Page 11 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“I am surrounded by blackguards and knaves,” he grumbled, as he crunched his serviette into a ball and tossed it onto his plate, “A son who refuses to defend me, a wife who forces me to dine with her lovers, an old enemy who has dogged me since Oxford, and a host more interested in an infant than an invited guest. Good riddance to you all.”
On that sour note, Lord Albermay stood, picked up his glass of wine, and left the room on rickety legs.
Eudora glanced over at Lady Albermay to see if she was upset, but the viscountess’ attention was still directed toward her dinner. With her knife and fork, she methodically cut her lamb into tiny pieces, though she did not bring one piece to her lips.
While her expression was neutral, her face was deathly white, even her rosy lips had lost their colour. She was hurting far more than she would ever let on, Eudora realised, sadly.
“I apologise for my outburst,” Captain Ledger said, glancing around the table.
“It’s father who should apologise,” Mr Wellesley answered with a wry smile, “But you’ll find he never does.”
“Not even after fifty years will the man admit he’s wrong,” Lord Percival added, “One day, he’ll meet his comeuppance; I hope I’m still alive to witness it.”
“Hush, Wilbert,” Cecilia said, though she gave a tinkling laugh as though she found him terribly amusing despite his ill wishes toward Lord Albermay.
Dinner finished on a sombre note, though once the men had partaken in brandy and cheroots and the ladies had taken tea, the guests’ spirits were somewhat enlivened.
“How about a game of charades?” Captain Ledger suggested as the guests gathered around the fire in the drawing room.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs Mifford agreed, “Though, I must warn you all that I’m a terrifically talented mime. You must not be too upset if I upstage you.”
“If you mime half as well as you knit, dear, then there’s no point in anyone else even trying,” Mr Mifford commented, with a wink to Eudora.
Jane and Ivo hastily divided the group into pairs before Mrs Mifford could embarrass herself further. It was agreed that the husbands and wives would team up, while Charlotte was paired with Mr Lowell, Lady Albermay with Captain Ledger, Cecilia with Lord Percival, and Eudora - much to her consternation - was paired with Lord Delaney.
“I shall act as umpire,” Mr Wellesley slurred into his brandy glass, unperturbed to find that he had no match. As he was close to the point of being unable to stand, Eudora supposed it was for the best that he didn’t participate in the game.
A lively evening ensued, made even livelier by the return of Mary and Northcott, the former of whom was even more competitive than her mother.
“Cheater,” Mary howled, in a most un-duchess-like way, as she spotted Freddie winking at Emily as she tried to guess what he was trying to mime.
“I’m not cheating; I’m helping,” the marquess grumbled, “I’d be here all night if I didn’t try to assist my lady-love in some way. No offence meant, darling.”
“None taken,” Emily replied, “I’m as bad at guessing as you are at miming. What on earth were you trying to convey?”
Lord Chambers’ face fell at her assessment of his performance; his pride, Eudora guessed, had been greatly wounded.
“Cassiopeia sacrificing Andromeda to appease the wrath of Poseidon,” the marquess answered with a remarkably straight face.
Eudora idly wondered how on earth he’d thought Emily might have guessed such an obscure tale - especially given his theatrical whirling and twirling - when, from outside, came the sound of a terrific gust of wind.
“It’s blowing up a gale,” Jane commented, as she walked to the window to peep out through the drapes, “And, heavens, it’s snowing. How unexpected!”
As Eudora recalled Mr Hare’s earlier prediction of snow, her eyes met Lord Delaney’s, and she saw he, too, recollected the gravedigger’s words. He gave her a smile that felt remarkably intimate, and she blushed.
“It looks wild,” Ivo agreed, as he joined his wife at the window, “I shouldn’t like to be out in that tonight. Hark - do you see that, dear? It looks like two figures walking up the driveway!”
The footmen were summoned and duly dispatched into the dark night, returning minutes later with two familiar faces.
“Mrs Wickling and I were out taking our usual nightly walk when the weather turned,” Mrs Canards declared as the footmen led them into the drawing room, “It’s rotten out there; not even a carriage would take us safely home. We shall have to stay.”
Her words were delivered in a most hostile tone, for it was clear to everyone - well, to the Miffords at least - that Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling had been out for a snoop rather than an innocent stroll.
“Yes, I suppose you’ll all have to stay,” Jane agreed, glancing at her family members, “I’ll have the servants ready the rooms for you.”
“I’m sure there’s room for Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling in the servants’ quarters,” Mrs Mifford called, with a superior glance at the two interlopers. There was no love lost between Mrs Mifford and Mrs Canards, who each regarded the other as beneath contempt.
“What a lovely evening,” Lady Albermay drawled, sensing the need for someone to draw attention away from Mrs Mifford’s trouble-making “I fear, however, that I am ready for bed.”
