Page 30 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"This won't do, it just won't do," Farley murmured to himself, as beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, "Thetrone d'Amouris supposed to look austere, not floppy. It is a mess--I am a mess. I am afraid, my lord, that I must tender my resignation at once; I am not fit to even polish your boots, let alone tie your cravat."
As Freddie was accustomed to the occasional emotional outburst from Farley—who, though highly-strung, was terribly good at his job--he simply raised an eyebrow and waited for the valet to calm down.
"Fetch a fresh cravat," Freddie instructed, once the other man's breathing had resumed a normal pace, "And attempt a ballroom knot; far simpler, but no less elegant."
"Yes," Farley nodded, his eyes brightening, "A purist's choice; very good, my lord. I should never have attempted anything so fussy and showy. You are not a dandy, but a Corinthian. A man of your stature and good looks does not need to add any garish embellishments to draw the eye--you draw it naturally."
The valet rushed over to the dressing table, to find a fresh cravat, and Freddie mused that perhaps he didn't employ Farley merely for his valet skills, but for his good taste too.
Farley returned, and in a few minutes had tied the cravat into an elegant Ballroom knot.
"Very good," Freddie said, as he took a step back to appreciate his refection in the mirror.
His clothes were dark, as befitted the evening. He wore an exquisitely tailored plain, black coat, over black, snugly fitting pantaloons, complimented by a brocade waistcoat of ruby red. He looked, Freddie thought with satisfaction, every inch the Corinthian that Farley had earlier professed him to be.
"Yourguestwill be most impressed," Farley stated shyly, as he brushed a stray speck of dust from Freddie's shoulders.
Ah! Freddie hid a smile, no wonder poor Farley had been in such a state; he had wished Freddie to look immaculate for his lady friend. That was perhaps also why his housekeeper, Mrs Hiddlestone, had earlier decided to clean out the room which had once been Freddie's nursery...
One could have no secrets, when one had servants.
"I think they shall," Freddie agreed, as he gave his reflection one last glance.
Miss Mifford, while immune to some of his charms, was not blind. Even she could not fail to agree that Freddie cut a dashing figure, and was as handsome an escort as any lady might hope for.
With a whistle on his lips, Freddie tripped down the stairs--taking the runners two at a time--to the entrance hall, where a footman was waiting with his cane and top-hat.
"The carriage?"
"Awaiting you outside."
"Excellent."
Freddie's jubilant spirits continued for the duration of the journey from Pall Mall to Drury Lane. Anticipation had his nerves thrumming and humming so pleasantly that he barely minded the heavy traffic, or the spring rain which lashed down upon the roof.
The carriage eventually drew up outside the Theatre Royal, where Freddie disembarked into a sea of glittering socialites. He made for the lobby, found himself a spot where he could best see the door, and waited.
After what seemed like an interminable length of time--but according to his fob-watch was only five minutes--Freddie finally spotted the duke and duchess, with Miss Mifford trailing behind them.
"Northcott," Freddie hailed the duke, striding across the lobby to shake his hand. He then bowed to the duchess, and offered his arm to Miss Mifford.
"You look ravishing," Freddie whispered to her, for she did.
Miss Mifford's auburn hair was pulled into a soft up-style, with several tendrils framing her face and a scattering of a few flowers placed here and there to decorate. Her evening dress was of the Empire style; a soft pink satin at the bodice, which gave way to flowing silk skirts.
"You look like a May Queen," Freddie added, as he imagined her dancing with a ribbon around a maypole.
"Thank you," Miss Mifford offered him a shy smile, "Mary did tell me try look as un-murderess-like as possible for the evening."
"I've never seen anyone look less murderous than you," Freddie replied, gallantly, though afterwards he wondered if it was perhaps the most bizarre compliment that he had ever offered anyone.
The quartet climbed the stairs to the first floor and followed the corridor to the private box that Freddie rented annually. He was not a great connoisseur of the theatre, but when his mother and sister were in town, he obliged them by attending whatever play they wished to see.
"Northcott and I shall sit here," the duchess decided, her tone rather bossy, "And you sit there, Emily. Lord Chambers can take the seat beside you."
"Very good," Freddie answered, before Miss Mifford--who looked as though she might object--could reply.
The duchess had very obviously arranged things so that Freddie and Miss Mifford--or Emily, as he now liked to think of her--might sit side by side. As Freddie had hoped for this outcome, he was rather pleased with the set up.
