Page 38 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
Prunella had not listened, and a few moments more of—highly uncomfortable—struggling had ensued. Ivo finally lost patience with the girl and was about to throw her off, when a movement had caught his eye.
"Miss Mifford," Ivo had croaked, as Jane stood stock-still, watching them.
"Forgive me," she had squeaked in reply, her face ashen. "I was simply helping Miss Hughes search for her cousin. I see you have found her. Jolly good, as you were."
Miss Mifford had darted off and, mercifully, her brief interruption had startled Prunella into loosening her vice-like grip on Ivo.
"Really, Miss Hughes, that is enough. Return inside at once, lest anyone sights us together."
Thankfully, Prunella had complied, and had fled from him without a backwards glance. Ivo had waited behind the carriage for a few moments to allow Prunella return to the dance, before he himself had set forth, hoping to find Miss Mifford so that he could explain himself.
Miss Mifford, however, had disappeared. Ivo had not been able to find her in the assembly rooms, and after a half an hour of fruitless searching, her sister—the youngest one, Eudora—had informed him that Miss Mifford had left.
"She had a sudden migraine," Eudora had said, peering at him from over her spectacles, "Which is most strange, for she doesn't usually suffer them."
Miss Mifford's sudden migraine had persisted through the night and into the next morning, for she had not been present at Sunday Service.
Once Mr Mifford had finished his sermon—a succinct meditation on resting on the seventh day—the villagers had stood to leave. Ivo dawdled as the church emptied, his eyes focusing on the ornate engraving of the Crabb Pew, which was located at the very top of the small church.
When he was certain that nearly everyone had left, Ivo picked up his hat and made his way down the aisle of the church to the door.
"A lovely sermon, Mr Mifford," he said to the vicar, who was standing outside to see his parishioners off, "Most concise."
"I am a great believer in Matthew 12:36," Mr Mifford replied, innocently, "On the day of judgement people will give account for every careless word they speak—and what could be more careless than a vicar parroting on and delaying everyone's Sunday luncheon?"
"How true," Ivo smiled.
The men were interrupted by the appearance of Mrs Mifford, who had been waiting for her husband at the gate, alongside Miss Emily and Miss Eudora.
"My lord," she cooed, "How lovely to see you. Alas, Jane is still suffering from a migraine and could not attend. She is so very sorry that she could not stay last night and have that second dance with you."
Poor Mrs Mifford had no idea that Ivo was well aware that she was putting words in her daughter's mouth. Still, he smiled graciously and gave a shrug.
"Another time," he answered, his tone more determined than he had intended, "Please tell Miss Mifford that I enquired after her."
"I shall," Mrs Mifford beamed with delight, "Do call for tea, if you are passing. Anytime at all, day or night, you are most welcome."
Ivo did not doubt that Mrs Mifford would throw open the door to him if he attempted to call at midnight, but it was not her welcome he was doubtful of.
"Thank you," Ivo answered, "I shall endeavour to call at a reasonable hour. Good day to you all."
With that, he donned his hat, made his way down the path and through the gate—with a quick hello to the Misses Mifford—to where his steed was tethered. Ivo mounted his ride and took off for Plumpton Hall at a brisk trot, anxiety at Miss Mifford's absence making him irritable.
He could not blame her for wishing to avoid him, not one jot, but he did hope that some day she might allow him to explain what had happened. Not that he was entirely certain of what had transpired—and why—himself.
Prunella had never given any inclination that she liked him—rather the opposite, in fact. It was difficult to believe that she had been secretly harbouring feelings for him all this time, though Ivo did not know what else to think. It was possible that she was so determined to be a viscountess that she had thrown herself at him in the hope that he would compromise her and be forced to offer for her hand, but Ivo did not wish to believe that any lady would act in such a manner.
Ivo arrived at Plumpton Hall perplexed, annoyed, and anxious. He was filled with a restless energy which needed to be diverted somewhere. As he cantered up the drive, he caught sight of Allen peering out at him again from one of the windows on the top floor, and he suddenly knew where he wished to expend all his fire.
Once he had returned his horse to the stables, Ivo stormed into the house, his footsteps drawing the attention of Mrs Hardbottle.
"What have I told you boys about clomping on my clean tiles with your mucky boots?" she grumbled, as she emerged from the kitchen.
"Oh, my lord," she stuttered, as she realised that it was Ivo and not an unruly footman she was addressing, "I do apologise."
"No need to apologise," Ivo answered, "I am more than grateful for your passioned defence of my tiles. Tell me, Mrs Hardbottle, where might I find Mr Allen?"
"In his office, I suspect," the housekeeper replied, "And if he's not in his office, he'll be in his drawing room beside that. Shall I have one of the footmen fetch him?"
