Chapter One

Chapter One

The Mifford family had been in London for a week when the time came for their patriarch, Mr Mifford, to return home to the village of Plumpton.

"My flock needs me," Mr Mifford said firmly, when his eldest daughter raised a last-minute objection to his departure.

"I should hardly think they"ve missed you at all; they"re probably enjoying the lie-in on a Sunday morning," Mary, Duchess of Northcott--who was many things, but not at all tactful--replied with a petulant sigh.

"Then it is my duty to save their souls, for slothfulness is one of the seven deadly sins," Mr Mifford replied mildly, though when Mary"s back was turned, he offered a discreet wink to his third daughter, Emily.

Emily hid a smile, for she knew that her father wished to return to Plumpton so that he might enjoy some peace and quiet in a house that was usually bursting with at the seams with feminine activity. Fate had gifted Mr Mifford with four daughters, and though two--Mary and Jane--were now married, their marriages had not taken them far from home, and they called daily to Primrose Cottage.

In the absence of his wife and daughters, Mr Mifford would probably spend the next few weeks in a state of masculine bliss, eating things like pickled tripe and crumbed lamb"s brains--which none of the girls would touch--and sitting in the parlour room with his boots on the silk ottoman and a glass of brandy in hand.

No wonder he looked so eager to leave.

"I"m not certain that I have packed everything," Mrs Mifford, the family matriarch, bellowed as she tottered down the stairs to the entrance hall.

"Crabb House is only around the corner, Mama," Mary rushed to assure her mother, "If you have left anything behind, you can send a footman to fetch it."

Mary, Emily noted, was as eager to be rid of her mother as she was for her father to stay.

"I might do just that," Mrs Mifford replied, her eyes alight at the idea that there would be a fresh set of footmen in Crabb House to do her bidding. When she had married Mr Mifford, Emily"s mother had married "down", a fact which greatly irked her. Now that two of her daughters had married well--to a duke and a viscount respectively--Mrs Mifford was fully committed to enjoying the luxuries she believed she was long overdue.

"I am sad to leave you, Mary," Mrs Mifford continued, turning to her eldest daughter, "But as Jane rightly pointed out, it is not fair if I spend all my time here in Northcott House. I will divide my time between the two houses, so that all my daughters get to share me."

Mrs Mifford"s belief that her presence was a blessing to all in its receipt was so great that she was utterly oblivious to the fact that her daughters had concocted a plan to share the burden of hosting her rather than the privilege.

"I will return in a week or two," she finished, smiling benevolently unto Mary and her husband, who both struggled to hide their disappointment at the news.

A few minutes of faffing ensued, as Mr Mifford realised that he had left his reading glasses upon his bedside locker, along with his best handkerchief. A footman was sent off to fetch them, and Mrs Mifford turned to her two daughters with faint despair.

"I worry that your father will be lost without me," she said, as though her husband was not standing beside her, and as though it was not he who had recalled the missing items himself.

For his part, Mr Mifford remained conspicuously quiet.

The footman returned with the missing spectacles and kerchief, then another footman appeared at the front door and cleared his throat politely.

"The carriage is ready, your Grace," he said, when Northcott nodded for him to speak.

"Come along now, my love," Mr Mifford said, ushering his wife towards the door. The carriage would take Mrs Mifford to Crabb House, on the far corner of St James" Square, before departing for the Cotswolds with Mr Mifford.

"Northcott, my thanks for your hospitality," Mr Mifford called, as his wife fluttered and fretted beside him.

"I am sad to be leaving," Mrs Mifford repeated once again, as she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Jane has had decorators in all week," Mary reminded her mother, "Crabb Hall is likely now more grand and comfortable than even this house."

"Grander, you say?" Mrs Mifford murmured, the well of her tears running miraculously dry, "Well. Cheerio, my loves. I might return a little later than first anticipated."

With that, Mrs Mifford turned on her heel and followed her husband down the steps to the waiting carriage--without so much as one glance back at Northcott House.

