Page 4 of A Murder in Mayfair
I came to my feet and swung her around. “You’re always starving, poppet.”
“I can’t help it,” Petunia said after I placed her safely on the ground. “I’m growing like a weed.”
I propped my hands on my hips. “And who, pray tell, made that inappropriate remark?”
“Cosmos.”
Our oldest brother. An expert botanist who tended to associate most things with his chosen vocation.
“That was very improper of him.”
“I like it. He notices me.”
“Of course, he does.” She was such a lively child, no one could help but notice her. “Now let’s get you fed before youstarve!”
Giggling, she curled her hand around mine.
As we made our way to the drawing room, there was some skipping involved. At seven years of age, Petunia possessed an exuberant spirit that wasn’t still for long. We arrived to find most of our other siblings, as well as our grandmother, the dowager Countess of Rosehaven, already there. Every Monday, she joined us for tea, ostensibly to spend time with her grandchildren. Chastising me for my sad lack of husband was an added treat.
“Good afternoon, Grandmother,” I said, kissing her cheek. “I trust you’re in good health.”
“Other than a pair of creaking knees and the occasional heart flutter, I’m fit as a fiddle.” With her impeccably arranged silver hair and her snapping black eyes, she made an imposing figure. And that was before she expressed one of her decided opinions.
“You’ll outlive us all, ma’am,” I said.
“Seeing how I’m seventy-six years of age, I doubt that very much.” She was eighty-one, not that she’d ever admit it.
“My new gowns arrived,” Chrissie whispered as I settled next to her on a sofa. Having reached the age of eighteen, my next younger sister was making her debut this season and couldn’t be more excited.
“That’s wonderful, Chrissie.”
“What’s that?” Grandmother asked in her booming voice. Along with creaking knees and heart flutters, she was hard of hearing.
“The modiste delivered my new evening dresses, Grandmother,” Chrissie said in a louder voice.
“Good thing you’re making your debut this year. If you’d waited much longer, you would have turned into a spinster.” She narrowed her gaze at me. “Like your sister.”
“Chrissie was suffering from a chest complaint last year, Grandmother, so I felt it best to wait.”
“With her beauty and charm, Chrysanthemum would have snagged Lord Barlow. But because she wasn’t there, the Whittier girl stole the march on her. What he saw in that insipid chit is beyond me.”
“He fell in love.”
The dowager stamped her cane on the floor. “He could have fallen in love with your sister just as well.”
“Chrissie will not lack for suitors, Grandmother. Other eligible gentlemen do exist.” Offering my sister a soft smile, I patted her hand.
“You think so, Rosie?” Chrissie asked shyly.
“I know so.” Who could not help but be attracted to her sweet disposition and winsome smile, never mind her strawberry gold tresses and aquamarine gaze. She was a beauty in every sense of the word.
Thankfully, Grandmother ceased her fire long enough for everyone to enjoy the wonderful repast. Scones, sandwiches, fairy cakes, and her favorite, oolong tea.
“How was your meeting, Rosie?” Chrissie asked while everyone was busy satisfying their hunger.
“We decided to send our petition for women’s suffrage to the House of Lords. I’ve been writing the first draft.”
“Which I’m sure will be splendid,” Chrissie said.
