Page 88 of The Beast of Beswick
“Though I’m usually competent with a needle, I loathe embroidery,” she said, pouring herself a fresh cup of tea.
“It’s good for the spirit.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Yes, if one wants one’s spirit to depart one’s body prematurely from sheer boredom.”
“It’s a feminine accomplishment.”
Astrid darted a look at the older woman, focused studiously on her hoop. She wouldn’t have taken the duchess as someone with a penchant for needlework. It was too…uninteresting for someone of her passions. But perhaps she was wrong. Isobel hated reading, and they were sisters.
“Learning is an accomplishment. Education. Not threading a needle endlessly over a hoop in ridiculous patterns.”
Mabel arched her brows. “So get a book and read, if that pleases you.”
Astrid had tried to read. She really had, but her body had felt too on edge, her mind too busy to concentrate. She had read the same essay a dozen times before giving up. A few days ago, Thane had been called back to Beswick Park…something to do with one of his tenants, he’d said. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone, which meant she and Mabel were on their own for Lady Hammerton’s spring ball that evening. And Isobel’s planned scandal. Perhaps that was why Astrid was so on edge. She worried for her sister.
“Do you know Lady Hammerton well, Aunt Mabel?” she asked. Though Astrid knew that she must, considering it was because of Mabel that Astrid had managed to receive an invitation to the exclusive ball.
“Quite well, dearest. We went to finishing school together.”
“I haven’t seen her or been introduced to her in Town,” Astrid said.
“She’s been in Bath,” Mabel said, her needle flying with small, precise strokes. “Taking the waters there.”
“Her house parties, are they usually sedate?”
Mabel smirked. “You do know me, do you not? Suffice it to say that Eloise is twice the rakehell I am.”
“Rakehells are male,” Astrid pointed out.
“Who says? There are female rakes.”
“They’re called something else,” she said dryly.
“Yes,rakehellions.” Mabel huffed. “Eloise’s parties are nothing more than a buffet selection for her to choose her latest lover. And it is a testament of my fondness foryouthat I am not in attendance, since I, too, am currently between paramours. Why do you ask?”
“Isobel is planning something.”
Mabel perked up. “I knew that dear girl had a spine! What is she doing?”
“Apparently three of her suitors will be there, including Beaumont, and she intends to cause a scandal to end all scandals, she says.”
The duchess upended her embroidery hoop, sending it flying across the room, and burst into laughter. “Your sister has some big shoes to fill. The scandal to end all scandals went to me nearly thirty years ago when Eloise and I were caught frolicking in the Serpentine at midnight.” She paused with a dramatic flourish. “In our undergarments.”
“You didn’t!” Thirty years ago, Mabel would have been thirty-five, a few years after being widowed.
“We egged each other on terribly. No society rule could bind us.”
“Didn’t thetonshun you?”
“They tried, but I am a duchess. And Eloise a marchioness. After our husbands died, we were untouchable. They deemed us eccentrics and moved on to the next casualty of English superiority.”
Smiling, Astrid grabbed the hoop from where it had rolled and stared at it, horrified. And then Mabel’s earlier concentration suddenly made sense. The lovingly stitched image was not a leaf motif as hers had been. Instead, it was a…phallus. A very large, very detailed specimen, complete with a pair of embroidered testicles.
“Aunt Mabel!” she whispered. “What is this?”
She grinned without apology. “You’re a married woman; surely you know what that is.”
Astrid coughed. “I do, but why would you sew such a thing?”
