Page 9 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
"I thought it becoming on me," Eudora replied, as she adjusted the feathered monstrosity upon her head.
As the youngest of the Mifford girls, Eudora was always fighting to be seen as equal to her older sisters. This often led to her presenting herself in costumes more suited to a dowager dame than a young woman of eighteen, and, even more often, dressed in clothes which were not hers.
"And are they my stockings?" Mary added, spotting some familiar embroidered clocks as Eudora gave a twirl.
"No," Eudora was emphatic in her denial of the truth.
"And that's my reticule you're clutching," Jane added, though she sounded more amused than annoyed.
"I am borrowing it for the evening," Eudora replied evenly, "Honestly, it is not becoming of you both to be so possessed by your possessions."
"It is not becoming of a young lady to thief from her sisters," Mary retorted, as she noted with alarm that the cat on the bookcase was shredding her second-best pair of stockings.
"You have no idea how I suffer," Eudora sighed dramatically, "Always dressed in hand-me-downs, never with a gown or a ribbon to call my own."
"You can have all my ribbons if you wish," Emily offered, but her words were met with a scowl from Eudora, who had been enjoying throwing a pity party for herself.
"I shall never have anything of my own," Eudora continued, ignoring Emily's charitable gesture. "Not even a house or a husband, for you three will marry the most eligible men in Plumpton, and when it comes to my turn, only the dregs shall be left. Perhaps I should just resign myself to my fate and set up house with the butcher's boy at once."
"Keep the stockings," Mary interjected, as she recalled, with a pang of guilt, her vow to see her sisters married well, "Though on the condition that you wear them with the blue gown I had made in London. I cannot stand by and allow you to leave the house looking like an elderly dowager."
Eudora frowned, clearly confused by her elder sister's display of generosity. The blue gown was the height of fashion; it had short full sleeves, a modestly low neckline trimmed in lace, and a skirt which fell in generous falls, each one ornamented by a rouleau of satin and lace. It was by far the prettiest dress that any of the Mifford sisters had ever owned, and it was unthinkable to Eudora that Mary would offer it so freely.
"Why do you wish me to wear it?" Eudora asked, suspiciously.
"Because you are my sister and I love you, and I wish you to shine as brightly as the stars," Mary replied, enjoying the warm feeling that giving inspired within.
"No, really," Eudora furrowed her brow, "Why?"
"Because I love you," Mary reiterated, this time through gritted teeth, "And as I have now been set most decidedly upon the shelf, I have no need to wear such a beautiful gown. It is better if one of you wears it."
"On the shelf?"
Mrs Mifford had returned, with a sulky Nora in tow, and was glaring at her eldest daughter. Mary had not yet told her Mama of her decision to embrace a life of spinsterhood and, judging by Mrs Mifford's furious frown, it was not an idea that she would entertain.
"Who says you are on the shelf?" Mrs Mifford asked as she handed her armful of petticoats to Jane.
"Society says," Mary placed her hands on her hips, prepared for a fight, "I don't know if you realise, Mama, but I am two and twenty--practically barren!--with very little fortune to recommend me. It is time we gave up on the belief that any man might want me and focus our attention on seeing the others suitably matched."
"I don't wish to be suitably matched to anyone," Emily offered, but she was roundly ignored.
"I have never heard such utter dross in all my years," Mrs Mifford continued, "I was two and twenty when I married your father and look how happy we are."
"Did someone mention me?" Mr Mifford called mildly from the door.
"Hush, Albert," Mrs Mifford replied crossly, "Go away, you're not needed."
"You shall be the belle of tonight's assembly, Mary," Mrs Mifford continued, as her husband took himself away to the library, "You have just had a season in town; there's not many in Plumpton who can claim the same, apart from me, of course. I won't hear any more talk of you giving up on marriage. You will attend tonight's dance, and you will enjoy yourself; do you hear me?"
"I hear you," Mary replied.
She gave her mother a mutinous glare, though really, it was all for show. How splendid it would be to wear a lovely dress and dance gaily, she thought; she could play the part of the spinster tomorrow...
When the Mifford family arrived at The Ring'O'Bells later that evening, they found Mrs Canards seated at a table just inside the door, checking the vouchers. As this task was usually assigned to lesser beings than Mrs Canards, Mary suspected that the cantankerous old woman was attempting to veto entry to those she considered less than desirable--namely the entire population of Plumpton.
Mary was proved correct immediately, for as the family took their place in the queue, a kerfuffle broke out at Mrs Canards' table.
"What do you mean my subscription's not valid?" Daniel Fairweather roared, as his wife shrank with embarrassment beside him.
