Page 74 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Soon, Agatha had the eight of them performing something that almost resembled a quadrille, as long as one didn’t take note of the giggling and the blasphemies that Davenport threw in for good measure.

Once their practice was over, the men pushed the furniture into place. Tea, sandwiches, oranges, and biscuits were served, and the lively gathering continued. Unfortunately, Nicolas would have to wait a bit longer to share his good news.

Bridget came up behind Nicolas and wrapped her arms around him. “Wait until you see Josephine’s dress. Madame did a fabulous job with it. She will be the diamond of the ball.”

“’Tis lovely,” Isabelle said. “The rest of us will look quite ordinary next to Josephine.”

Josie colored up, and her posture stiffened. Nicolas sent her a reassuring smile, and her shoulders dropped into place.

“The three of you will be the most beautiful woman in attendance,” Agatha said, referencing Josie, Bridget, and Isabelle.

Davenport leaned back in his chair and surveyed his harem. “Wentworth, we have our work cut out for us protecting these ladies from the scalawags who will be sniffing about.”

More than likely, Davenport would be the biggest of those scalawags and he best keep his sniffer away from Nicolas’s sister.

“Speaking of reprobates at the ball,” Bridget said. “Agatha, have you taught Josie how to communicate with her fan?”

“I hardly think that will be necessary,” Agatha said. “We only need her to capture Tristan’s attention.”

“But a fan is almost as useful as a fist,” Bridget declared. “May I borrow yours, Agatha?”

“Do not give my sister a fan,” Nicolas said. However, his warning went unheeded as Agatha passed his sister a massive one, purple and pink plumage resplendent.

Bridget stood front and center as if she were playing charades or was an actress in some Shakespearean comedy. She opened the fan and fluttered it, tilting her head back and grinning as if she was enjoying the breeze.

“Firstly, whenever a man stares at you, just hold your fan in front of your face like this.” Bridget hid her face behind the plumage. “Let him know you are having none of it.” The feathers tickled her nose and she sneezed.

“That makes perfect sense,” Josephine declared with a smile.

Undaunted, Bridget peeked around the fan and blew a renegade feather from her nostril. “And if a man with warts on his nose, who is old enough to be your grandfather approaches you and asks you todance—and believe me those nasty-old creatures will be all over you like bees on a flower—you simply do this.” With a flick, she closed the fan and pretended to smack the pretend lech standing in front of her. “Remove yourself from my sight this instance or I will thwack your nose again, you abhorrent man.”

Josie’s hand over her mouth did not hide her giggle. Neither did the method work when Isabelle and Frances covered their own mouths with their hands.

“Agatha, I told you not to give her a fan,” Nicolas said. He and George had spent their youths as casualties of Bridget’s broken fan collection.

“And say an attractive man approaches you, gloating and looking quite sure of himself and insists you dance with him because he is well…attractive, tell him, ‘No, my lord. You are an arrogant fool and if you do not leave me be I shall have to teach you a lesson.’” Bridget swished her wrist, and her fan opened. She lunged forward, sluicing her fan through her imaginary attractive man. “Take this,” she called as her “weapon” sliced him into a dozen pieces.

Josie grabbed her ribs, doubling over in laughter. Soon, Isabelle joined her. Even Agatha and Jonathon laughed.

Bridget halted her swashbuckling fan circus to take a bow.

Josie composed herself and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “You are quite humorous, Bridget. The ball will be enjoyable with you. If only you could join us, Franny.”

Frances blanched. “I think not. I would prefer to hear about your evening second hand.”

“Could Franny come to dinner the following day?” Josie asked.

“Indeed,” Jonathon said. “And Frances, why don’t you bring your father? Josie speaks so highly of him.”

Both pugilists’ eyes widened in horror. Why did inviting their beloved patriarch to dinner fill them with dread?

“Frances, you are welcome here anytime,” Agatha said. “And wewould love your father to join us.”

“I will send a carriage,” Jonathon said. “We will expect both you and your father for our evening meal. As for the ball, Bridget and Isabelle, our carriage will pick you up around nine.”

“Then, everything is settled.” Agatha bobbed her chin. “No matter what the next few days bring, I want you all to know that you are like my nieces and nephew and are welcome here any time.” She dabbed at her eyes.

There was much female hugging, kissing cheeks, andoohing andahhing as Nicolas and Jonathon sat back and watched, prodigious smiles splitting their cheeks.