Page 23 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
Eudora glanced across at Lord Delaney, standing by the fireplace, and found his gaze was already on her. As their eyes met, she felt a familiar quickening of her pulse, and, to her shame, she was forced to look away to spare her blushes.
He’s not looking at you in a romantic way, she told herself sternly; he’s looking at you because you’re investigating a murder together.
And, she realised with a start, she had news to share with him. She risked another glance Lord Delaney’s way and found that his gaze was still trained intently upon her. As subtly as she could, she pointed her index finger upward, hoping he would understand that she wished to meet him in the long room again.
In reply, Lord Delaney clasped his hands together, then brought them apart as though trying to mime “long”. Eudora smiled and nodded her head before being interrupted by Emily.
“Are you practising charades?” she asked, obviously put out, “That’s not fair - had I known we were playing again tonight, I would have practised with Freddie.”
Despite her mortification at having been caught secretly communicating with Lord Delaney, Eudora instantly went on the defence - the customary stance of the youngest sibling.
“We weren’t practising charades,” she replied in a whispered hiss.
“That’s exactly what someone secretly practising charades would say,” Emily answered, her lip petulant, “Now you shall have an unfair advantage when we begin to play.”
“I don’t need to practice to have an unfair advantage over you because you’re truly terrible at charades,” Eudora sniped, feeling a momentary rush of gratification. As the two youngest sisters, Eudora and Emily, had been forced to pair up at every family game and had inevitably come bottom of the pile - it was good to finally air a long-held grievance.
Poor Emily’s face fell and, as usually happened when their squabbles descended into insult, Eudora felt a rush of guilt.
“I didn’t mean it,” she said grudgingly.
“I know,” came Emily’s tart reply, “If you thought me so incapable, you would not have felt the need to practice in secret with Lord Delaney.”
Jane, who was moving around the room pouring more tea, glanced over at her sisters.
“What’s all that chatter about?” she asked, her tone cheerful but her eyes wary - she recognised a pending explosion when she saw one.
“Emily thinks that we should play charades,” Eudora rushed to answer before Emily could out her as having been engaged by Lord Delaney from across the room.
“I do not think parlour games are appropriate this evening,” Jane replied evenly, “Given that two of our guests are in mourning.”
All three glanced across at Lady Albermay, seated in the far corner, her mind obviously elsewhere. Despite her distracted state, Eudora was struck by her beauty; her auburn hair was piled high atop her head, and even the muted lavender of her dress could not dull the glow of her alabaster skin.
She was not the only one who noted the viscountess’ beauty. On the far side of the room, Captain Ledger’s eyes kept drifting Lady Albermay’s way. They would, Eudora thought idly, make a dashing couple.
“Parlour games are out of the question when household members are in mourning,” Mrs Canards - who had evidently been eavesdropping - called across to Jane, “However, I believe light music might be acceptable. Mrs Mifford is so proud of her daughters’ accomplishments; perhaps one of you might play something on the pianoforte?”
As Mrs. Canards well knew, not one of the Mifford sisters held a musical note in their head. As Emily, Jane, and Eudora dithered in their response, Mary—ever certain ofher capabilities, even when they did not exist—called out in agreement.
“If someone can play the pianoforte, I can accompany them by singing,” she offered.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jane said, rushing to dissuade her elder sister from the idea.
“We already have one dead body,” Mr Mifford agreed, in a dire assessment of his daughter’s talents.
“I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I can play,” Cecilia offered, with a smile to the room.
“I can also play a little,” Mrs Mifford interrupted, obviously put out to be bested by Cecilia yet again.
“I don’t believe that the room wishes to hear Mary Had a Little Lamb repeated ad nauseum, dear,” Mr Mifford said, with a knowing glance his wife’s way.
Mrs Mifford huffed a little with annoyance but did not protest again, and Cecilia began to play. The dowager duchess chose a light piece to begin, quiet, with a note of melancholia - but not overly morose. The room fell into silence as the guests listened in appreciation, but as Cecilia moved on to her next piece, they began to chat quietly amongst themselves.
Eudora allowed her mind to drift as, beside her, Emily listened to the conversation taking place between Lord Percival and Mr Lowell. The gentlemen were discussing the latest advances in textile production and what the invention of new machinery and steam power might mean to business.
“I envisage that one day, production will move from hand to exclusively machine,” Mr Lowell said, his demeanour humble but his tone certain.
“Codswallop,” Lord Percival argued, “We can’t allow that to happen; what will happen to all the children employed in the factories and mills? Will they be left to the care of their parish, another mouth to feed?”
