Some very tiny awkward flinthamiltons back in London.
Lord and Lady Hamilton had numerous friends, some very close – who attended their salons –, some moderately – who were invited to dinner on occasions –, and some of the farthest kind. Tonight, the latter were concerned.
It was a ball. The house was one of the richest in London. Their host was a Duke (“obscure, and equally unbearable,” Thomas had said), and their hostess, the Duchess, was an acquaintance of Miranda. Before the dances started, she played the harpsichord. A piece by John Weldon, with John Weldon himself in the audience.
As the crowd began to move and sway around them, James declined Miranda’s offer for a dance. “At least allow me to introduce you to Miss Charlotte Wesley, Lieutenant,” she said, offering him her arm.
He frowned. “Miss Wesley?”
“You may have seen her at our residence,” Thomas said. “She sometimes takes part in my wife’s harpsichord lessons.”
“She is very charming, and sublimely witty,” Miranda pointed out.
James’ eyes went from Miranda to Thomas. He shook his head. “And may I ask what is the point of that introduction, specifically?”
Miranda’s eyes widened with candor. “She is single, James.”