Page 68 of Crash Landing
“Why, yes.”
“They are beautiful,” Florence said with genuine admiration.
The three of them went on to chatter about the embroidery circlethey simply had to form, which then led to discussion of other trivial matters.
Not that Sylvia’s talent was trivial, but the conversations were designed to be harmless and boring. They spoke of their neighbors, Sylvia doing most of the talking about them, since she had lived here for years and knew most of the Upper Crust residing in Weymouth.
“I cannot wait until Weymouth and I are married,” Florence said, purposely referring to Trajan by his title. “We shall host a lavish party to introduce ourselves to all our neighbors. You shall be the first one invited, of course. I do wish we were married already. He is quite eager for it. So am I.”
“You will be husband and wife very soon,” Hermia intoned. “Your betrothed has many fine qualities, but patience isn’t one of them. He knows what he wants and goes for it. Woe to those who seek to get in his way.”
Florence nodded. “Yes, but he is a dear and so indulgent of me. We will marry imminently. It is just a question of getting our families here. It is all unsettled still. Now, do tell me more about your embroidery. What is your next piece to be? More chairs?”
Hermia had brought her own sewing basket and the embroidery panel she had been working on. Florence had liked the idea the moment Sebastian, of all people, suggested it during discussions around the breakfast table. “Much easier to switch the packets using the sewing basket while Frampton’s attention is fixed on the carton of rose cuttings,” he’d said.
Everyone had liked this plan, earning Sebastian a pat on the back from Trajan.
“Oh, I think you will be quite excited by my next piece,” Sylvia remarked, regaining Florence’s attention when she set down her teacup and got to her feet. “Let me bring it here and you can tell me what you think.” She scurried out of the parlor.
The maid rose, uncertain whether to remain with them or followSylvia. She stood there eyeing them nervously.
Dear heaven.Did Frampton have his wife watched inside her own home, too? How did she manage to keep her sanity?
“Do help me up, Florence,” Hermia said, regaining her attention. “I need to stretch my legs.” She made a show of attempting to rise, and then fell back on the settee with a groan. “Oh, dear me. Never mind. Perhaps I ought to just sit here for a moment.”
Florence went to her immediately. “Aunt Hermia, are you all right?”
“Yes, dear. Just a little stiffness in my legs. It is this damp weather, always brings on my inflammations.” She winked at Florence.
Oh, she was setting the scene for the intended distraction to come later.
“Yes, it is awful weather lately. Forgive me, I did not think to bring along the balm for your knees. Well, I’m sure Lord Frampton will not mind assisting you to our carriage once the visit is over.”
“Here it is!” Sylvia exclaimed, rushing back in with her basket in hand.
The three of them now huddled over the baskets, Florence purposely drawing her chair closer to block the maid’s view, because it was entirely possible Sylvia intended to hand over the packet of letters here and now. This would allow them to hand Sylvia the fake packet, too.
But how was she to advise Sylvia of this plan? If only they could communicate in silence. Or better yet, get rid of the maid for a few minutes.
One of the packets of fake letters was planted in Hermia’s sewing basket. Did Florence dare show Sylvia now?
She studied the woman and noted the desperation in her eyes.
Yes.
It was now or never.
But how to make the switch?
Florence lifted the embroidery panel Hermia had been working on to reveal the letters.
Sylvia’s eyes widened, then she glanced at Florence in confusion.
Fake,Florence mouthed, and tried to discreetly motion for Frampton’s wife to take them.
Sylvia gave an almost imperceptible nod and slid them out of Hermia’s basket into her own.
They had their tea and cakes, and then Sylvia invited her and Hermia on a tour of the house. “And we also have a marvelous conservatory. I think you’ll love it, Florence. I did not notice, does Gull Hall have one?”
