Page 7 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
What would become of her, and her family, if the next Lord Crabb was to bestow the living at Plumpton upon someone else?
"While that might be true," Cecilia agreed, "You owe your own tenants more certainty. You must marry soon, Henry, and secure an heir."
"Perhaps I shall marry sooner than you think, mother," Henry replied, his mind filled with Miss Mifford, though deep down he knew she was not really a suitable candidate to be his duchess.
"You won't unless you allow me to invite some eligible ladies down," Cecilia sighed, "For you won't find a bride in Plumpton--there's no society to be had here. Your secretary tells me the only invitation you have received so far is from the Parish Ladies' Society, who wish to hold a dance in your honour. I hardly think you'll find a wife hiding amongst the unwashed masses in a country assembly room--imagine!"
"Yes, imagine," Henry replied, though really he was doing just that.
Chapter Three
As well as the cleaning and upkeep of both of the town's churches, Plumpton's Parish Ladies' Society had two other very important functions. The first was the organising of the annual summer fête, which took place on the village green, and required very little actual organising.
The second was the management of the Ladies' Assemblies, which ran once a month from September until March in the assembly room above The Ring'O'Bells Inn. Previously, given that there was very little society in Plumpton, the organising of the assemblies had been quite an easy affair, but with an invitation now extended to the duke, its members had become most particular--though some more than others.
"No clerks to be admitted," Mrs Canards called, the day the assembly was due to take place, as she read aloud from a list of new rules she had concocted, "No shopkeepers, excepting Mr Allen, the seats at the top of the room are to be reserved for ladies of precedence of the rank of a Peer or Peeress of Great-Britain or Ireland, the gentlemen are not to wear coloured scarves--"
"Bah," Mary interrupted disagreeably, "We shall have no one in attendance with all these rules, Mrs Canards."
"His Grace will be in attendance," Mrs Canards answered coolly, as, beside her, Mrs Wickling nodded in agreement.
"Well, he shall find himself in an empty room," Mary laughed, "No men in coloured scarves--do you think us in London, where every gentleman has a sparkling white cravat to hand?"
"Fine," Mrs Canards frowned, "I shall strike that from the list."
"And you can't suddenly refuse all the shopkeepers attendance," Jane Mifford added her voice to Mary's argument, "For they pay their subscription just like everyone else and they will attend every ball this winter, whilst His Grace might disappear again and then where would we be?"
"Merchants and their families will lower the tone," Mrs Canards huffed, casting a glare at the assembled ladies, who were seated in a circle.
"The tone is already lowered," Mrs Mifford gave a giggle, "You might not be able to imagine it Mrs Canards, but having moved amongst the ton, I know the places His Grace frequents; Carton House, Almack's, the finest homes in England. Our tiny gathering will little impress him, even if we do bar all the clerks and shopkeepers. In fact, I cannot think why he accepted the invitation in the first place."
Mary bit back a groan; while she knew her mother only wished to come to her defence, she had done so in the only way that she knew how--by reminding everyone that she was better than them. Well, that she thought she was better than them.
Mrs Canards visibly bristled at Mrs Mifford's words and Mary scrambled to think of something to say which might remedy matters.
"His Grace would not have accepted our invitation if he thought our assembly beneath him," Mary assured the room, "I am certain that he is very much looking forward to attending."
Mary nervously tucked a strand of hair which had escaped back under her mob-cap. The dratted thing was too large, but given that mob-caps were de rigueur for spinsters, she had felt obliged to wear one.
"And while some of your rules might not work," Mary continued, striving for harmony, "I do agree with the others; no boots in the room, sixpence a ticket for those without a subscription, married ladies and ladies of precedence to have first call before eight o'clock."
"Yes, those are good ideas," Miss Sarah Hughes agreed quickly, recognising Mary's mission to mollify Mrs Canards, "How clever."
"I might never have been to town," Mrs Canards sniffed, "But I have been around a long time, and I know that if one wishes to keep the riff-raff away, one must set rules."
Mrs Wickling nodded furiously in agreement; a quiet woman of sixty years, she seemed to exist only to validate Mrs Canards' pronouncements and held no opinions of her own.
"Well, if that's settled," Mrs Mifford interrupted, "Perhaps we might call the meeting to an end?"
Her mother, Mary knew, wished to hurry home so that they all might begin preparing for the evening's event. As it was not yet noon and Mary had no wish to start dressing seven hours early, she lingered in the parish hall as the others gathered their things and left.
"I shall help Mary with the tidying up," Jane called to their mother, who was ushering Emily and Eudora out the door.
"Well, don't dally," Mrs Mifford replied, "There is work to be done if we are to tame that hair of yours into something presentable."
"Charming," Jane snorted, as the door slammed shut behind their Mama.
"Well, you are her only hope, now that I am officially on the shelf," Mary replied, as she began to push the chairs back into place, "And you often say yourself that your hair has a mind of its own."
