Page 26 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"Until now," Mrs Mifford opined, flashing a bright smile in Ivo's direction, "Perhaps his lordship has plans to modernise the place a little?"
Allen, usually so stoic, turned a fascinating shade of red at Mrs Mifford's words.
"Plumpton Hall is one of the few stately homes in England which has not suffered from being modernised by its current custodians," Allen answered, his emphasis on the word modernised offering a hint of his true feelings.
"I shouldn't like to change the place too much," Ivo added, to distract Mrs Mifford, who looked faintly insulted, "Perhaps just fix a few things, so the roof does not collapse on us one night. I'm told there is a Long Room, Allen? Would you believe, Mrs Mifford, that I have not yet had a chance to view it, with the masses of paperwork I have had to sort through?"
Mrs Mifford preened at having been singled out for his attention, without realising that his request to see the Long Room was a distraction tactic. It served two purposes; to calm Allen down—for he looked most upset at the notion of Ivo making any changes to Plumpton Hall—and to get Miss Mifford into a room where Ivo might have a moment alone with her.
"I shall have the footmen light the sconces," Allen said, before waving to attract the attention of the two footmen who stood by the front door.
The two young men ran ahead of the group, and by the time Ivo and his guests reached the long room—after a ten minute stop to appreciate an Elizabethan chandelier—they found it bright and welcoming.
"I recall playing here as a girl with my sisters, when my great-uncle was viscount," Mrs Mifford sighed happily, as she gazed around the room.
As hinted by the name, the room was very long, running the entire length of the west-side of the house. One wall was lined with mullioned windows, which looked out onto the gardens, while the opposite wall was filled with portraits of the Crabb family, some dating back centuries.
Allen began to explain the history behind each painting and its subject, though the only guest who remained by his side to listen was Miss Eudora. Mr and Mrs Mifford began a slow promenade, arm in arm, down the length of the room, while Miss Emily wandered over to the windows to peer out at the view.
Miss Mifford, with her arms behind her back, sashayed gently along the row of portraits, coming to a stop before a particularly ugly fellow, wearing the outlandish fashions of the Carolean period, complete with an excess of ruffles, bows, and curls.
"I imagine it took him an age to dress in the morning," she commented idly, as Ivo came to a stop beside her.
"Er, yes," Ivo responded, a little stupidly, for his senses were somewhat overwhelmed at being so close to her. She wore a light, floral scent, which Ivo was certain was the exact scent of the heavens, and her hair, under the candlelight, revealed itself to be so much more than just brown. It was a rich chocolate, shot through with hints of auburn and gold, and so silky looking that for one—admittedly insane—moment, Ivo longed to reach out and stroke it.
"I have some news for you," Miss Mifford whispered, all business, "I have heard that your Mr Allen has been short with some of the staff, and another of your staff, Miss Flora Bridges, is the object of Mr Bennett's affections."
"Does Flora return his feelings?" Ivo pressed, his heart beating faster with anticipation. Had they found some sort of connection between Mr Bennett and his household?
"No," Miss Mifford pursed her lips, "Though she does make potions and tonics, the old-fashioned way."
"Lud," Ivo exhaled a deep sigh, as his mind conjured up an image of Flora. She was a small girl, bird-like almost, and seemed too timid to have been involved in anything nefarious. Though, perhaps this Mr Bennett had tricked her somehow...
"And what of Mr Allen?" Ivo asked, surreptitiously eyeing the butler from afar. He was certainly a cold-fish, with an obvious dislike for Ivo; it was much easier to picture him as the villain than poor Flora.
"One of your footmen, James, has had a disagreement with him," Miss Mifford answered, turning her brown eyes toward him pleadingly, "Though, I beg you, do not implicate him in anything. He needs his job to support his mother."
An unfamiliar emotion erupted in Ivo's breast, so foreign that it took him a moment to pin-point just what it was—jealousy. He longed to ask Miss Mifford how she had come across the tale of poor, woe-begotten, strapping and handsome James—a cosy cup of tea and sympathy?—but somehow managed to restrain himself.
"His sister, Nora, is our maid," Miss Mifford continued, and Ivo's shoulders sagged with relief, "She would never forgive me if I was somehow involved in him being dismissed."
"Rest assured, Miss Mifford," Ivo answered smoothly, "That shall not happen on my watch."
She smiled at him, a shy, trusting smile which tugged at Ivo's heart-strings, and he longed to tell her how beautiful she looked at that moment; bathed by candle-light and goodness.
His flowery words were not to be uttered, however, for they were quickly interrupted by Mr and Mrs Mifford, on their return journey from the end of the room.
"Don't you two look cosy?" Mrs Mifford twittered, her all-seeing eyes alight with pleasure, "My lord, I must ask you, what has happened to all the paintings? I count at least a dozen missing."
"I am the wrong person to question about that," Ivo answered, raising his eyebrows in surprise, "Mr Allen, can you shed any light on this matter?"
Allen, who had been explaining the history of another of the Crabb family tree's less fortunate looking members to an enraptured Miss Eudora, turned at the sound of his name.
"What's that, my lord?"
"Mrs Mifford believes that there are at least a dozen paintings missing," Ivo said, as the butler turned a funny shade of pink, "Do you have any idea where they might be?"
"Miss Hughes," Allen uttered the name as thought it was a vulgarism, "Had several portraits removed. She was not at all taken with the fifth or the sixth viscountesses—"
