Chapter Twenty-Four
P
“Do the Nappers know I’m only nineteen?” Though Charlie’s confidence had grown over the past fortnight, he still had many moments when his self-doubts resurfaced, always in regard to his being too young for something or simply unwanted.
Was this a common struggle for younger siblings? Linus didn’t think Artemis had this particular worry.
“I would imagine they do,” Linus said. “Yours is a well-known family. Your name and age and quite possibly your favorite color are likely public knowledge.”
“My favorite color?” Charlie laughed a little. “How is it they know something I don’t?”
“I will let you in on a secret.” Linus leaned forward, closing the gap between them in the carriage. “The matrons’ gossip circle possesses the second sight.”
“Do they?”
Linus nodded solemnly. “They can see your future, provided that future involves one of their daughters.”
“Or nieces?” Charlie asked a little too innocently.
Charlie hadn’t been present when the Hamptons had pressed the idea of a match between himself and Arabella. Still, he’d apparently heard about it.
“I didn’t imagine the rumors, it would seem.”
“Unless I was imagining them too,” Charlie said. “And Arabella as well.”
“She started doing a lot more walking.” That told a story unto itself.
“She was escaping the whispers.”
“Either that or she found a treasure map and was seeking out her fortune.”
Charlie shot him a look of commiseration. “And you won’t see a single gold coin from the hull of any galleon we discover. Pity.”
“Sunken treasure, you say? Lud, I should have encouraged the rumors.”
“You should have started them.”
Linus couldn’t help laughing, something he did often in Charlie’s company.
The young gentleman had lightened considerably these past two weeks.
His personality had emerged more. Though Linus knew better than to say as much out loud, the lad reminded him of Lord Lampton: quick with a smile, always up for a lark, and endlessly entertaining.
The carriage slowed. A moment later, both he and Charlie emerged in good spirits.
Their host and hostess welcomed them warmly.
The Misses Napper, of whom there were three, seemed even more delighted than their parents.
The vicar had been invited as well, no doubt to even up the numbers.
He, however, was not a young man by any means.
None of the sisters appeared terribly interested in their oldest guest. Charlie would quickly realize that being a little young was preferable in these situations.
They were soon situated at the dining table, Charlie on one side, sandwiched between the second and third daughters of the household.
Though he at first seemed at a loss to know what he was meant to do, he quickly found his footing.
He conversed easily, flirting harmlessly.
He would be a favorite in Society in another few years.
Arabella would have been pleased to see Charlie doing so well. She spoke of all the Jonquils with such tenderness. Their happiness mattered to her, no doubt because their father had shown her kindness.
Arabella. How often his thoughts returned to her.
Had Lampton adequately shielded her from her aunt and uncle?
Was she finding her place in the dowager’s household?
Was she happy? Did she miss him? If Dr. Scorseby were even half as attentive as he’d been during the house party, Arabella had likely not even noticed Linus’s absence.
He reminded himself of that firmly before focusing once more on the current evening’s engagement.
His companion was the oldest of the Napper sisters.
She spoke very little, and he was not entirely certain why.
She did not seem overly bashful, but neither did she give the impression of feeling herself above her company.
“Your family was kind to invite us this evening,” he said.
“We have been anxious to make yours and Mr. Jonquil’s better acquaintance.” Miss Napper then returned all her attention to her plate.
This was different from Daphne’s bashfulness.
Even when she was at her most timid, she made a concerted effort to try to converse and interact.
How ought he to respond? He didn’t wish to make the lady uncomfortable, yet neither did he want to leave her feeling neglected.
Around him, the others’ conversations swirled unhindered.
Mr. Napper spoke, pulling Linus’s attention to him. “I understand you and young Mr. Jonquil here have been quite busy laboring about your estate.” His feelings about that laboring were not apparent in his tone.
Still, Linus was not ashamed of the work they were doing.
Indeed, it brought him his first glimmer of excitement about the life he had returned to England to live.
“I am a naval man, accustomed to the arduous labor necessary for survival at sea. Were I forced to adopt a life of unending leisure, I am certain I would run mad.”
While Mr. Napper did not appear to truly agree, his nod indicated that he at least understood.
Not wishing Charlie to be questioned for his assistance, Linus continued. “Mr. Jonquil has been a tremendous help, enduring my odd propensity for working at the tasks most gentlemen consider beneath them. Perhaps I will convince him to seek a career in the navy as well.”
The suggestion sent the younger Misses Napper into a running dialogue, at once insisting that Charlie would be the very best of sailors, dashing in his uniform, and, at the same time, in such danger at sea that they could not countenance the idea.
Linus could not have planned this evening better if he had tried.
The physical work had helped give Charlie a sense of purpose.
Their growing friendship and camaraderie had given him a feeling of belonging and importance.
But few things did as much good for a young man’s too-often fragile sense of worth than the notice of a young lady.
Being the last in a large family of brothers who were not exactly hideous had likely meant he’d been many times overlooked.
“If the two of you are not opposed to arduous tasks,” the vicar said, “there is a patch of loose slate on my roof. You would save me the trouble of climbing up there myself.”
Though the vicar obviously spoke in jest, Charlie, without hesitation, said, “I can be there in the morning.”
He met Linus’s eye, confidence in his expression. Linus felt a surge of pride. Here was the person Charlie ought to have been all along: one who didn’t question whether he could make a difference or wonder if he was needed. Now if only Linus could find an equal measure of that for himself.