Page 32 of A Murder in Mayfair
Lady Rosalynd then motioned forward a younger version of herself. “This is Laurel. She’s never to be found without a book, as you can see.”
Indeed, one dangled from her hand. “Lady Laurel.”
Laurel murmured something I didn’t quite catch. Clearly, she resented the intrusion into her reading time.
“The twins, Holly and Ivy. Born on Christmas Day.”
“How do you do, Your Grace?” They spoke in unison while bending their knees. From the hoydenish light in their eyes, I guessed they were mischief makers.
“Fox, please come forward to be presented to the duke.” Once he’d done so, she introduced him. “Fox is the youngest male member of our family.”
“Lord Fox. The one who loves poisonous plants, I’ve heard.”
“Not only those, Your Grace. I also enjoy the carnivorous ones. They can be quite?—”
“Thank you, Fox,” Lady Rosalynd said, “you can discuss those another day.”
Fox returned to the window, his tail tucked firmly behind his legs. Poor lad. Odd that he was in London. He should have been at Eton or Harrow.
“And last but not least—Petunia.”
My breath caught once more. “Lady Petunia.”
“How do you do?”
“Your Grace, poppet. Remember?”
“I can count to one hundred,” Petunia said. “How high can you count, Your Grace?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Do you like fairy cakes?”
“I … suppose?” What the devil were fairy cakes?
Her nose wrinkled with disapproval. “You suppose? You either love them or not. I love them.” She flashed a grin that was missing two teeth. “Do you have any children?”
My heart stopped. “No. I don’t.”
“You’re being impertinent, Petunia. Come sit by me.” Grabbing Petunia’s arm, Lady Chrysanthemum dragged her away.
“But I?—”
“Here, have a fairy cake.” Lady Chrysanthemum shoved a cake in the little girl’s mouth.
That didn’t deter Lady Petunia, however. Once she finished her treat, she continued to speak. “Chrissie is making her debut this season. She’s been presented to the king and queen.”
“That’s excellent.”
“She sings and dances beautifully. And she knows how to play the pianoforte. She’ll make an excellent wife. Are you in the market for a wife, Your Grace?”
Lady Chrysanthemum choked on her scone. Holly and Ivy snickered. Laurel ignored the entire thing as her nose was firmly stuck to her book. Equally oblivious, Fox continued to stare out the window.
“No. I am not, Lady Petunia.”
Her lip curled. “A shame.”
“If your hunger has been satisfied, Your Grace,” Lady Rosalynd said, “let us move our discussion to the morning room. We should be able to enjoy a private conversation there.”
