Page 52 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
And he would not, for he was a man of action now, who knew that he would regret spending even one more day without her as his bride.
Epilogue
A month after Mary and Henry had wed, making her both the happiest lady in the Cotswolds and the Duchess of Northcott at the same time, Mary attended a meeting of the Plumpton Parish Ladies' Society.
"I thought our little meetings would be below you now," Mrs Canards said, by way of greeting, when Mary arrived into the hall.
Mrs Canards' face was twisted into an ugly grimace, as though she had eaten something particularly sour, and though it was not the friendliest of greetings, Mary simply smiled in reply.
Happiness, her father always said, was the best revenge, and Mary was brimming over with such joy that she was certain Mrs Canards would cast up her accounts with bitterness before the meeting's end.
"Isn't it just the most beautiful day?" Mary breathed, dreamily, as she slipped into a chair.
Mrs Canards scowled in reply, as raindrops began to lash against the window panes.
"Love makes sun where there are clouds," Miss Hughes observed, with an indulgent smile to Mary.
"It can also make people nauseous if spoken about too much," Mrs Canards interrupted, "And there are other things—far more important things—which we need to discuss."
"Such as?" Jane questioned, a smile playing on her lips.
"Damp mould," Mrs Canards bristled, "In the rear of St Anne's. Someone will need to go at it with some vinegar water and a cloth."
"I shall do it tomorrow," Mary volunteered, eliciting a few startled glances from the assembled ladies.
"My dear," Mrs Mifford leaned forward in her chair, "You are a duchess."
"Just because I am a duchess does not mean that I cannot still muck in," Mary replied, a little irritated, "I almost miss cleaning; in Northcott Manor, if I so much as spill a drop of tea, a dozen servants come rushing over to tidy it up. I do not even turn the sheets on my bed down at night, for there is someone employed to do that for me."
Mary glanced at Mrs Canards, to see if her earnest wish to remain humble had sweetened her bitterness, but to her surprise, Mrs Canards looked even more cross than before.
"Fine," Mrs Canards snapped, writing it in the minutes, "Her Grace will clean the mould—or one of her many servants will do it if she decides it beneath her."
Ah; Mary realised too late that what had upset Mrs Canards so was that Mary had a household staff of thirty in Northcott Manor, and Mrs Canards had a household staff of none. She would remember not to mention them at the next meeting, she decided, nor would she mention the four other fully-staffed estates she was now mistress of....
The meeting carried on as usual, with cleaning duties of both churches divvied up between the ladies. The matter of the next assembly, which would be held at the next full moon, was then discussed. Mrs Canards, Mary noted, did approach its organisation with the same zeal with which she had approached the ball held for the duke.
"Should we reserve the seats at the top of the room for ladies of precedence of the rank of a Peer or Peeress of Great-Britain or Ireland?" Jane queried innocently, in a direct echo of Mrs Canards' words some weeks ago.
"I hardly think that necessary," Mrs Canards sniffed, her tune changed now that someone she had once regarded as inferior ranked above her. "There won't be any peers in attendance; a country assembly is not fitting for anyone of rank."
"Perhaps a person of rank is best suited to decide which events they will deign to attend," Jane answered, unable to hide her scowl of annoyance.
It looked as though the two were going to have a spat, Mary fretted, though, thankfully, before either Jane or Mrs Canards could speak again, Miss Hughes interrupted.
"I think it a good idea," she said, with a nod to Jane, "After all, with Lord Crabb now engaged it is expected that he will attend to show his bride-to-be off to the village."
As no one had known about the engagement, this news set the whole group off into a buzz of whispers and distracted Mrs Canards from her mission to vex any person with a pulse.
Mary, who was just as surprised as the others to learn that the octogenarian had decided to take one final stab at matrimony, listened curiously as Sarah explained all.
"It is my cousin, Prunella," Miss Hughes told her captive audience, "She is the daughter of Sir Charles and just gone eighteen."
"A love match, by the sounds of it," Mrs Canards cackled, though Mary was inclined to agree with her crude assessment. One could hardly expect that a girl just out of the schoolroom could truly love a man with one foot in the grave. Perhaps, had Lord Crabb been charming or kind one might have understood it, but as he was neither—and a lot less besides—it truly did sound like a dreadful match for poor Prunella.
"They will be married next month," Sarah continued, pointedly ignoring Mrs Canards' remark, "And she will become Lady Crabb. I expect she shall want to join in on our meetings, I hope you will all make her feel welcome."
"I feel sorry for that lad who was supposed to inherit," Mrs Mifford sighed, having not listened to Sarah's plea for kindness from her fellow society members, "Imagine spending your whole life thinking you were set to inherit, then—bang!—a pretty face comes along and produces an heir at the last minute. I hope that he has not borrowed too heavily against the expectation that he will inherit a title."
