Page 42 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"Would you take my grave as quick?" Emily stuttered, aghast that she was being erased from Primrose Cottage before she had even left.
"It's just, I will miss you terribly," Eudora adopted a pained look, "And my suffering might be eased, if I was surrounded by all your things."
"I suppose, if I was to be left alone with Mama, I might also need to be consoled by material objects," Emily agreed, and Eudora's face fell.
"I didn't think of that."
The sisters'tête-à-têtecame to an abrupt end with the return of the very woman of whom they had been speaking. Mrs Mifford's voice called out for them both from the hallway, and the two girls reluctantly went to find her--though only after Eudora had carefully placed Northcott's book back in the place she had taken it from.
They found Mary, Jane, and Mrs Mifford standing in the entrance hall, though only Mary had removed her pelisse and gloves.
"There you are, Eudora," Mrs Mifford gave an exasperated sigh, as though she had been searching high and low for her for hours, "The carriage is waiting to take us to your dress fitting."
"Is Emily coming?" Eudora cast her sister a jealous scowl at not having to endure being poked and prodded by a seamstress for hours.
"Her fitting is at five o'clock," Mary answered, struggling to conceal a yawn, "Madame Rousseau is impossible to get an appointment with--we're very lucky she managed to squeeze you both in, so no sulking."
"I never sulk," Eudora pouted, before flouncing towards the door. Mrs Mifford and Jane followed her, though the latter dawdled a bit, and once she was sure their mother was out of earshot offered Mary a supportive smile.
"I shall write to Papa, to request he travels down at once," Jane whispered, before turning to take off after the other two.
"How did things go with Cecilia?" Emily asked, as she followed Mary across the hall towards the stairs.
"We finalised the guest list," Mary waved the sheafs of paper she held in her hand, "Somehow we managed to whittle it down to acceptable numbers. Mama insisted it would be neighbourly to invite Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling, seeing as they are in town, but I can't help but feel she simply wishes to show off the splendour of Northcott House"
"I'd well believe that her motivation is more about inspiring sour grapes, than true neighbourly affection," Emily agreed.
"She won out, in the end," Mary frowned, looking down at the paper in her hands, "I just need to give this to Bentley then he will write the invitations--he has a most elegant hand--and send them out with the footmen. Where has he got to?"
The butler, Emily guessed, was in his office on the far side of the house. As Mary gave a wide yawn, Emily realised that now was as good a time as any to add Ethel and Sir Cadogan to the list, without having to explain anything to her sister.
"You look tired," Emily said, truthfully, "Let me do that. You take yourself upstairs and have Sylvie fetch you a warming pan."
"If you're certain?" Mary's eyes were almost closed already, and she did not wait for Emily to answer in the affirmative, before handing over the list and drifting away to bed.
Feeling like a thief, Emily stole down the hallway to the library, where she had earlier spotted a pot of ink on the desk. A quick rummage through the top drawer of the Davenport desk produced a quill, and with a deft hand, Emily scribbled Ethel and Sir Cadogan's names at the bottom of the list. She waited a few moments for the ink to dry, then waited a few more for prosperity, before setting off in search of the butler.
The plan to unsuspectingly lure Sir Cadogan into making a confession was going so smoothly, that Emily felt a momentary pang of worry that it would not work. She quickly pushed the thought aside, for there was no way the plan could fail with luck and Lord Chambers on her side.
Madame Rousseau kept a shop on Upper King Street, in a few finely appointed rooms, decorated in lush splendour. It was rumoured that themodistehad twenty seamstresses at her disposal, and part of her popularity amongst thetonwas the speed with which she could produce a gown, as well as her beautiful designs.
After discussing the new gown with the French woman, who spoke in heavily accented English and possessed the same level of charm as Sylvie, Emily was then whisked off to a dressing room for her fitting.
The small seamstress helped her take off her dress, then slipped a muslin mock dress over her head, which she began to deftly adjust. The tiny woman was silent as she poked and prodded at Emily with pins, and Emily's attention was caught by the sounds of other clients chattering in their respective dressing rooms.
"Take it in more about the waist," a voice boomed from the adjoining dressing room, traveling easily through the silk curtains which divided them, "I shan't have my daughter looking dowdy on her wedding day."
"Oh, hush, Mama," a light female voice replied to the fussing.
"I won't be hushed. I want you in a dress that reminds Mr Bunting how lucky he is to be marrying into beauty as well as wealth."
Mr Bunting?
Emily recalled the young lady that she had seen with the young gentleman at the theatre. Their relationship must have progressed quickly, if they were now engaged. A brief, unkind thought flittered across her mind, as she wondered if Mr Bunting had expedited the engagement, by acting as amorously with this young lady as he had with Lady Francesca--but she quashed it. It was none of her business.
"Mr Bunting is not marrying me for my wealth, Mama," the light voice chided, "He is marrying me because he loves me. If you wish to tar someone as a fortune hunter, then turn your brush onto Mr Fitzgibbons. I cannot believe Amelia was so silly as to accept a proposal from a man with such a penchant for gambling. He will ruin her, mark my words."
Mr Fitzgibbons had finally clinched himself a wealthy bride, Emily thought, with astonishment. Miss Gardner was, indeed, a fool to have accepted a proposal from such a reckless young-blood, but as her family's fortune was from industry, society would approve the union between money and pedigree.
