What a Spinster Wants - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,76
I have no notion why Society finds my personal relationships so verra intriguing…” A few ladies flushed and averted their gazes while Edith continued. “…I can honestly say, no’ tha’ it matters on the whole, that I havnae taken a lover of any sort, nor should I, unless I was fortunate enough to marry again, and then it should only be with him. Does tha’ make me so very prudish to you, Miss Chesney?”
She looked positively appalled, her small mouth working soundlessly. Grace and Georgie grinned, Janet hid a smile behind her cup, and Miranda silently applauded.
Diana Bradford sat back and murmured, “Well, well, a true lady after all. I am delighted to hear it.”
Edith seethed silently, barely maintaining her tight smile, and rose to her feet. “If you will excuse me, I mus’ see if any other imaginary Scottish lovers are waiting for me in my bedchamber. They do so hate to be kept waiting.”
Grace snorted and pulled out a handkerchief in an attempt to feign blowing her nose, while Adaline merely looked ill and scowled.
Edith curtseyed to the group and moved to leave but stopped only three steps from her seat. Exhaling, she looked over her shoulder and said, “And the thing about kilts, Miss Chesney, is that it makes all sorts of things verra convenient. And vastly more entertaining.”
Her friends seemed to crumple against each other in mirth, while the Bradford sisters gleefully grinned. Catherine and Adaline, however, were both quite red in the face.
Lifting her chin, Edith continued to move away, glancing up as she passed Lord Radcliffe. He met her gaze with a great deal of pride and a hint of a smile.
“Brilliantly executed, my lady,” he murmured.
She inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord. I think I should visit my special friend now, do you agree?”
He did smile now and nodded. “Absolutely. She is waiting for you.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Edith smiled with genuine warmth, then left the room without a backwards glance.
She made her way back through the corridors and up the stairs, the pathway clearer now than the day before, and soon she was at the nursery, knocking on the slightly ajar door.
“Come in!” chimed a sweet voice.
Edith pushed the door open further and smiled at Molly, seated as she was on the floor with her dolls. “Is there room for one more?”
“Edith!” Molly darted over and hugged her tightly around the waist. “Do you want to play with my dolls? I have enough for us both.”
“I would love to,” Edith told her, situating herself on the floor.
The two of them soon lost themselves to their imaginations, playing all sorts of things with their dolls, including story time, school lessons, and dance instruction. Edith told a few stories she could remember from her childhood, letting her brogue ring out proudly, as befitted the tales. Molly was a strict dancing instructor but said Edith showed great promise.
What a relief.
Molly’s nanny appeared then, a tall woman with a kind face and soft voice, and she offered to procure some crumpets from the kitchen if the ladies would like a tea party.
The places were quickly set, and Edith was named Princess Zara to Molly’s Queen of Spain, with many dolls as their additional companions. Warm water with lemon served as tea, and the conversation among the table was highly amusing from all assembled.
They had been at it for quite a while, and were giggling madly, when suddenly Molly looked past Edith at the door and frowned.
Edith turned to look and found Lord Radcliffe leaning rather casually against the open door, watching them with a bemused expression. Granted, they were sitting on the floor, and it was not the most elegant of situations, but surely, he had seen worse.
Not from Edith, but all was decent and proper, even so.
She lifted her chin proudly. “My lord.”
His mouth quirked as he took in the sight before him. He winked at his niece, who went back to speaking with her dolls. Then, he looked down at Edith with a raised brow.
“You’ve been up here quite a long time, Edith. Shouldn’t you be down with the others?”
She shook her head at once. “I would much rather be up here having tea with her majesty, the Queen of Spain,” she said, gesturing grandly to Molly, who dramatically bowed at least three times, “than anything else at the moment. The crumpets are delicious, and the conversation is far better than downstairs.”
“Hear, hear,” Molly cried, only half listening, but smiling at Edith anyway.