Chapter Five #2
Mirabel was up in a flash. She read the cards, turned them over as if expecting a hoax.
She faced Thea in a panic. “What do they want here? They’ve always turned up their noses at me.
” Mirabel had married Lord Palmer, a man decades older than herself, to save her father from debtor’s prison.
Since Lord Palmer’s first wife had been very popular and he’d married Mirabel with undue haste, she’d never been truly accepted in many social circles, even after all this time.
“When my path crossed Lady Montvale’s last year in Madame Regina’s, she gave me the cut direct.
Looked right past me as if I wasn’t there.
And neither accepted my invitation to the charity rout I held last year for St. Agnes’s orphanage.
I did my best to convince them to come. Oh, the toadying dance I had to jig for them—but they both turned me down flat. ”
“They probably didn’t want to offer money to the cause.” Having once been one of the upper echelon, Thea was more jaded about the likes of Lady Montvale and Mrs. Pomfrey. “They are shallow, Mirabel. They are only interested in their own gain.”
“That may be true, but what gain can they have paying a call on me?”
“Go to the receiving room and find out,” Thea suggested. “The boys and I will slip out the back gate.” Thea knew both women were friends of her brother. She had no desire for a meeting.
“Stay right there,” Mirabel ordered, rising to her feet and putting her hand on Thea’s arm to block her way. “You are my friend. No one chases my friends away.” She made the pronouncement with her customary dramatic flair. “Osgood, I will receive my guests here in the morning room.”
“Yes, my lady.” The butler left.
“Mirabel, this is a terrible idea. I know how these women think. You don’t want me here.” Thea had already come to her feet and gathered up the list. She reached for her reticule.
“I absolutely do want you here,” Mirabel declared, moving to stand in front of the door. “I don’t have many friends, but the ones I have, I value.”
Her words touched Thea’s heart. “You are so special, Mirabel. There isn’t anyone in London who can hold a candle to you.”
Steps echoed on the black and white tiles in the hallway. Mirabel’s eyes widened. “Oh. Dear.”
Thea crossed to her side, turned her to face the door and took her arm. “Relax. They are calling on you. This meeting is under your roof. Everything will be fine.”
“But why are they here?” Mirabel repeated before plastering a welcoming smile on her face.
Osgood appeared in the doorway. “Lady Montvale and Mrs. Pomfrey,” he announced in his most sonorous voice.
Mrs. Pomfrey sailed into the room ahead of her companion.
She was a tall, thin woman with impeccable taste.
Her graying brown hair was cut in the Juno style, and her dress of burgundy muslin trimmed in ivory lace had to have been a creation of Madame Avant’s, the expensive couturier off Bond Street.
Lady Montvale wore a deep green day gown, trimmed in yellow velvet ribbon, also probably a creation of Madame Avant’s. She was a petite woman with a giant attitude and a scowl made more fierce by her thick eyebrows.
Thea assumed she would receive a scowl. Instead, she was stunned when both women gave perfunctory greetings to Mirabel, then charged Thea like hounds after a rabbit.
“Mrs. Martin,” Lady Montvale said, “what a pleasure to find you here!”
“We had not expected it,” Mrs. Pomfrey chimed in, pulling off her lace gloves as if preparing to have a cozy chat. “We were hoping that dear Lady Palmer would have some knowledge of your whereabouts, but how fortuitous to find you ourselves.”
“Yes, fortuitous?” Thea repeated. She cast a glance of confusion at Mirabel, who shrugged. She was as surprised as Thea.
“I was a friend of your dear mother,” Mrs. Pomfrey said, “God rest her soul. I feel . . .”—she paused, stared hard at Thea and released a long breath before saying—“sad that I had lost touch with one of Violet’s daughters.”
Thea could not remember her mother ever mentioning Mrs. Pomfrey, but then her mother had died almost fifteen years ago, when her youngest brother had been born.
“I, too, was a friend,” Lady Montvale echoed. “We were close.”
“That is so good to know,” Thea murmured with sincerity she didn’t feel.
“Please, sit down,” Mirabel said, as if suddenly remembering her manners. “We were having my dandelion tea. A fabulous elixir. So good for the nervous system. I’ll have Osgood—ah, here is Mrs. Clemmons with the tray now.”
Mrs. Clemmons was Osgood’s wife and Mirabel’s housekeeper.