Emily, Eudora, Mary, and Northcott stood at the door to wave the carriage off, and once it had rounded the corner of the square, they retreated inside with relief.

"I am sorry about my mother," Mary whispered to her husband.

"I beg you don"t apologise for yours, for it means I will have to apologise for mine," Northcott replied, referring to his mother Cecilia, who though more subtle was equally as meddling as her counterpart.

The newlywed couple smiled at each other, as though Emily was not there. Northcott"s gaze was soft and gooey--like the yolk of a three-minute-egg--and he reached a hand out to touch his wife"s increasing belly.

Emily reddened, for she realised the duke and her sister had forgotten her presence--something which happened to her frequently with most people, for she was the quietest of the four Mifford girls. She made haste to slip away discreetly, but unfortunately, she tripped on the hem of her new gown and went flying into a potted Ficus.

"Emily," Mary"s cheeks were pink, as the noise alerted her to her sister"s continued presence, "Where are you off to? I hope you"re not trying to evade Sylvie."

Though she was a duchess, and as such held the title of one of the highest peerages in the land, Mary dropped her voice to a nervous whisper as she uttered the name of her lady"s maid. The young French woman--who had come highly recommended by the ton--terrified not only Mary, but her three sisters, and the Duke of Northcott too--who, being tall and broad, was not a man who scared easily.

"Do we have to go to Lady Collins" musicale?" Emily answered, avoiding the question with one of her own, "We"ve been out every night since I was presented; couldn"t we just stay in for once?"

"Once you"ve come out you can"t go back in," Mary admonished, conveniently forgetting that after her own disastrous come-out, she had returned to Plumpton and declared that she would never leave the village again.

"I don"t want to go back in forever," Emily countered, "I"d just like an evening to myself to read, or paint, or even stare at the wall in silence for a few hours."

"Get talking to one of Lady Collins" daughters," Northcott advised, dryly, "Their conversation is about as stimulating as staring at a wall."

"Hush, Henry," Mary chided, though a smile played about her lips.

The pair of love-birds shared another three-minute-egg gaze, and Emily once again made to slip away--though this time her retreat went unnoticed.

It was nice to see that Mary and the duke were so besotted with each other, but sometimes Emily wished that they would be a little less flagrant with their contentment. Not only did it make things a tad awkward--for one could not help but feel awkward in a grouping of three when two participants insisted on making cow-eyes at each other--but it had also made Mary determined that her sisters should have the chance to experience the happiness she now felt.

Her intention to give her sisters a come-out so that they might find husbands was admirable, but slightly misguided--as Mary"s intentions were often wont to be.

Emily was not the type of lady a London gentleman would seek out for a wife, even if she was garbed in fine new gowns and afforded a hefty dowry courtesy of Northcott and Lord Crabb.

The ladies of the ton were charming and witty, and knew just what to say and when to say it. Emily, on the other hand, possessed neither charm nor wit, and had an unfortunate habit of saying the wrong thing, to the wrong person, at the wrong time--a skill which would not nab her a husband.

Not that she wished to nab one, anyway, for Emily was quite content to finish the season and return to Plumpton unwed--another point that Mary refused to acknowledge in her hare-brained scheme to see her sisters marry.

As Emily tripped up the staircase to her bedchamber, where she wished to read for the afternoon, she vowed to do as much as she possibly could to foil her sister"s plan to see her partnered off, not--she admitted, with a reluctant smile--that it would take much effort.

All Emily had to do was remain her entirely un-marriageable self, and try not to draw any attention her way. How difficult could that be?

Lord and Lady Collins, along with their two daughters, occupied a grand house in Grosvenor Square. When Emily, Mary, and Northcott entered the large music room, they found that the others had already arrived before them.

"We were beginning to think you"d cried off on us," Ivo, Lord Crabb, muttered, as the trio came to join the group.

"Wouldn"t let you suffer such an odious fate alone, old boy," Northcott answered, as he gestured for Emily and Mary to take a seat beside their mother, Jane, and Eudora--the youngest of the Mifford girls.

