Page 2 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
Emily reddened, for she realised the duke and her sister had forgotten her presence--something which happened to her frequently with most people, for she was the quietest of the four Mifford girls. She made haste to slip away discreetly, but unfortunately, she tripped on the hem of her new gown and went flying into a potted Ficus.
"Emily," Mary's cheeks were pink, as the noise alerted her to her sister's continued presence, "Where are you off to? I hope you're not trying to evadeSylvie."
Though she was a duchess, and as such held the title of one of the highest peerages in the land, Mary dropped her voice to a nervous whisper as she uttered the name of her lady's maid. The young French woman--who had come highly recommended by theton--terrified not only Mary, but her three sisters, and the Duke of Northcott too--who, being tall and broad, was not a man who scared easily.
"Do we have to go to Lady Collins' musicale?" Emily answered, avoiding the question with one of her own, "We've been out every night since I was presented; couldn't we juststay infor once?"
"Once you've come out you can't go back in," Mary admonished, conveniently forgetting that after her own disastrous come-out, she had returned to Plumpton and declared that she would never leave the village again.
"I don't want to go back in forever," Emily countered, "I'd just like an evening to myself to read, or paint, or even stare at the wall in silence for a few hours."
"Get talking to one of Lady Collins' daughters," Northcott advised, dryly, "Their conversation is about as stimulating as staring at a wall."
"Hush, Henry," Mary chided, though a smile played about her lips.
The pair of love-birds shared another three-minute-egg gaze, and Emily once again made to slip away--though this time her retreat went unnoticed.
It was nice to see that Mary and the duke were so besotted with each other, but sometimes Emily wished that they would be a little less flagrant with their contentment. Not only did it make things a tad awkward--for one could not help but feel awkward in a grouping of three when two participants insisted on making cow-eyes at each other--but it had also made Mary determined that her sisters should have the chance to experience the happiness she now felt.
Her intention to give her sisters a come-out so that they might find husbands was admirable, but slightly misguided--as Mary's intentions were often wont to be.
Emily was not the type of lady a London gentleman would seek out for a wife, even if shewasgarbed in fine new gowns and afforded a hefty dowry courtesy of Northcott and Lord Crabb.
The ladies of thetonwere charming and witty, and knew just what to say and when to say it. Emily, on the other hand, possessed neither charm nor wit, and had an unfortunate habit of saying the wrong thing, to the wrong person, at the wrong time--a skill which would not nab her a husband.
Not that she wished to nab one, anyway, for Emily was quite content to finish the season and return to Plumpton unwed--another point that Mary refused to acknowledge in her hare-brained scheme to see her sisters marry.
As Emily tripped up the staircase to her bedchamber, where she wished to read for the afternoon, she vowed to do as much as she possibly could to foil her sister's plan to see her partnered off, not--she admitted, with a reluctant smile--that it would take much effort.
All Emily had to do was remain her entirely un-marriageable self, and try not to draw any attention her way. How difficult could that be?
Lord and Lady Collins, along with their two daughters, occupied a grand house in Grosvenor Square. When Emily, Mary, and Northcott entered the large music room, they found that the others had already arrived before them.
"We were beginning to think you'd cried off on us," Ivo, Lord Crabb, muttered, as the trio came to join the group.
"Wouldn't let you suffer such an odious fate alone, old boy," Northcott answered, as he gestured for Emily and Mary to take a seat beside their mother, Jane, and Eudora--the youngest of the Mifford girls.
"We're just going to slip out for a cheroot, before the performance begins," Emily heard Northcott whisper to his wife, before he and Lord Crabb disappeared to the library.
"I did not think Lord Crabb smoked," Eudora commented, once they had left.
"He doesn’t," Jane was dry, "But even I'd take it up, if it meant I could skip the performance. I hear tell the talent of the lovely ladies of household can be likened to the sound of cats being tortured."
"You're one to judge," Mary sniffed, for Jane had no talent for music.
"True, but I don't invite people to come listen to me play and call it entertainment," Jane replied, offering her sister a smile which looked sweet, but which Emily knew was far from it.
"The music does not matter," Mary whispered, refusing to be drawn into a squabble, "What matters is that Lady Collins has invited every eligible gentleman in town to come this evening, in the hopes that one of them will offer for one of her daughters."
"And you're hoping that a couple of the invitees get distracted by your own single charges?" Jane guessed, to which Mary beamed.
"I hardly think Lady Collins would be best pleased, if she knew that's why we're all here," Eudora commented, frowning over the brim of her wire-spectacles--which she wore merely for show, "It hardly seems sporting."
"Oh, hush. Don't be so saintly, Eudora," Mary retorted, but she was interrupted by Mrs Mifford, who had paid no attention to her daughters' chatter.
"Goodness, is that Lady Jacobs?" Mrs Mifford cried, her voice far too loud to be considered intimate, "She came out the same year as I did--hasn't she gotten fat?"
"Mama," Emily winced, as several heads turned their way.
