Page 6 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"Well, you give the appearance of a footman," Lady Hardthistle sniffed, "Especially with those shoulders. Now, out of my way, I am in need of the ladies' relieving room."
The baroness barged past her, with a weak-looking lady's maid following in her wake and took the same route that Emily had taken earlier.
I hope she bumps into my friend, Emily thought with a smile; never had two people been more deserving of each other's company.
Mary fell upon Emily the moment she entered the drawing room.
"Where were you?" the duchess hissed, "I checked by all the large potted plants, for that's usually where you can be found hiding, but you weren't there. I did find Sir Cadogan muttering ominously to himself about double-crossing, hatchet-faced wenches; he assured me his comments were not aimed my way, but at someone else--though he would not share who, which is most unfair."
"Lady Hardthistle sold him a barren mare," Emily helpfully supplied, "He was most put-out; he threatened to wring her neck."
"I don't think anyone would blame him, even if they didn't know about the mare," Mary grimaced, "She's an odious creature--but I don't wish to talk to you about that horrible old bat--I wish to discuss Northcott's friend, Lord Chambers. He's the opposite of odious."
"Lord who?" Emily blinked, startled by her suddenvolte-face.
"Lord Frederick Chambers, Marquess of Highfield," Mary sighed, happily, "He's handsome, single, and one of Northcott's chums from Eton, so he can introduce you both. Oh, look! That's him there, just come through the door. Tell me, what do you think?"
Emily's stomach flipped as she glanced in the direction that Mary was nodding in and caught sight of Lord Chambers. The marquess was none other than her friend from the library.
"I think I'd sooner marry one of the potted plants," Emily answered, turning her gaze away from the dashing marquess.
"At least you are now agreeing to marriage of some kind," Mary, ever optimistic, replied cheerfully, as she linked her arm through Emily's, "That's progress of sorts, though I do think we can aim higher than a philodendron. Come, if even a sinfully handsome marquess cannot tempt you this evening, then let us see if any of the desserts can. I spotted a raspberry blancmange earlier; it was wobbling so much it put me to mind of our departed Mr Parsims. Do you recall how his jowls used to wobble when he was upset? Lud, but I am hungry."
Emily could only conclude that Mary's professed hunger, after such an unedifying description of the blancmange, had something to do with her being in the family way. Still, despite her own lack of desire for the cake, Emily was glad to accompany her sister to the buffet table, for food was certain to distract Mary from her matrimonial machinations for quite some time. And then, once she was finished eating, the dyspepsia would kick in and she would force Emily and Northcott to accompany her home.
"What are you grinning at?" Mary asked, as she caught sight of Emily's happy smile.
"Just that a woman in your state would well deservetwohelpings of pudding," Emily answered innocently, as she handed her sister a plate.
"You are a dear sister," Mary smiled so gratefully at her, that for a moment Emily felt guilty.
But as the duchess turned to the buffet table, her skirts whirling, and Emily caught sight of the familiar clocks which decorated the ankles of her stockings, and felt her guilt dissipate completely.
"Thief," Emily murmured to herself, causing Mary to turn her head.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," Emily replied sweetly, as she added a slice of spiced-lemon cake to her sister's plate, "Do eat up."
Chapter Two
Frederick Andrew Xavier Chambers, Sixth Marquess of Highfield, frowned as he glanced around the ballroom of number sixty-three Grosvenor Square.
He was not entirely certain why he was there.
Of course, Lord and Lady Albermay had sent him an invitation, which he had accepted, which was why he wasthere, but what Freddie could not understand was why he was standing in the ballroom with a sense of anticipation fizzling in his stomach.
He had an awful feeling that it had something to do with the lovely Miss Mifford, who had poured a charming sort of scorn atop his efforts at flirtation in Lord Collins’ library. But Freddie did not wish to admit that to himself, for to do so would be to admit to a streak of self-flagellation which Freddie did not think he possessed.
His ego was too robustly healthy--as Miss Mifford had so rightly observed--to allow him to engage in mooning over a lady who had demonstrated a complete lack of interest in--or appreciation of--him.
The great and good of thetonhad descended on Grosvenor Square to witness the new Lady Albermay's first attempt at hosting since she had married into the title. As the new viscountess was an American heiress, Freddie heard a few sharp whispers of complaint as he moved around the room.
"She's gilded everything, I see. So ostentatious, but what did we expect?" he heard one lady whisper, "I wager if I venture into the water-closet, I'll find the seat is gold too."
"If only she'd been able to paint the viscount in gold leaf," came the arch reply, "It might make him slightly more tolerable to look at."
Freddie hid a smile, for the observation was very true. Lord Albermay, Viscount Hillsop, was a gentleman as old as time; white hair spouted from his ears and nose, his jowls fell past his cravat, and his teeth had abandoned him several decades before. His sudden marriage to the vivacious Lady Albermay, was a typical joining of money and title.
