A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,4

so true and good after all.

"I don't know why," Mary replied through gritted teeth, "I simply wished to do something nice, and I am being punished for it. Just like Mr Parsims punished me for interrupting the duke when he was trying to bash in his window."

Mary rather expected Mrs Canards to scold her for her outburst, but the old woman did no such thing.

"Northcott is here?" she asked, her mind affixing on only the most important fact.

"Yes."

"Are you certain?" Mrs Canards pressed.

"Quite certain," Mary replied, wincing as she recalled how certainly the stone she had flung had hit His Grace's head.

"Well, this changes everything," Mrs Canards said, reaching out to snatch the jar of nostrum from Mary's hands, "I shall take this, dearie, and drink it at once; then I shall prepare myself for the afternoon meeting of the Ladies' Society."

"I don't think His Grace shall be in attendance," Mary was amused.

"No, but we have an assembly to organise," Mrs Canards huffed, "His Grace's presence is an honour to Plumpton, and as members of the Ladies' Society, we should ensure that he receives a true Plumpton welcome."

Mary recalled the duke's fine, tailored jacket, his gleaming Hessian boots, and his decidedly aristocratic mien; a country assembly above the local tavern would fall far below the standards a man such as Northcott was accustomed too.

Still, Mrs Canards had visibly perked up, and Mary herself felt a slight thrill at the idea of a dance. What harm would it be? Not only would it honour His Grace, but it would bring a little joy to the village, she thought, completely forgetting that spinsters were supposed to abhor gaiety.

"Run along home, now," Mrs Canards said, in a voice that one might think was affectionate, if one did not know her well, "I am sure your sisters will be interested in your news."

Her sisters!

In all the excitement with the duke and all the sourness with Mr Parsims, Mary had forgotten all about her three sisters. How excited they would be to learn of the duke's arrival. Not to mention her mama, who would be so overjoyed that she would probably require a medicinal wine to calm her nerves.

Mary winced as she imagined her mama plotting and scheming an attempt to marry one of her daughters off to the Duke of Northcott. Mrs Mifford had been born into the ton but had married down, as she was fond of reminding her family, and anyone else who would listen. In her mind, her daughters were as good a match for the duke as any society miss, though Mary highly doubted that Northcott would harbour similar beliefs.

No, the Duke of Northcott would not think any of the Mifford girls as suitable candidates for his bride. Though, Mary sniffed, as she recalled the haughty peer, that was no loss.

Chapter Two

Henry William Pryse Lockheart, Sixth Duke of Northcott, gave a sigh of displeasure as he awaited the arrival of Lord Crabb. As a duke, he abhorred waiting on anyone, but as Lord Crabb was an octogenarian, and as this was a social visit, there was very little that Henry could do but lump it.

He paced the floor of the grand drawing room of Plumpton Hall out of both boredom and necessity. The room was cold, as though rarely used, which Henry suspected was the case. There was little society in Plumpton, and he doubted that Lord Crabb had many callers who would warrant the opening of this grand room.

After a good fifteen minutes, the door to the drawing-room finally creaked open, and Lord Crabb shuffled inside, scowling terribly in Henry's direction.

"Northcott," he grumbled in greeting, "You might have written before calling."

"I did."

"Well, you might have written twice. A man of my age can't be expected to recall every ruddy letter he receives."

"I shall keep that in mind," Henry replied evenly, refusing to allow the curmudgeonly viscount to upset his equilibrium.

"Take a seat," Crabb said, waving to one of two high-backed chairs, which faced the--regrettably--empty fireplace, "And you can illuminate me on this water mill business you're faffing over."

Henry was far too polite to point out to Lord Crabb that he had mentioned the "water-mill business" in the missive he had sent advising of his visit, though he did feel a niggle of irritation. He was further irritated when it became apparent that Lord Crabb would not be offering any refreshments. True, he had not travelled far for his visit, but he was a duke, for heaven's sake. The old