Page 80 of Doxy for the Ton
“Miss Francis,” Portia said, her voice tight, “I hardly think that’s—”
“Oh, Lady Portia, I’mtouchedby Miss Francis’s generosity,” Mimi said. “But, Miss Francis, you can rest assured that my interest in the duke will present no danger to you.”
“Oh?” Miss Francis tilted her head to point her sharp little nose upward.
“Yes,” Mimi said. “My interest in the Duke of Sawbridge is confined to his activities in the bedchamber.”
Miss Francis gasped, then her hand flew to her throat in a gesture of exaggerated indignation.
“I’m not skilled in the language of the gutter, Lady Rex,” she said. “I don’t understand your meaning.”
Amusement danced in Portia’s eyes, and her mouth twisted into a smile.
“Not only the bedchamber,” Mimi said, tilting her head to one side and holding her finger to her chin as if pondering something. “Hmm…there’s also the parlor—a chaise longue has its benefits. But I wouldn’t recommend a hearth rug. Too scratchy on the knees—at least, on theman’sknees.”
“The…?” Miss Francis stammered, her mouth opening and closing as red patches appeared on her cheeks.
“Then there’s up against the paneled walls in the hallway, and of course the dining room. Oh!” Mimi let out a cry, and Miss Francis jumped. “That reminds me, I must ask my butler to polish out the scratch on the dining table. The kitchen table is sturdier, but can you imagine the expression on my cook’s face if she caught us?”
Miss Francis crumpled. Her champagne glass slipped from her grip and shattered on the floor.
“Sweet Lord—she’s fainted!” a voice cried, and two gentlemen appeared. Lord Walton took her by the shoulders while Lord Thorpe fanned her face.
“Miss Francis—what’s happened?” Lord Walton asked.
Mimi cursed herself. She’d only meant to humiliate Miss Francis—not shock her into a fit of the vapors.
Lady Walton appeared brandishing a phial, which she unstoppered and held to Miss Francis’s nose. Miss Francis shuddered and her eyes snapped open, and Lord Walton helped her to her feet.
“Sarah—my dearest!” a high-pitched voice cried, and a woman approached in a whirlwind of silk and lace in eye-wateringly bright colors.
“Mama…” Sarah whispered. Then her eyes focused on Mimi. “You!”
“What happened, dearest girl?”
“I-it was her. Sh-she said…”
Mimi froze, awaiting the revelation that would assure her eviction.
“Lady Rex and I were discussing Miss Sarah’s gown, Lady Francis,” Portia said. “Then Lady Rex remarked on how pale Sarah looked, but before we could help her to a seat, she swooned. It must be the heat—or perhaps an overindulgence of champagne. That was your fourth glass, was it not, Sarah?”
“I…” Miss Francis blinked, and her gaze shifted between Portia and Mimi.
“Perhaps a turn on the terrace and some fresh air, Lady Francis?” their hostess said.
“Yes, yes,” the silk-clad matriarch said. “Come, dear girl, we mustn’t have you overexcited. My daughter has such a fragile constitution, you see, Lady Walton.”
“Mind the glass,” Lady Walton said. “Farnham—would you be so kind?”
A footman appeared and began clearing up the floor while Lady Francis led her daughter to the terrace doors.
The diversion over, the guests dispersed, while the musicians began retuning their instruments.
“Ah—the dancing is about to resume,” Portia said. “Sarah will be disappointed to miss it, though I doubt the gentleman she’s set her cap at would agree.”
“Why did you protect me just then?” Mimi asked.
Portia grinned. “You saved me from my brother’s company, therefore I owed you a debt. Though I must confess my astonishment at your turn of phrase. No doubt a result of married life on the Continent? I hear life’s more…liberalover there.”
