Page 2 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“I dare say that you’re the person whom Lord Delaney is looking forward to seeing the most,” Emily interjected, her blue eyes dancing.
Eudora flushed with annoyance; she could not stand her sisters trying to matchmake on her behalf. Especially when they attempted to pair her up with a man who had spent the season oblivious to her until her Mama had forced her into dressingà la modeinstead ofà la grand-mère- Mrs Mifford’s exact words to describe Eudora’s past penchant for attempting to appear older than her years. Her cane and spectacles had been confiscated, never to be seen again. A pity, for the cane might have come in handy for poking at Lord Delaney should he dare to come too close.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Eudora, if you were to find yourself married too?” Charlotte interjected dreamily, “I expect you won’t feel so left behind when you have a husband and home of your own.”
“I-I don’t feel left behind,” Eudora stuttered.
How could she feel left behind when she had finally assumed the position of eldest daughter of the house?
“Oh,” Charlotte blinked, “I just thought, what with all your sisters married, Mary with a baby, and Jane expecting, that you might feel a little left out. Why, they’ve all solved a murder, too, now that I think of it!”
Eudora opened and closed her mouth as she struggled to find a suitable reply that would not earn her soul a black mark. Mercifully, Jane - ever levelheaded - swept to the rescue.
“Eudora will marry when she meets someone worthy of her hand,” Jane interrupted, smiling at her youngest sister. “As for solving a murder, I hope that’s one accomplishment she does not feel the need to emulate. Tell me, Charlotte, have you heard from your Mama?”
Charlotte let out a displeased sigh as she nodded her head.
“Just last week,” she informed them, “She wanted to know if I had met any eligible bachelors in Plumpton and also inquired if your husbands have many bachelor friends. She warned me not to return to Stow-on-the-Wold unless I had a ring on my finger.”
Eudora’s ill feeling toward Charlotte melted - slightly - at her words. Her mother, their father’s sister, was a meddling woman who had not been happy to learn of her nieces’ successful marriages. She had sent Charlotte to Plumpton under the auspices of acting as Jane’s companion during her confinement, but really - as Mrs Mifford repeatedly declared to anyone who would listen - it was to try to marry the girl off.
“You have a home with us here,” Jane consoled her, “There’s no need to rush into finding a husband, Charlotte.”
“Yes, I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it,” Charlotte agreed cheerfully, demonstrating both her resolute good nature and unfortunate habit of using malaphors.
Any further discussion of marriage - for either of the table’s single ladies - was cut short by the arrival of Mrs Mifford, back from her morning jaunt to town.
“There he is, my lovely boy,” Mrs Mifford cooed as she swept across the room to remove George from Emily’s arms.
“We’re here too, Mama,” Eudora pointed out dryly, for she had roundly ignored them all.
“Yes, but George is always happy to see me, unlike you lot,” Mrs Mifford explained as she made funny faces at her grandson.
George’s face was alight with happiness as he smiled at his grandmother. He waved his sausage arms in the air, his pudgy cheeks spreading into a grin.
“Who’s a handsome boy?” Mrs Mifford cooed, earning a proud smile from Mary.
“Not only is he handsome, but he’s also very clever,” Mary informed them, most seriously, “I am aware that most people believe their offspring to be prodigies, but I believe George might actually be one; just yesterday, he attempted to say pulchritudinous. He didn’t quite get there as he started spitting up his milk, but both Northcott and I heard it.”
This news was met by an incredulous silence from her audience.
“Are you certain that he wasn’t simply gurgling, rather than attempting a five-syllable word?” Jane ventured, gently.
“I’m most certain,” Mary answered, her chin set stubbornly, “Just ask Northcott; he heard it too.”
The serious and sombre Duke of Northcott could usually be called upon to substantiate some of Mary’s wilder claims. When it came to George, however, the duke’s brain was as love-addled as that of his wife’s.
“Well,” Jane answered, with a slight smile, “I expect that when George does manage to form his first word, we shall require a dictionary to decipher it.”
“Guh,” George agreed happily, peppering his attempts at speaking with a liberal dash of dribble.
“I thought I’d married most of you off,” Mr Mifford grumbled as he strode into the kitchen clutching an empty cup. “Don’t you all have homes of your own in which to loiter?”
Eudora smiled; though her father had spoken in jest, she was glad that he had verbalised her own feelings on the matterof the crowded kitchen. It was very difficult to feel like the eldest daughter of the house when the previous eldest daughters insisted on hogging the limelight.
“We’ll be leaving shortly,” Mary answered, nodding toward Jane and Charlotte. “We must oversee the final arrangements for the guests’ arrival.”
She stood up from her seat and reached for George, but Mrs Mifford refused to relinquish him.
