Page 42 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"I would ask for the Phaeton," Mary whispered apologetically, "But in my condition, I shouldn't like to risk it."
"No matter," Jane replied quickly, certain that she would not wish to travel in a Phaeton with her sister under any circumstances. Mary was an excitable whip and she remained the only member of the Mifford family capable of urging poor Daisy into anything faster than a slow trot; Jane would not like to see how fast she went with a younger horse.
When the carriage was prepared, the footman arrived to let the two ladies know. It was still so strange for Jane to see her sister addressed as "Your Grace" and have liveried servants rushing to do her every bidding. Luckily, her new status had not changed Mary one bit, and as she arranged herself inside the lush compartment, she gave Jane a wide smile.
"Now we are alone, you may tell me everything that you could not say in front of Mama," she declared, and Jane duly obliged.
She began with the tale of Lord Crabb's murder—which had been glossed over at the dinner table—and shared how she suspected that, despite being the most likely suspect, the true perpetrator was not the new viscount.
"As someone who was once mistakenly labelled as a murderer, I can only sympathise with the man," Mary agreed, cheerfully.
"Yes, well, he was very grateful for my support," Jane replied, slowly, "And agreed to allow me to assist him with his investigation. We had drawn up a similar list of suspects, though we have not managed to progress much further."
There was a moment of silence, during which Mary watched her coyly.
"I know you are expecting me to ask about your list of suspects," Mary finally said, her plump lips struggling valiantly against breaking into a smile, "But I am far more interested in the use of pronouns in your last sentence. Is there something going on between you and Lord Crabb? Oh, how wonderful it would be if you were to be mistress of Plumpton Hall and I mistress of Northcott Manor."
As Mary had just returned, Jane did not wish to upset her by pointing out that their mother had said the very same thing. Instead, she offered a halting—and much redacted—account of her time spent with Lord Crabb, finishing with the moment she had sighted the viscount in an embrace with Prunella Hughes.
"Oh, dear," Mary placed a gloved hand on Jane's, "Were you very disappointed?"
"I had some hope," Jane answered, glad at last to be able to share her heartbreak, "Though, in truth, I was far too pessimistic to allow myself to hope too much. One of the benefits of a pessimistic outlook is, I suppose, that it is often proved right."
"Though sometimes you can be pleasantly surprised," Mary argued, "Is there any chance that it was all a misunderstanding and that you did not see what you thought you saw?"
Hope fluttered in Jane's breast, though she quickly quashed it. She had re-imagined the scene a dozen times, in the compulsive way that one might pick at a scab, even when knowing it would only hurt. In her memory, Lord Crabb had appeared to be struggling against Prunella's advances, though she did not quite trust her own mind to have inserted its own addendum to the truth.
"I do not believe so," Jane said flatly, "And while it hurts now, I do believe that my brief dalliance with Lord Crabb has settled my mind upon wanting to marry."
"It has?"
"Well, that and the fact that I realised I could not last a lifetime under Mama's roof without one of us ending up dead," Jane finished with a laugh.
"Well," Mary said brightly, "We shall plan for you to have the most spectacular season next spring. I shall introduce you to only the most eligible bachelors in all of London; though I shall weed out the ones who live too far for comfort. I'm not marrying you off to any Scottish lords."
Jane gave her sister a grateful smile, though she was glad when they turned onto the driveway of the Hughes' farm. As much as she protested that she was not upset about Lord Crabb, she could not yet feign enthusiasm about a search for his replacement.
Sarah rushed from the doorway, as the carriage drew up outside the solid farmhouse. Mr Hughes, Sarah's father, was a younger brother to Sir Charles, and though the house was not so grand as Hillside House, it was still large and elegant by Plumpton's standards.
"Mary," Sarah greeted her friend with a smile, "How wonderful to see you return; I feared we would lose you to the glamour of London forever."
"I could never abandon Plumpton, I would miss it too much," Mary declared, before giving a wicked smile, "I was even starting to miss Mrs Canards, would you believe?"
"I struggle to see how that might be," Jane snorted, as Sarah led the way inside.
Being the only daughter in a family of brothers, and with her mother having passed away a few years ago, Sarah was the de facto mistress of her home. She brought Mary and Jane into the small parlour at the back of the house, which was for her sole use. As ever, Jane felt immediately comfortable in the cosy room.
"Agatha will bring the tea shortly," Sarah said, as she urged the sisters to sit, "Do tell us Mary, how was London?"
Jane listened idly as Mary launched into a description of her time in London—far more colourful than the one she had shared at dinner. Sarah had kept clippings of every mention of Mary in the papers and the pair descended into fits of giggles as they compared the reported gossip to the truth.
"The glamorous Duchess of Northcott attended an opera at the Theatre Royal."
"I was far from glamorous; I had just eaten a plate of oysters which did not agree with me."
"The Duke and Duchess of Northcott met with the esteemed Ambassador to the Prussian Court this evening."
"Esteemed? Steaming drunk, more like, and the worst halitosis I have ever encountered in my life."
