A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,65

the top of the room for ladies of precedence of the rank of a Peer or Peeress of Great-Britain or Ireland?" Jane queried innocently, in a direct echo of Mrs Canards' words some weeks ago.

"I hardly think that necessary," Mrs Canards sniffed, her tune changed now that someone she had once regarded as inferior ranked above her. "There won't be any peers in attendance; a country assembly is not fitting for anyone of rank."

"Perhaps a person of rank is best suited to decide which events they will deign to attend," Jane answered, unable to hide her scowl of annoyance.

It looked as though the two were going to have a spat, Mary fretted, though, thankfully, before either Jane or Mrs Canards could speak again, Miss Hughes interrupted.

"I think it a good idea," she said, with a nod to Jane, "After all, with Lord Crabb now engaged it is expected that he will attend to show his bride-to-be off to the village."

As no one had known about the engagement, this news set the whole group off into a buzz of whispers and distracted Mrs Canards from her mission to vex any person with a pulse.

Mary, who was just as surprised as the others to learn that the octogenarian had decided to take one final stab at matrimony, listened curiously as Sarah explained all.

"It is my cousin, Prunella," Miss Hughes told her captive audience, "She is the daughter of Sir Charles and just gone eighteen."

"A love match, by the sounds of it," Mrs Canards cackled, though Mary was inclined to agree with her crude assessment. One could hardly expect that a girl just out of the schoolroom could truly love a man with one foot in the grave. Perhaps, had Lord Crabb been charming or kind one might have understood it, but as he was neither—and a lot less besides—it truly did sound like a dreadful match for poor Prunella.

"They will be married next month," Sarah continued, pointedly ignoring Mrs Canards' remark, "And she will become Lady Crabb. I expect she shall want to join in on our meetings, I hope you will all make her feel welcome."

"I feel sorry for that lad who was supposed to inherit," Mrs Mifford sighed, having not listened to Sarah's plea for kindness from her fellow society members, "Imagine spending your whole life thinking you were set to inherit, then—bang!—a pretty face comes along and produces an heir at the last minute. I hope that he has not borrowed too heavily against the expectation that he will inherit a title."

"Thank you for that, Mama," Mary interrupted her mother before she could continue any further, "I am certain that Lord Crabb's current heir will wish the couple as much happiness as we do."

A few titters erupted at this statement—probably not the wisest choice of words on Mary's part—but Mary ignored them.

"Shall we continue on with our work?" she questioned, adopting the tone she had used when she had wanted to be Plumpton's most exemplary, upstanding spinster.

Her piety worked wonders on calming the assembled ladies, who each adopted innocent expressions as they carried on with the task of arranging the assembly. All matters of business were attended to easily, for Mrs Canards had now turned her attention away from Mary and onto Lord Crabb, and within a half-hour, the meeting had come to an end.

"I must dash, dear," Mrs Mifford said, apologetically, as Mary came over to talk to her, "Your father has a dozen things he needs helping with—he's been the same every day since the wedding. Honestly, if I didn't know any better, I'd think he was deliberately trying to keep me away from Northcott Manor."

"No," Mary assured her mother, as Jane struggled to hide a smile, "I think you're imagining that, Mama."

Mrs Mifford smiled brightly at her daughter's reassuring words, before bustling from the hall to help her husband. As the door closed behind her, Jane turned to Mary with a knowing smile.

"Who suggested it?" she asked.

"Papa," Mary shrugged, "He said that he did not have many words of advice to offer me on marriage but that, in his experience, he often found his own marriage was usually happiest when Mama was kept distracted, and that mine probably would be too."

"Charming," Jane snorted with laughter.

"Miss Mifford!" Mrs Jacobs, the Society's secretary, called from across the room, "Might I borrow you for a moment?"

Mary nodded and would have set off across the room, had Jane not placed a restraining hand upon her sleeve.

"I am Miss Mifford now," she reminded her sister, with a smile, "Or had you forgotten that you are married?"

Oh! Mary had borne the moniker for so many years that it was strange to think that—as the eldest unmarried daughter—Jane was now Miss Mifford.

"Perhaps you won't be Miss Mifford for long," Mary whispered to Jane, before she set off across the room, "For I intend to continue on with my mission to see my three sisters married well."

"Well start with Eudora or Emily, if you must," Jane grumbled, "For I am not the marrying kind."

"That's what you think," Mary whispered to her sister's departing back, before she herself took her leave of the hall.

Outside, a carriage and four awaited Her Grace, a fact which was slightly perplexing for Mary had not told them to wait.

"I did say that I would walk home, Johnathan," Mary grumbled, as the footman jumped down to open the carriage door.

"You did, your Grace," Johnathan agreed, "But when we returned home without you, His Grace decided that he was also quite taken by the idea of a walk."

Northcott—or Henry, as she now called him in private—emerged from the carriage looking painfully handsome and a little bit sheepish.

"Thank you, Johnathan," Henry brusquely dismissed the footman, "That will be all."

Johnathan nodded, unable to hide a smile as he leapt back up to his perch on the rear of the carriage. Henry sighed as he noted it and turned to Mary with a rueful smile.

"I am afraid that I have lost all authority with the servants now they know my secret," he said sadly, as he linked her arm through his.

"And what secret is that?" Mary asked, enjoying the feeling of protection his large frame offered.

"That I am completely, utterly, and totally in love with you," Henry gave a faux sigh, "And that loving you has turned me into a romantic fool."

"My romantic fool," Mary replied, squeezing his arm as they walked, "Shall we take the scenic path home? There's a darling little meadow—very private—that I think you might enjoy."

"Lead the way," Henry grinned.

And so she did, and the pair walked happily off into the afternoon sun.

A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford is the next tale in the Regency Murder and Marriage Series.

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Other Works

If you enjoyed A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford, you might also like some of Claudia's other works.

Series

Wilful Wallflowers

Tamed by a Duke

Never Fool a Duke

The Rake and Lady Julia