"We"re just going to slip out for a cheroot, before the performance begins," Emily heard Northcott whisper to his wife, before he and Lord Crabb disappeared to the library.

"I did not think Lord Crabb smoked," Eudora commented, once they had left.

"He doesn't," Jane was dry, "But even I"d take it up, if it meant I could skip the performance. I hear tell the talent of the lovely ladies of household can be likened to the sound of cats being tortured."

"You"re one to judge," Mary sniffed, for Jane had no talent for music.

"True, but I don"t invite people to come listen to me play and call it entertainment," Jane replied, offering her sister a smile which looked sweet, but which Emily knew was far from it.

"The music does not matter," Mary whispered, refusing to be drawn into a squabble, "What matters is that Lady Collins has invited every eligible gentleman in town to come this evening, in the hopes that one of them will offer for one of her daughters."

"And you"re hoping that a couple of the invitees get distracted by your own single charges?" Jane guessed, to which Mary beamed.

"I hardly think Lady Collins would be best pleased, if she knew that"s why we"re all here," Eudora commented, frowning over the brim of her wire-spectacles--which she wore merely for show, "It hardly seems sporting."

"Oh, hush. Don"t be so saintly, Eudora," Mary retorted, but she was interrupted by Mrs Mifford, who had paid no attention to her daughters" chatter.

"Goodness, is that Lady Jacobs?" Mrs Mifford cried, her voice far too loud to be considered intimate, "She came out the same year as I did--hasn"t she gotten fat?"

"Mama," Emily winced, as several heads turned their way.

"Enormous," Mrs Mifford continued, oblivious to her daughter"s embarrassment, "I nearly mistook her for the pianoforte."

Mercifully for the sisters, and for poor Lady Jacobs, Mrs Mifford was unable to offer any further insults, for Lord and Lady Collins announced that their daughters were about to begin playing.

"Northcott and Ivo have yet to return," Eudora hissed, as the room fell to silence.

"I rather think that was their plan," Emily murmured in response, and settled back into her chair to enjoy the performance.

The Collins sisters were quite as bad as Jane had predicted, but Emily rather enjoyed the performance. She adored music--even badly played--and though the two Collins girls were often out of key, they played with a certain enthusiasm that Emily found charming.

A half-hour, two sonatas, and a round canon--which had threatened to repeat into perpetuity--later, the two girls made their bows to polite applause and a few sighs of relief.

"Do we go home now?" Emily whispered to Mary, as the crowd rose to a stand, who shook her head in response.

"No," the duchess frowned formidably, "Now we mingle."

The double doors of the drawing room had been thrown open to reveal a large parlour room, in which stood a long table bearing a supper buffet. Several gentlemen, including Ivo and Northcott, already occupied the space, and the crowd flocked inside to quench their thirst and sate their hunger.

Mary and Jane made for their respective husbands, leaving Emily and Eudora with their mama.

"Awful music," Mrs Mifford commented, as she nibbled on a French-fancy, "But what delightful food. Oh, Isabelle! I didn"t see you there, would you believe? You"re difficult to miss..."

Lady Jacobs, Baroness of Basildon--if Emily had her Debrett"s right--smiled patiently as she waited for Mrs Mifford to brush the crumbs from her fichu.

"Why Honoria," the baroness smiled, "I thought that was you when I spotted you earlier; though I couldn"t be certain, it"s been so long since I"ve seen you in town. Tell me, how are your sisters? I recall them all fondly from our season out, though one--if I remember correctly--did not make quite as good a match as the others."

There was a strained silence as Mrs Mifford flushed with indignation, for it was she who had made the poor match--as Lady Jacobs well knew.

"My eldest daughter is now a duchess," Mrs Mifford replied, in answer to a question which had not been asked. "And my second eldest a viscountess."

Emily watched in fascination as the two women eyed each other speculatively, like pugilists in the ring. Both had weathered a blow, both still stood; would one throw down their gloves in defeat?

