Page 37 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
Although her wounded pride longed to pretend she had not noticed his presence, manners—and his sheer size—could not allow her.
“My lord,” Eudora said stiffly, irritated now by his broad shoulders and tall frame. It was rude, really, for a man to take up so much space.
“Miss Mifford,” he answered, his tone equally solemn but his eyes dancing.
Eudora bristled with annoyance. All the other guests were listless, their collective energy depleted, yet here was Lord Delaney exuding near bonhomie.
Perhaps he’s thinking of his lady love, awaiting him in London, Eudora thought, prodding again at the pain in her heart. It had subsided somewhat in his presence, but Eudora was reluctant to let its flame die out—for it protected her from further pain.
Across the room, Emily and Highfield were attempting to draw the other guests into a game of charades.
“Highly improper,” Mrs Cannards whispered loudly to her companion Mrs Weakling, “A man is dead.”
Her smug smile turned to a frown as her eyes landed on something across the room.
Eudora followed her gaze to where Mable, the housemaid, was discreetly clearing away the last of the tea trays.
Eudora wasn’t certain what the poor maid had done to earn Mrs Canard’s ire, but Mable seemed unaware of the glares directed her way. She was busy glowering darkly herself in the direction of Lord Albermay.
So many secrets everywhere, Eudora thought. Her brow began to ache, not least because Highfield—for some inexplicable reason—seemed determined to extract some gaiety from the evening and was now encouraging Mrs Mifford toward the pianoforte.
“I think I shall retire,” Eudora decided aloud; the walls were beginning to close in on her. She longed for Primrose Cottage, for the sound of Nora humming in the kitchen, and the freedom to take off down the garden path for a long walk by the riverside. Would that this interminable snow would melt, and the house party end!
“So soon?”
Lord Delaney, the only person to have noted her words, sat up, startled.
“I fear that another evening of listening to my mother play might lead to my early demise,” Eudora replied, careful not to allow herself to be touched by his obvious disappointment.
Lord Delaney nodded, all good manners, but Eudora was alarmed to feel his hand slip into hers as she rose to stand.
“Shall I meet you in the usual place?” he whispered, his tone urgent.
“Oh,” the tiny smidgen of hope that had fluttered in her belly died as she realised he wished only to discuss the murder. “Yes, I suppose. Do wait for a spell before you follow me; we wouldn’t wish to start any gossip.”
Feeling rather pious for wanting to save Lord Delaney’s imagined lover the trauma of hearing untrue gossip about a love affair between them, she left the room with a hasty goodnight to her family.
“Going so soon?” her father called, his tone mischievous, “Why, you’ll miss your dear mother regaling us all with a little Bach.”
“Yes, you can’t leave now,” Highfield interjected, panicked for some reason by her departure, “The fun is only starting.”
His statement would have held sway had it not been accompanied by Mrs Mifford ‘warming up’ with some very flat, ominous notes.
“Perhaps tomorrow night,” Eudora promised, fleeing from the room before her mother began to play in earnest.
She did not make straight for The Long Room; instead, she went first to her bedchamber to find a shawl. Lord Delaney might take a half-hour to arrive, and she did not wish to freeze while waiting.
The quiet of the manor echoed as she walked. She guessed all the servants were downstairs taking their supper. In her bedchamber, Eudora grabbed a shawl—borrowed from Mary and threw it over her shoulders. The dress she wore—borrowed from Jane, was from a fine modiste in London, but it did little to ward off the cold. Not wishing to leave Emily out, Eudora rummaged through the pockets of her pelisse, which hung on the back of the door and extracted a pair of gloves that belonged to her nearest sister. It was fanciful, but she thought that if she wore something from each of her sisters, she wouldn’t feel so alone when she faced Lord Delaney.
With the shawl wrapped around her shoulders for protection, both from the cold and anticipated disappointment, Eudora slipped away to The Long Room.
She found it empty, as usual, but much darker than on previous nights. There was little light, for the night sky was clouded over, and she instantly regretted not bringing a candle.
Perhaps Robert will bring one, she thought as she stared idly out the window at the grounds below. It was only after a moment that she realised how easily she had called Lord Delaney by his given name, and she felt a jolt of irritation—both with herself and the baron.
It was he who had made cow-eyes at her at the end of last season, he who had insisted she call him by his given name, and he who had called her his partner with such solemnity that it had caused an eruption of butterflies in her stomach…
“A cad, that’s all he is,” Eudora whispered, her breath leaving a fog on the window-pane.
