapped beneath her regard, and I could almost see the tired sigh that trembled upon his lips. "Lord Danvers, there you are. We were just speaking of your future son-in-law and the proposal we'll soon have the dubious pleasure of hearing. I'm beginning to wonder, though," She paused, snapping her frilly, lacy fan closed and tapping on his chest with it. I could have sworn I saw his eye twitch as the harpy went on, "…If you're not the mad one, to let him marry your daughter."
I simply could not stand any more.
Offering my apologies to both Claudia and Lady Poselthwaite, I turned toward the brightly-colored old hag, my teeth bared in an icily formal smile. My father watched my approach with some alarm, but I had no time for him – not just now.
"If I remember correctly, Lady Beconsfield, it was my decision to take Henry as a husband, not my fathers." I paused by his side, resting a gentle hand upon his shoulder, which he covered with his own. "I am quite capable for making my own decision. I am, after all, a grown woman." I could tell by the scowl that deepened the lines in her heavily painted face that she didn't like my speaking up one bit. The unfortunate shade of lipstick made her look even more ghastly in her displeasure, as if she had a rotten plum for a mouth. The resemblance was heightened as her lips split in a poor semblance of a haughty smile. "A poor choice, I must say, my dear. Why, he is late for his own engagement party. I do believe that shows a remarkable lack of taste and breeding."
Father groaned as I smiled in return. "Dear Lady Beconsfield, I have always held that those who are lacking in the sense of taste and style should refrain from commenting on others." She stared at me, her bulging eyes giving her the impression of a cod, and tried to wither me with a glare. "Why, I never!" With another snap of her fan, she turned and stormed off in a trail of scarlet train without elucidating on just what she 'never'. Really, with her attitudes and prejudices, I found it amazing that she'd 'never' much more frequently than this. My father tsked softly, giving me a brief, reproachful glance before he chased after the meddling busybody. I managed to still my tongue before I gave another burn to the woman's too-swelled pride.
Never will I understand my father's need to appease that woman – his status is equal to her own. As he went to explain to Lady Beconsfield that Henry was in fact an impeccable candidate for a husband, I turned to John, finding him still trying to stop choking on his gin. He grinned broadly. "Just like your mother. She had a tongue that could cut the sails of a thousand ships."
"Lord knows she has enough hot air to power that many." With a sigh, I smiled to him and leaned in to embrace him warmly. "Thank you so much for coming, dear Mr. Utterson. Henry will be delighted to have you here." Easing back from the light squeeze of his arms, I glanced over his shoulder to the door, where my fiancé was at last making his arrival.
"Finally," I sighed softly and raised my eyes to John. "Thank you, my friend." He nodded, offering me a smile, then stepped back into the crowd to continue his conversations with the others. I watched Henry from afar. He looked tired, yet even now his eyes were bright with a trace of lingering excitement. Two of his colleagues caught him near the door. I turned to go and find my father, only to come face to face with a familiar man, one I had been dreading to see.
I inclined my head coldly. "Mister Stride..."