"You must call on me, dear," Lady Jacobs eventually replied, "So that we can have a proper catch-up."

"That sounds marvellous," Mrs Mifford beamed, and the baroness took her leave.

"How lovely it is to be reunited with my dear, dear friend," Mrs Mifford commented to her daughters, as though the exchange between the two women had been tender rather than fraught.

Emily stifled a sigh; this was precisely why she was not fond of London, everyone was so false. In Plumpton, one knew one"s neighbours, their history, and their entire family intimately, so one knew where one stood with a person. In London, people said one thing and meant another--it was tiring.

"I"m just going to fetch a plate of food," Emily said to her mother, before making for the supper table.

Handsome footmen, decked out in fine livery, stood behind the table, assisting the many guests. Emily gratefully accepted a plate from one and began to move down the length of the buffet, stocking up on cold cuts of meat, strawberries, and cheeses.

As she leaned over to ladle a dollop of Sauce Isigny onto her plate, she could not help but overhear the conversation between the two young ladies beside her.

"It"s indecent, if you ask me," a pretty girl with a slightly upturned nose, whom Emily knew from Almack"s to be Lady Francesca, sniffed. "Their scheming ways worked twice in the countryside, and now they"re in town to see if they can do it again."

"I"m certain they manipulated those poor men into compromising positions," her companion, plainer but no less bitter, added, "How else can you explain a duke and a viscount offering for a vicar"s daughters?"

Emily dropped the ladle with a clatter, as she realised that the two ladies were discussing Mary and Jane. The noise drew the attention of the pair of clawed tabbies, who both exchanged nervous glances as they realised that they had let their tongues loose beside a member of the family they had just been slandering.

"Why, Miss Mifford," the second girl said, her voice syrupy-sweet, "Do be careful with the cutlery--you wouldn"t want to ruin your pretty dress."

She and her companion then scuttled off, giggling hysterically, as though insulting a person"s family was a great lark.

Emily took her plate of food, and made for the far corner of the room, though her appetite had now deserted her. A large fiddle-leaf fig tree in a brass urn offered some privacy, as she poked at her plate with her fork.

How dreadful London was, she thought, as she speared a strawberry. This would not have happened in Plumpton. Not that the village residents were any more virtuous than the people of London, they were simply far too accustomed to looking over their shoulder before slandering someone--for in Plumpton, the likelihood of that person being nearby was quite high.

As Emily began to munch on her food, she heard the sound of two people approaching the far side of the fig tree, their voices low but clearly upset. Curious, she cast a glance through the gaps in the foliage and spotted an older woman--with a very ample bosom--in the company of a white-haired gentleman.

"Dash it, Lady Hardthistle," the gentleman sputtered, "The mare is barren. It"s been two seasons and she is yet to foal. When I purchased her, you assured me that she was a brood mare--you assured me that she would produce more winners."

"Well, Sir Cadogan," Lady Hardthistle sniffed, "When I sold her, Astrid Star, was a brood mare. Whilst in the care of my stables, she produced several winners--including Anderida, who if you recall, won at Ascot in "09. I fear, my dear man, that the problem isn"t with my mare, it"s with the quality of the ejaculate you are trying to impregnate her with."

"I beg your pardon," Sir Cadogan stuttered, as Emily blushed a little at the terms, "There is nothing the matter with the quality of my ejaculate."

"I beg to differ," Lady Hardthistle replied, her tone one of amusement, "You men are always so keen to blame the female when these things go awry. I suggest you take a look at the sires you"re using; you might want to attempt it with a different one. I"d be happy to fix you up with some of my own champion stallions, for a price."

Her offer was followed by silence, and as Emily peered through the leaves of the fig-tree, she saw Sir Cadogan"s face turn an alarming shade of puce.

"If we were not in public, my lady," he eventually replied, his voice strangled and high, "I would wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze until there was not one drop of air left in your lungs."

