Page 18 of Hearts at Home

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“L ord Chadbourn still seems taken with you, Charis, thank goodness.” Mother sounded doubtful, and rightly so. Lord Chadbourn danced once with Charis whenever they were at the same event, ever since she confided that her affections were engaged. He had become something of a friend, which was a surprise, though slightly awkward. The Bath Assemblies didn’t attract many peers of the realm, and some of the other young ladies, used to thinking of Charis as a wallflower, resented her for Charbourn’s attention.

“Lord Chadbourn is coming back,” Matilda said. He was crossing the dancing floor, accompanied by a tall thin man with a narrow face and a mop of dark hair, and in moments, he bowed before Mother.

“Mrs. Fishingham, may I make known to you Mr. Taverton. Mr. Taverton has requested an invitation to meet your daughters, if it pleases you.”

Charis looked at the man more sharply. Taverton? As in Phillip Taverton? Eric’s tutor turned friend? The weight on her heart shifted, not quite letting go its grip, but suddenly shot through with hope.

Mother, after an assessing look that approved Taverton’s expensive tailoring. “My daughters, Mr. Taverton. Miss Fishingham, Miss Eugenie, and Miss Matilda.”

Taverton, having bowed to each of the sisters, turned back to Charis. “May I request a dance, Miss Fishingham? If you have one free?”

“I am not engaged for this dance, Mr. Taverton,” Charis admitted, ignoring Eugenie’s poke. Eugenie and Matilda would have made the man wait while they consulted their fans, on which they had written the names of those who had asked to be their partners. Charis had no patience for such games, even when she wasn’t near bursting with the need to find out what Mr. Taverton knew about Eric.

Mr. Taverton chose places near the front of the lines, and before long, they had danced their turn in and out of the other dancers, up the aisle between the gentlemen and the ladies, around one another, and back to the end, where they could stand out for a brief few minutes until the patterns of the dance needed their attention again.

“You dance like an angel, Miss Fishingham,” Mr. Taverton said.

What did that even mean? Charis shrugged it off. They had no time to debate whether angels danced, and if so, how. “Are you Eric’s Mr. Taverton?” she demanded, and Mr. Taverton’s polite smile broadened into a genuine grin. “I am, Miss Fishingham. Phillip Taverton, at your service.”

“Have you seen him? Is he well?” Her worst nightmare wasn’t that Eric had abandoned her. Somewhere in her every thought, waking and sleeping, was the fear that he lay somewhere injured, sick, or even dead. Travelling to Birmingham in the middle of winter? What was he thinking? What was she thinking, to wave him off without begging him to reconsider?

“Eric sent me. He asked me to apologize for the delay and assure you he is only a day or two behind me.”

The music and other clutter of the ballroom dimmed to a distant susurration as Charis’s knees turned to custard.

“Miss Fishingham?”

Mr. Taverton’s concerned voice gave Charis a focus as she struggled to firm her knees and stay upright. In the next instant, he had wrapped her hand over his arm, supporting her weight with his own strength. “Breathe, Miss Fishingham.”

Charis took a deep breath and another. Eric was safe. He had sent a message.

“Miss Fishingham turned her ankle a little and needs to sit down,” Mr. Taverton told someone, then, more quietly, “Can you manage a few steps? That’s it. Just a step or two more.”

Gently coaxing, he took her out into the hall beyond the ballroom and commandeered a bench seat near a window where they were decorously in full view of all the people promenading the hall but could have a private conversation. “I am sorry, Miss Fishingham. I should not have been so precipitate. You were worried about the young rogue.”

It wasn’t a question, but Charis answered it anyway. “I was. Thank you for bringing the message.” She longed to interrogate the man, but she didn’t know how far he was in Eric’s confidence.

“You are recovering your colour,” he observed. “Feeling a little more the thing?”

Charis nodded. “I must apologize, too, Mr. Taverton, for interrupting the dance.”

He waved that off with an expansive gesture. “No matter. Miss Fishingham, Eric said to tell you that his mission to Birmingham was delayed because the man he went to see was out of town, but he was ultimately successful. I’m afraid I’m responsible for the further delay. I’ve been looking into some business for him, and when I met him in London, I gave him some news he thought needed his immediate attention.”

“He was in London?” Wasn’t London a diversion out of his way back to Bath? She would not fret about him attending business instead of coming straight to her. She would not.

“Another errand associated with the first. To Doctor’s Commons, unless I miss my guess.” He smiled and winked, but Charis had never heard of Doctor’s Commons and had no idea how an errand there might be part of gaining her uncle’s consent to their marriage. She shook off the impulse to question Mr. Taverton further. It didn’t matter. Eric had gained that consent, was on his way to Bath, and had thought to send Mr. Taverton to reassure her.

“Charis Fishingham, why are you not dancing?” Mother bustled up talking loudly enough that the nearest ladies and gentlemen turned to watch the show.

Mr. Taverton stood politely and bowed. “Ah, Mrs. Fishingham, I am so glad you are here. Miss Fishingham turned her ankle a little and needed to sit down.”

“Charis?” Thankfully, Mother lowered her voice as she sat down on the other side of Charis.

“It feels a little better now, Mother. I am sure I shall be perfectly well if I do not dance again this evening.”

Mother frowned. “But it is too early to go home. Eugenie is dancing with Lord George Chadwick and Matilda with the Honourable Mr. Jonathan Thwaite.”

“I do not need to go home, Mother. I am happy just to sit.” As she had mostly done for the last three seasons, at least until Lord Chadbourn had favoured her with his notice, thereby attracting the attention of the other bachelors. She shot a grateful smile at Mr. Taverton for saving her from the dance floor for the rest of the evening.

Mother pursed her lips and nodded, her mind made up. “Mr. Taverton, you will escort my daughter back to my side when this dance is over.” She patted Charis’s hand and stood up.

“You should stay off your ankle as long as possible, and I need to keep an eye on the other girls.”

She sailed off, and Mr. Taverton resumed his place on the bench.

“I must apologize...,” Charis began.

“Not at all, Miss Fishingham. It is my pleasure and my privilege to sit out our dance with you. I should apologize that my prevarication has forced you to deceive your mother. But all shall be well when Eric comes.”

Charis was not so certain. Mother had her heart set on the earl, and a mere mister, whatever his connection to a titled family, would not meet with her approval. Still. Eric had the consent of Charis’s guardian, and besides, in just a few months, she would be of age. Mother might fuss, but no one could force Charis to marry where she did not love or not to marry where she did.

Meanwhile, here was the man who had shared Eric’s adventures in Italy, and they had at least another twenty minutes before this dance ended.

“Tell me, Mr. Taverton...” she began, “when did Eric find Ugo? It was in Italy, I know, but will you tell me the story?”