Page 48 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
With the return of Mr Mifford to London, Mrs Mifford had once again taken up residence in Northcott House. As Emily attended to her preparations for the ball, her mother insisted on popping in and out, every few minutes, to offer unhelpful comments.
"I do wish you'd chosen mint over pistachio for the gown," she sighed, during one interruption.
"There's very little difference between the two," Emily replied, through gritted teeth, "And there's very little I can do now, the ball is in a few hours--I can hardly have a new dress made."
"Are you wearing your hair likethat?" she gasped, after Sylvie had spent an hour dressing Emily's hair, "It's not very flattering."
"It will have to do," Emily snipped, "There's no time to do anything else with it."
"Well, at least try and look cheerful," Mrs Mifford responded, with a sigh, "Anyone would think you're not looking forward to the evening."
"I can't think why," Emily muttered, as she wondered if it might be possible to lure her mother into the cupboard and lock her inside for the evening.
Luckily, Mr Mifford--demonstrating his almost telepathic ability to tell when his wife was being irritating--appeared at the door.
"You look wonderful, Emily," he said, before turning to his wife with a frown, "Have you seen my cuff-links?"
"Must I do everything?" Mrs Mifford huffed in response, as she stormed out the door with the air of a suffering martyr.
Emily waited a few beats, before grinning at her father.
"I believe you're already wearing your cuff-links, Papa," she observed.
"Look at that," Mr Mifford replied, with feigned surprise, "So I am. Well, while I go find your mother, why don't you finish getting ready in peace? I often find that a moment of solitude, before a big event, can calm the nerves."
With that sage advice, Mr Mifford departed, leaving Emily alone in her room. She checked her appearance one final time in the mirror and found that, without her mother's critical voice in her ear, her reflection was quite becoming. Her red hair was worn high, with loose tendrils framing her face. Her gown, pistachio in colour and trimmed with lace, highlighted her slim frame and complimented her hair.
She was no ogre, she thought cheerfully.
Happy that she would not frighten anyone, Emily made for the window, which overlooked the square. She peeked out through the drapes and saw that there was already a line of carriages snaking around the square; an invitation from the Duke and Duchess of Northcott was not one that anyone would ignore.
Downstairs, Emily found Mary and Northcott in the entrance hall, awaiting the first of their guests. Mary looked almost regal in a gown of navy blue, which contrasted her light hair beautifully and hid her bump. Northcott was his usual tall, dark, and handsome self, as he muttered words of reassurance to his wife.
"Everyone will be intimidated by you; you are a duchess, there's no need to be nervous. And, no, if something goes wrong, I will not allow you to fake your own death..."
Sensing that her sister was on the verge of hysteria, Emily simply offered her a sincere compliment on her dress, then made straight for the ballroom. There, she helped herself to a glass of ratafia, and idled by a large potted plant to await the first guests. She was soon joined by Eudora who, having been dressed by Sylvie, looked every-inch the blushing debutante.
"Where are your spectacles?" Emily queried. Though she knew well that Eudora only wore them for show, she was so accustomed to seeing her in them that it seemed strange to find her not wearing them.
"Sylvie confiscated them," Eudora replied, her expression mutinous, "Along with my feathered turban, my fox stole, and my cane. She said I had the style of a tragic, elderly spinster."
"Your style is not tragic," Emily assured her, though she was rather in agreement on the elderly spinster part. As the youngest sibling, Eudora had always wanted to appear older, but she rather overshot the mark at times. It was not unusual for someone to mistake Eudora for an aged grandmother from afar, as had happened on several occasions.
Cecilia was the first official guest to arrive, resplendent in a ruby gown, embroidered in gold stitching. Upon her head, she wore an imperial toque headdress, composed of ruby satin which matched her dress, with a gold tiara at its front and a plume of ostrich feathers at its crown. She looked like an empress of old; beautiful and intimidating, and the plume of feathers was so high, that she was certain to dwarf even the tallest of men.
Mr and Mrs Mifford followed in her wake, the latter looking slightly put-out at having been out-shone by her rival. A stream of guests then followed, amongst them Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling, whom Mrs Mifford pounced upon at once.
"Allow me to show you around, ladies," Mrs Mifford cried, her voice--unfortunately--carrying, "I know you are unaccustomed to mixing in such circles, and I do like to be charitable where I can."
Emily rolled her eyes; her mother was trying to dull her feelings of inferiority to Cecilia by making her guests from Plumpton feel equally inferior. If it had been anyone other than Mrs Canards, Emily would have felt pity towards them.
As it was, Mrs Canards scowled unhappily, and allowed herself to be led away by a buoyant Mrs Mifford. Emily's attention was then drawn by the arrival of more guests to the ballroom, which was rapidly beginning to fill.
She spotted Ethel, garbed as theatrically as the dowager duchess; her lack of confidence in her silks and satins, however, marked her out asnouveau riche. Near Ethel, stood Miss Gardner and her mama, both preening contentedly as Mr Fitzgibbons attended to them. A little further away from them, standing with her parents was Lady Francesca, her expression most unhappy. It was no wonder she was sad, at midway through the season, there were no rumours yet that the young lady might find herself a husband--despite her having triedveryhard to snaffle Mr Bunting, who was also present. The target of Lady Francesca's affections was making a beeline for the French doors, an unlit cheroot already in hand. It was early in the night to abscond to the gardens to smoke, but perhaps Mr Bunting wished to avoid the ballroom until there were enough guests to separate him from the lady that he had disappointed.
Emily's eyes scanned the room for Lord Chambers, but she saw no sign of him. Luckily, Lady Albermay's arrival distracted her from her disappointment.
"Well, don't you both look as sweet as a pair of ices from Gunter's," Lady Albermay drawled, as she arrived at Emily and Eudora's side. Her description was rather apt; for both girls were dressed in shades of pastel.
