Page 33 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"What on earth is she doing in London?" Emily answered, glancing at her sister, then out over the audience in the hopes of spotting the woman.
"She's here withEthel," the duchess answered, in a rushed whisper, "They met at Lady Hardthistle's funeral--did you know Mrs Canards was her distant cousin?--and by the sound of things, Mrs Canards invited herself up to London to help her new friend adjust. Poor Ethel, even if she did murder the baroness, having Mrs Canards as a house-guest is the cruellest of punishments."
Freddie suddenly recalled the stout, curmudgeonly woman from Lady Hardthistle's funeral, and found himself in agreement with the duchess. A spell in Newgate would be far easier to endure than having to eat three meals a day sitting opposite such a sour-puss.
"I wonder where they're sitting," Emily squeaked, leaning her arms on the balustrades of the balcony, as she searched for a glimpse of Ethel and her guest.
"The Upper Circle, I should think," the duchess replied, peering up at the large balcony which catered to those in society who could not afford the extravagance of a box, but did not wish to mix with the rabble in the stalls.
"Yes," the duchess handed her quizzing glasses to Emily, who held them up to her eyes and peered up, "There they are, on the left. And they have the awful Mrs Wickling with them too."
Freddie watched as Emily let out a sigh of disappointment--she had obviously been hoping that Ethel's mysterious gentleman might also be present.
The gas-lights on the wall began to flicker, signalling the beginning of the second half, and the four occupants of the box slipped back into their respective seats.
"I wonder where it is that Ethel is staying?" Emily whispered in Freddie's ear, as the actors took to the stage.
"Most likely in Lady Hardthistle's house, just off Berkley Square," Freddie answered, absently, once more overcome by her closeness.
"Don't think to go spying on her," he cautioned, as he noted her thoughtful silence.
"I am but a country mouse, my lord," she answered, all innocence, "I would not know how to even get to Berkley Square."
Freddie harrumphed in reply, for he did not truly believe her. There was little he could do at that moment, however, to dissuade her, so he did the next best thing. He reached out, took Emily's gloved hand, and held it tightly through the remainder of the play.
Her hand felt at home in his, fingers laced, palms touching, and when the curtain came down for the final call and the lights illuminated the hall, Freddie was reluctant to let go of her.
"That was wonderful," the duchess called, as the occupants of the box stirred back to life.
Emily's hand slipped from Freddie's, as she turned to face her sister, and he somehow managed to hold back a mewl of disappointment.
"Such a lark," Emily agreed, before turning back to offer Freddie a shy smile, "My thanks, my lord, for inviting us."
"The pleasure was all mine," he answered, but could not resist offering her a discreet wink, which sent her blushing and confirmed that the pleasure of the evening had not solely been felt just by him.
Northcott led the way from the box, his wife on his arm, followed by Freddie and Emily. There was no opportunity to exchange flirtatious chatter or interestingon-dits, given the flow of people streaming towards the door, but Freddie relished the feel of Miss Mifford's hand upon his arm.
At the front door, Freddie waited for his guests' carriage to arrive, and once the duke had assisted his wife in, he held out a hand to help Emily up.
"I will call on you in the morning," he promised, then--before she could object--he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
"Goodnight, my lord," she whispered in response, her cheeks aflame.
"Freddie," he reminded her sternly, before taking a step back so the footman could close the door.
Miss Mifford would have to learn to become comfortable with using his given name, Freddie thought, as he waited for his own carriage to arrive. After all, she could not continue to call him "my lord" after they were married--which would happen soon, if Freddie had anything to do with it.
Chapter Nine
Emily awoke late the next morning, to a house in chaos.
Mrs Mifford had arrived before the occupants of Northcott House had even risen, incensed to have learned of the previous night's outing from the gossip columns.
"Nobody told me," she wailed, as Emily entered the dining room.
"Told you what?" Emily queried blearily, in response.
She had not slept well, having spent the night tossing and turning, with thoughts of Lord Chambers running through her head, and she had not the energy to humour her mother speaking in riddles.
