Chapter 10 #2
“Of course. We study all renowned artists in our quest for inspiration. Our manufactory takes pride in producing the finest works that will withstand the test of time.”
Simon’s tension eased as John and Madeline’s mother moved to view the paintings. Dinner might prove a success despite his reservations.
Madeline took her seat at the elegant dining table, an original Chippendale if she were to guess, with tapered legs and intricate carving.
It was bedecked with fine crystal, shiny silver, and exquisite china.
Hothouse blooms were artfully arranged in porcelain pots, beeswax candles flickered from silver candelabras, and gilt-framed mirrors around the room strategically reflected the light to chase the shadows from the room.
Footmen in fine livery were lined behind their chairs to attend them.
It was precisely what she had expected it to look like, and she was ecstatic to be invited, albeit under spurious circumstances.
“Where is Miss Carter?” Lady Blackwood sat at the end of the table, opposite to the baron. Her emotionless eyes cast about, evidently noting for the first time that Molly was not present. Madeline bit her lip, anxiety coiling in her stomach.
“Miss Carter is not well this evening, so she is taking a dinner tray in her bedchamber,” replied Simon from near the head of the table where he was seated diagonal to the baron.
“I should see to her.” Lady Blackwood made to rise, sending Madeline into panic. If Isla Scott returned to the family wing, it would be a disaster. It was Madeline’s role to ensure such a thing did not happen.
I must stop her!
“Oh, Lady Blackwood! I am so disappointed! I have so anticipated speaking with you tonight.”
Mama narrowed her eyes from across the table, dubious at Madeline’s words as she struggled to find an excuse to keep Lady Blackwood from leaving the dining room. “You are the envy of the entire neighborhood. I was hoping to convince you to reveal the identity of your modiste!”
Creases appeared between Mama’s brows as her questions mounted.
Her mother’s disbelief was palpable as all gazes rested upon Madeline.
It was true that Lady Blackwood was always attired in exquisite gowns, but the idea that Madeline would want such garments would be difficult to comprehend.
The Bigsbys favored attractive but practical dresses, which allowed them to go about their work.
In their world, expensive silk was only worn for formal dinners such as this.
Lady Blackwood settled back into her seat with her usual lack of expression, but Madeline sensed she was pleased to have her vanity pandered to.
Perhaps she would forget Molly’s absence if Madeline could distract her for sufficient time.
The dowager baroness might be difficult to read, but her choice to never display emotions upon her face revealed at least one character trait for a businesswoman such as herself to utilize to her advantage—vanity.
“I confess, I am reticent on the subject. Nothing ruins a good modiste more than being overwhelmed with more orders than she can manage.”
Madeline blinked at the selfishness of the statement, though she supposed she should not be surprised by such arrogance from a prig of the privileged class.
Simon interjected from down the table. “Would you not want to elevate the proprietress in question? Bring her new clientele as a sign of appreciation for work well done?”
“Do not be na?ve, dear boy. Your father always maintained that the lower classes are constantly seeking an opportunity to take advantage of their betters, and it is one’s role to uphold the separation of the peerage from the common folk.”
Nicholas sputtered out soup in startled mirth, dropping the spoon onto the table as he struggled to keep a straight face.
Simon’s jaw firmed in anger, Madeline able to perceive the hardening of his expression even from afar, and she wished to reassure him they were not offended. He opened his mouth to speak—
Lord Blackwood burst out laughing, ending on a cough into a lace-edged handkerchief that the footman, Duncan, raced forward to place in his hand.
“Please forgive Lady Blackwood, Miss Bigsby. Her wit can be rather biting at times. My father certainly had specific ideas about classes, but we are more enlightened than he, or we would not be enjoying dinner with such admirable company.”
It was obvious that the baron’s interruption was intended to deflect any affront Isla Scott had inadvertently caused.
Madeline noted Simon relax, and she guessed he was grateful that John had interceded.
Not for the first time, she wondered if Lady Blackwood was a bit of an idiot.
It would account for her vacuous expression and lack of original thoughts, along with the repetition of the late baron’s abrasive philosophies.
Duncan stepped forward to wipe the tablecloth beside Nicholas’s plate, placing a clean soup spoon and retreating back to his position.
Simon shot Madeline a glance of apology, introducing a discussion on a recent opera, and soon, the topic was being discussed with enthusiasm, Nicholas returning to moping into his soup bowl.
While Isla complained about the shabby costumes of the performers, Madeline’s thoughts wandered to the young woman upstairs who was searching the rooms in the family wing while they dined two floors beneath her feet.
She hoped that by the end of the night, Molly and she would have answered the question as to whether a murderer resided in this home.
No further incidents occurred, other than a strange moment when Isla knocked into a wineglass, but a footman shot forward to catch it before even a drop was spilled. The baroness’s eyes flickered in gratitude to the servant. Roderick, if memory served Madeline correctly.
The baroness gifted a rare smile to the table in general. “How terribly clumsy of me! I suppose tensions have been a little high these past days with the news sheets casting such dreadful allegations against the family.”
Madeline experienced a twinge of sympathy, realizing it must be difficult for the baroness to have her oldest son accused of violent crimes. “It is terrible how irresponsible journalists can be. They have no compunctions about questioning a gentleman’s reputation despite the lack of evidence.”
“Thank you, Miss Bigsby. Few understand the troubles associated with being in the public eye.”
A couple hours later, Madeline and her mother departed with an unspecific promise to return for another lovely evening, and Madeline thanked her mother for her patience as they walked home through the garden.
Eleanor Bigsby chuckled without humor. “You refer to Lady Blackwood’s remark about classes? Or how young Nicholas behaves like a spoilt little brat? Simon is a gentleman, so I shall prevail through occasional dinners with the dimwitted Lady Blackwood and arrogant lordling, if I must.”