"Even if we were alone, I would not be frightened by such an empty threat," Lady Hardthistle laughed, much to Emily"s surprise, for Sir Cadogan had sounded most serious in his intent. "I have it on good authority that it"s not only your stallions who are impotent, sir. Your threats hold no water with me."

Sir Cadogan made a noise, which reminded Emily of her cat, Socrates, when someone accidentally trod on his tail, before turning on the heel of slipper and storming away.

"Silly old fool," Lady Hardthistle muttered to herself, as she glanced around to see if anyone had heard their exchange. Her eyes alighted on Emily, still peering through the leaves of the tree, and she gave an unhappy growl of annoyance.

"You, there," she said, beckoning for Emily to join her, "Show yourself. If you will insist on eavesdropping, I will insist on knowing who you are."

"I wasn"t eavesdropping," Emily protested, as she scurried from her spot on the far side of the tree to join her. "I just couldn"t help but overhear..."

"As excuses go," Lady Hardthistle retorted, so indignant that the feathers of her turban quivered in time with her three chins, "That was miserable. What"s your name, girl?"

"Miss Mifford," Emily replied, feeling suddenly nervous--would Lady Hardthistle now slander her the length and breadth of the country? "Miss Emily Mifford."

The baroness did not reply for a moment, as she assessed Emily with beady eyes. She was quite terrifying up close; tall, with a regal bearing, an aristocratic nose, and thin lips--which were currently pressed together so firmly that they were almost invisible.

"One of the chits from the Cotswolds, out to snare another member of the ton," she replied, her lips quirking into a sneer, "I should have guessed it would be one of you. I have a distant cousin in Plumpton, Mrs Canards, and she wrote to inform me about you lot."

"That"s hardly fair, my lady," Emily protested, feeling aggrieved on behalf of her sisters more than herself--and doubly irritated that the awful Mrs Canards was capable of spreading her vitriol so far and wide.

"Hardly fair?" the lady replied, in mock horror, "To observe that a girl of dubious background has dubious manners? Eavesdropping is frowned upon by most people, Miss Mifford, you would do well to remember that. You"re lucky your sisters married so well, or you"d be facing the cut. Off with you; I have had enough miserable conversation for one evening."

If Lady Hardthistle had spoken to Mary or Jane like that--even before they had married--she could have expected a spirited reply. But Emily possessed little of her sisters" bravery and, as usually happened when she became involved in direct confrontation, she felt tears begin to well in her eyes.

Unwilling to allow Lady Hardthistle think she had upset her--for Emily"s tears were not of upset, but rather anger--she stalked away, determined to find a quiet place that she might calm herself. Once outside the drawing room, she rushed down the hallway, hoping to find the ladies" relieving room, where she would certainly be afforded a modicum of privacy.

Unfortunately for Emily, when she opened the first door she came across, it revealed a couple in a passionate embrace, rather than a chamber-maid waiting to assist her.

"What the--?"

A young man turned at the sound of Emily"s shocked gasp, revealing his partner in passion to be Lady Francesca of the upturned nose.

"I saw nothing," Emily blurted, hastily slamming the door shut upon the offending scene.

She instantly took back all the mean thoughts that she"d had about Mary and Northcott; three-minute-egg gazes were far more tolerable than witnessing that expression of love.

Feeling a little queasy, Emily continued her hunt for a quiet room, at last finding one at the end of the corridor. She slipped into what she presumed to be Lord Collins" library and threw herself down onto one of the leather Chesterfields with a sigh of relief.

What a horrid place London was, she thought mournfully, as she stared into the fire. Mrs Canards, Plumpton"s resident gossip and cousin to Lady Hardthistle, had always disparaged the city as a place of anger and vice. Though Emily rarely, if ever, felt inclined to agree with Mrs Canards, tonight she decided the old busybody had hit the nail firmly on the head.

Oh, for the season to end, so that she might return to the peace and quiet of Plumpton, she thought, as she plucked at the material of her skirts with anxious fingers. She was not cut out for London life; she was a country mouse, not a city one.

