Page 3 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"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 SauceIsignyonto 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.
