A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,15

to where Northcott stood at the top of the room beside Lord Crabb. Neither man had deigned to dance, as had been expected, and instead stood, haughtily surveying the room. Well, Lord Crabb was haughtily surveying the room; the duke was, indeed, staring in her direction.

"We have been introduced," Mary replied, hoping that she did not sound as though she was gloating.

"Oh, how grand," Miss Morton swooned a little, casting a longing gaze in Northcott's direction.

"There was very little grandeur when Miss Mifford was first introduced to His Grace," a voice interrupted.

Mary's shoulders stiffened with fear as Mr Parsims ingratiated himself into the circle of ladies. She had not told anyone--not even Jane--of the disastrous first impression she had made on the duke for fear of scorn and ridicule. Now, as she realised that Mr Parsims was about to reveal her social misstep, Mary rather wished that she had told everyone herself. It is far easier to laugh at oneself than to be laughed at.

"The first time that Miss Mifford met His Grace was outside my home," Mr Parsims said, glancing around the circle of ladies to make certain that each one was listening. "Would you believe, she mistook him for a thief?"

"Never!" Mrs Canards was scandalised, while Miss Wickling tutted in disapproval.

"Even worse," Mr Parsims continued, allowing himself a rueful chuckle, "She threw something at him, thinking he was about to try break-in through my window."

A chorus of giggles went up from the circle of ladies, and Mary felt her face flush hot with embarrassment.

"With such sound social nous, it's easy to see why you were such a success in London, Miss Mifford," Mr Parsims finished, smiling as he turned to witness Mary's reaction to his public drubbing down.

Miss Morton looked so pleased with the turn of events that Mary was certain only manners were keeping her from rushing home and stitching the whole conversation onto a sampler. Shame and humiliation bubbled within Mary and, worse, rage.

Usually, Mary was in complete control of her emotions, but as this was the second time that Mr Parsims had sought to humiliate her--and as she knew that humiliation was the sport he most enjoyed--something inside her snapped.

"Oh," she retorted, hands-on-hips, "You are the most odious of men, Mr Parsims, and everybody knows it. I hope--I hope--I hope someone murders you on your way home."

Shocked silence greeted her outburst. Even Mr Parsims had nothing to say in response to having death wished upon him. Mary knew that she had transgressed, and her initial urge was to apologise, but a hand slipped into hers.

Jane.

Steadfast Jane stood beside her, offering Mr Parsims a cool glare.

"My sister does not really wish you ill, Sir," Jane said, rescuing the situation somewhat, "But she is correct; your behaviour and manners are not fitting of a man who represents the church. Good evening."

Jane pulled Mary away from the gaggle of ladies and Mr Parsims, to a quiet corner of the room.

"Oh, Mary," Jane sighed, "I know he was provoking, but you should not have risen to it."

"I know," Mary wailed, glancing around the assembly room, to find its occupants were stealing covert glances at her. Gossip travelled quickly in Plumpton and Mary did not doubt that news of her outburst would soon meet the duke's ears.

And worse. Her mother's.

"I fear I have a migraine coming on," Mary decided, raising a hand to her temple to add levity to her claim.

"You do not suffer from migraines," Jane answered.

"Well, I do now," Mary was firm, "I cannot stay, Jane. I shall be an object of ridicule for the rest of the night."

"You shan't," Jane assured her, "There's not a soul in Plumpton who has not wished to say something similar to Mr Parsims--you shall be regarded as a hero."

"Only men can be heroes," Mary was glum, "I think you'll find me cast in the role of the hysterical shrew. Oh, Jane, I simply must take my leave. Will you explain to the others that I am gone home?"

Mary did not wait for her sister's reply. Instead, she turned on the heel of her dancing slipper and fled for the door.

"Are you alright dear?" a woman--whom Mary recognised as Mrs Hargreaves, newly resident at The King's Head--asked, as Mary reached the door.

Mrs Hargreaves stood alone, waiting, Mary presumed for her husband to fetch her shawl. She offered Mary a kindly smile, but even the kindness of a stranger could not rescue Mary from the depths of despair.

"I have a migraine, that is