Emily allowed herself a few moments to mourn her current circumstances, but after a few minutes of wallowing, she gave herself a wobble. She was dressed in a fine gown, in one of the grandest homes in England--others had suffered far worse fates.

With a renewed determination to find some fun in the evening, Emily stood up from her seat, intent on returning to the drawing room.

Just as she stood, however, the door to the library opened, and a handsome man of about six feet entered, all artfully tousled hair and razor-sharp, Bond Street tailoring.

"What-ho?" he said, more to himself than to Emily, as he caught sight of her, "Do forgive me, ma"am, I did not realise the room was occupied."

"Oh, it"s not," Emily answered, suddenly flustered, for now that the gentleman had stepped into the light, she could appreciate just how terribly attractive he was. As well as a tall, athletic frame, the gentleman also possessed locks of spun gold, eyes of sea-blue, and a face which put Emily to mind of a Greek statue.

"I mean, it won"t be, in a moment," she continued hastily, dropping her gaze to her feet for she realised she was staring, "I"m returning to the fray; I just needed a moment to compose myself."

"Overcome by the performance?" the interloper queried, arching an eyebrow so perfectly that Emily guessed that he must have practiced the move for hours in the mirror before unleashing it in public.

"The young ladies" playing moved me," Emily replied, stubbornly refusing to be drawn into mocking their hosts" daughters, though she rather feared she sounded like a pious sacristan, for the performance had truly been an insult to music.

"Moved you to hide in the library," Emily"s companion observed, his tone neutral but his eyes dancing with amusement.

"That"s not what I said," she replied, a hot flush of annoyance staining her cheeks.

"No, I inferred it," the gentleman agreed, with another amused glance at her, "Which makes me the wicked one. Your goodness remains assured, Miss..?"

"Mifford," Emily replied, though inside she wondered at the appropriateness of introducing herself to a gentleman whilst alone in a library.

"Miss Mifford," the gentleman sounded her name out, as though thoroughly delighted by it, "Very pleased to meet you, very pleased indeed. And though I would like to continue our flirtation, I believe it would be remiss of me to delay you any further."

"Our flirtation?" Emily could not help but blurt out, confused by his choice of noun.

"Yes," the handsome gentleman smiled, a little patronising this time, "We are flirting, Miss Mifford."

"Are we?" Emily tried to hide her confusion but failed miserably.

"We are," came the slightly irritated reply.

"I wasn"t aware," Emily frowned, "Forgive me, sir, if that"s the impression I gave, for it was not what I intended."

"I find it hard to believe that you were not as active a participant in our flirtation as I was," the gentleman grumbled, giving every impression of a man trying to conceal a feeling of insult.

"I expect that"s because you"re so handsome," Emily rushed to assure him, demonstrating her natural instinct for kindness alongside her unfortunate habit of always saying the wrong thing.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well," Emily explained patiently, "A man as handsome as you must be so accustomed to having ladies flirt with him, that after a while he assumes every lady to be flirting, even when she is not."

There was a silence as Emily"s unexpected intimate digested her statement.

"So, you are accusing me of conceit?" he deduced, a smile playing at the corners of his generous mouth.

"I suppose one could logically infer that," Emily answered, realising her words had been clumsy, "Though I did not mean to be cruel. I was just trying to explain why you might have believed me to be flirting when I wasn"t. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my mother."

"And I shall not attempt to stop you," the gentleman drawled in reply, taking a theatrically large step back so that Emily could pass him.

Feeling a little aggrieved, for it was he who had begun the whole silly interaction, Emily pointed her nose to the air and flounced from the room.

Honestly, she thought, as she stalked down the hallway, men"s egos were a frightfully fragile thing. People always said that girls were more delicate, but having grown up with three sisters, Emily knew it to be patently untrue. She could mistakenly insult Mary, Jane, or even Eudora, most egregiously and none would bat an eyelid. They"d simply shrug it off with a smile, deliver their own drubbing-down in response, or decide that the insult had bestowed on them the liberty to "borrow" a pair of her best stockings.

