Page 27 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"Lazy eyes," Mrs Mifford interjected knowingly.
"—and she had plans to turn the Long Room into a Print Room, similar to the one she had seen in Kettle House, in Bath."
"A print room?" Ivo queried, imagining a museum-like setting with rare prints displayed in glass cabinets.
"They're very popular with young ladies," Miss Emily helpfully enlightened him, "One collects prints, usually of a similar theme, and pastes them to the wall."
"Miss Hughes' theme was to be kittens," Mr Allen verified, with a wince of pain at the memory of such horror.
"How sweet," Mrs Mifford pronounced, "Kittens would be far preferable to the stuffy old gargoyles displayed here."
As Allen looked to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit—and Ivo did not blame him, for the thought of a room covered in kittens was horrifying—Ivo swiftly moved the conversation on.
"Try and find them, if you can, Allen," he bid the butler, who nodded silently in reply.
Mr Mifford, sensing that his wife was on the verge of wearing out their collective welcome, clapped his hands together brusquely.
"Well," he said, with a smile to Ivo, "On behalf of my family, I would like to thank you for a most hospitable evening, my lord."
"I hope that we may do it again soon," Ivo agreed, his eyes slipping to Jane to let her know that it was she to whom he was really speaking to.
The group returned to the entrance hall, where two footmen rushed forward with the Miffords coats and shawls. In a chorus of goodbyes and well wishes, the family then took their leave. As Ivo waved them off from the top step, he felt a strange pang of loneliness watching their gig pull slowly down the drive.
Despite Mrs Mifford's gaff-prone tongue, Ivo had thoroughly enjoyed being part of a family for an evening. And it had been delightful too to have Plumpton Hall filled with the sound of chatter and laughter.
As Ivo turned to return inside, a vision danced across his mind's eye; he and Miss Mifford standing together on the top step, waving her family goodbye after a cosy supper.
Of course, he thought to himself, for that vision to become a reality, Ivo would have to change one thing—he would have to make Miss Mifford his viscountess. A very appealing idea, indeed.
Chapter Seven
The Plumpton Parish Ladies' Society met one afternoon per month to discuss important matters such as rotas for the cleaning of the church, the prizes for the Twelfth Night tombola, and which of the villagers' spring flower-boxes were not meeting expected standards. Other matters which fell under the remit of the Society included the organising of the summer fete and the winter assemblies.
If one were to read a list of the Society's functions, one would assume that its meetings were light, pleasant affairs, dripped in gentleness and swimming in femininity. That assumption, however, would be entirely wrong.
As Jane sat listening to Mrs Canards and Mrs Price, the mantua maker, arguing hotly about the quality of jam at last year's spring tea, she was reminded of something she had once read; in any dispute the intensity of feeling is inversely proportional to the value of the issues at stake .
As the two elderly ladies continued to argue, Jane idly marvelled that the great powers of Austria, Great Britain, Prussia and Russia, had been able to agree to the Treaty of Vienna in a day, when Mrs Canards and Mrs Price looked set to battle over raspberry confiture for years, if left uninterrupted.
Mercifully, an interruption appeared in the form of Miss Sarah Hughes—unusually late—followed by her cousin, Miss Prunella Hughes. The latter was dressed in half-mourning, which gave her pallid appearance an even greyer sheen.
Jane had to bite her lip from gasping at the enormous transformation in Prunella's appearance; gone were her full rosy cheeks and dancing blue eyes, replaced by hollows and shadows which hinted at internal despair.
"Miss Hughes," Mrs Canards was the first to capitulate to the God of Gossip, "How pale you are!"
Prunella nodded a silent acknowledgement of Mrs Canards' greeting, and meekly followed her cousin to the two spare seats in the circle.
"Apologies for being late," Sarah said, smoothing out the skirts of her dress as she sat down, "It took us longer to prepare than I had anticipated."
Jane did not doubt that it was Prunella who had delayed them; from her lethargic, sad air, it was easy to imagine that the act of dressing or moving was a battle for her.
"You did not miss much, Sarah, dear," Mrs Mifford—who detested the Society's meetings—offered with a roll of her eyes, "We had somehow slipped off the topic of the forthcoming assembly, onto matters more mundane. Your appearance was most timely, and has offered those of us with little interest in conserves the opportunity to discuss other matters."
Mrs Canards' thin lips twisted into a pout of annoyance, while Mrs Price assumed the look of one who had been deeply offended. As nearly every member of the Ladies' Society had been offended by Mrs Mifford at one time or another, Jane did not allow any silence to linger after she had said her piece, for experience had taught her that quickly glossing over her mother's barbs was the only way forward.
"Yes," Jane smiled placatingly at the grouped ladies, "Let us decide on a date, as quick as we can. I know you all lead busy lives, and that your time here is voluntarily given."
"I think it's disrespectful to hold an assembly so soon after the late viscount's passing," Mrs Canards was the first to offer her thruppence on the matter.