Most likely they would all decide on the latter, Emily thought, even though one was now a duchess and the other a viscountess. In Emily"s recent experience, titles and peerages did not remove the idea from a lady"s mind that her sister"s stockings were fair game for pilfering.

As she neared the door to the parlour room, Emily tried to calm herself, for it would not do to return to under the eye of the ton in foul spirits. She took a deep, steadying breath, and was about to open the door, when it was opened from the other side.

"Have you taken up a position as a footman, Miss Mifford?" Lady Hardthistle sneered, as she caught sight of Emily standing sentry in the hallway.

"No," Emily replied shortly, before adding a reluctant, "My lady."

"Well, you give the appearance of a footman," Lady Hardthistle sniffed, "Especially with those shoulders. Now, out of my way, I am in need of the ladies" relieving room."

The baroness barged past her, with a weak-looking lady"s maid following in her wake and took the same route that Emily had taken earlier.

I hope she bumps into my friend, Emily thought with a smile; never had two people been more deserving of each other"s company.

Mary fell upon Emily the moment she entered the drawing room.

"Where were you?" the duchess hissed, "I checked by all the large potted plants, for that"s usually where you can be found hiding, but you weren"t there. I did find Sir Cadogan muttering ominously to himself about double-crossing, hatchet-faced wenches; he assured me his comments were not aimed my way, but at someone else--though he would not share who, which is most unfair."

"Lady Hardthistle sold him a barren mare," Emily helpfully supplied, "He was most put-out; he threatened to wring her neck."

"I don"t think anyone would blame him, even if they didn"t know about the mare," Mary grimaced, "She"s an odious creature--but I don"t wish to talk to you about that horrible old bat--I wish to discuss Northcott"s friend, Lord Chambers. He"s the opposite of odious."

"Lord who?" Emily blinked, startled by her sudden volte-face.

"Lord Frederick Chambers, Marquess of Highfield," Mary sighed, happily, "He"s handsome, single, and one of Northcott"s chums from Eton, so he can introduce you both. Oh, look! That"s him there, just come through the door. Tell me, what do you think?"

Emily"s stomach flipped as she glanced in the direction that Mary was nodding in and caught sight of Lord Chambers. The marquess was none other than her friend from the library.

"I think I"d sooner marry one of the potted plants," Emily answered, turning her gaze away from the dashing marquess.

"At least you are now agreeing to marriage of some kind," Mary, ever optimistic, replied cheerfully, as she linked her arm through Emily"s, "That"s progress of sorts, though I do think we can aim higher than a philodendron. Come, if even a sinfully handsome marquess cannot tempt you this evening, then let us see if any of the desserts can. I spotted a raspberry blancmange earlier; it was wobbling so much it put me to mind of our departed Mr Parsims. Do you recall how his jowls used to wobble when he was upset? Lud, but I am hungry."

Emily could only conclude that Mary"s professed hunger, after such an unedifying description of the blancmange, had something to do with her being in the family way. Still, despite her own lack of desire for the cake, Emily was glad to accompany her sister to the buffet table, for food was certain to distract Mary from her matrimonial machinations for quite some time. And then, once she was finished eating, the dyspepsia would kick in and she would force Emily and Northcott to accompany her home.

"What are you grinning at?" Mary asked, as she caught sight of Emily"s happy smile.

"Just that a woman in your state would well deserve two helpings of pudding," Emily answered innocently, as she handed her sister a plate.

"You are a dear sister," Mary smiled so gratefully at her, that for a moment Emily felt guilty.

But as the duchess turned to the buffet table, her skirts whirling, and Emily caught sight of the familiar clocks which decorated the ankles of her stockings, and felt her guilt dissipate completely.

"Thief," Emily murmured to herself, causing Mary to turn her head.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Emily replied sweetly, as she added a slice of spiced-lemon cake to her sister"s plate, "Do eat up."