She was a narrow, efficient woman. She carried in a tray that also held plates of small sandwiches and slices of Mirabel’s favorite cake.
Osgood and Clemmons were Mirabel’s only two permanent servants.
She hired a cook and an upstairs maid for when she was in town.
She liked her small household, although when she went to her country estate, there was a host of servants and retainers.
“The locals depend upon me,” she would often complain to Thea, who knew Mirabel was quite right.
Her father’s estates had employed whole villages.
The housekeeper set the refreshments upon the table and informed Thea, “I took the liberty of preparing a tray for Masters Jonathan and Christopher.”
“Thank you,” Thea murmured, still undecided if she should stay. Mrs. Pomfrey and Lady Montvale had already taken their places at the table. She noticed she’d left the list of names on the table, and she swiped it up, folded it and made it disappear into her reticule.
Mrs. Pomfrey tapped the place next to her. “Sit, Mrs. Martin. Sit.”
“Yes, please sit, Mrs. Martin,” Mirabel said, a smile on her face and a plea in her eyes.
Thea took pity on her friend and seated herself at the table.
Mirabel poured tea. There was a moment of silence while everyone took a sip and smiled at each other and Thea wondered why the mavens had called. Mirabel looked just as curious.
Mrs. Pomfrey did not waste time enlightening them. “I understand, Mrs. Martin, that Lord Lyon has been seeking your advice on a matter of much importance.”
Thea wondered where she had heard that. Her question must have shown on her face, because Lady Montvale explained, “You were seen dining with him several days ago. Many of us know of your particular talents.”
“Talents?” A bit uncertain, Thea looked at Mirabel, who realized first what the ladies were saying. She jumped into the fray.
“Yes, Lord Lyon is consulting with Mrs. Martin in his quest for a wife. He’s decided the time has come.”
Thea kicked Mirabel under the table. What was she doing?
“Ow,” Mirabel had the ill grace to say. She frowned at Thea. “Why hide the fact? That these gentlewomen are here is proof enough that the word is all over town.”
“Well, not all over,” Mrs. Pomfrey said, “but we’ve heard. Then again, we’ve all been waiting. I was saying to Mr. Pomfrey just last week that if I had my pick of all the suitable gentlemen in London to marry my Susanne, it would be Lord Lyon.”
Lady Montvale turned to Thea, giving her good friend her back. “My daughter Cynthia is of marriageable age and the leading debutante this year. They call her the Nonpareil of the season.”
“How nice for her,” Thea said.
“I don’t want to brag—,” Lady Montvale said, leaning in to Thea as if to share confidences, until Mrs. Pomfrey placed her arm in front of her as to block any movement.
“You already have been bragging,” Mrs. Pomfrey interjected bluntly. “A very unattractive habit it is.”
Lady Montvale ignored her, continuing, “But Princess Caroline complimented Cynthia on her voice. Said she’d heard Italian singers who paled in comparison to my Cynthia.
Of course, we’ve seen that she’s had the finest teachers.
Lord Montvale and I have poured everything we have into our daughter.
Talent such as hers should not be ignored. ”
“Well,” Mrs. Pomfrey said, setting down her teacup, “singing is fine, but anyone can sing. It’s God given, after all.
Open your mouth; let noise come out . . .
However, my Susanne plays the pianoforte.
That takes talent! The first time Prinny heard her play, he gave her a standing ovation.
The Prince adores music. He said Susanne could play for him any day. ”
Lady Montvale’s smile grew tighter. “Prinny acclaims my Cynthia’s dancing. He says she is lighter than air.”
“How interesting,” Mrs. Pomfrey said, unimpressed. “He said the same of my Susanne. Furthermore, my husband’s family has excellent bloodlines. He is descended from the Conqueror.”
“As is my husband’s,” Lady Montvale returned, and Thea put her hands up to stop the conversation before it became too heated.
“Please, my ladies, I understand. You would like to have your daughters introduced to Lord Lyon.”
“Of course we do,” Lady Montvale said. “Why else would we track you down?”
Mirabel’s gaze met Thea’s over her teacup. Thea suspected Mirabel was hiding her laughter.
Mrs. Pomfrey began waxing on, “You must pardon our being forward, but Lord Lyon would be such an excellent husband for Susanne—”
“Or Cynthia,” Lady Montvale added.
“—and he is so reclusive,” Mrs. Pomfrey continued, “that we must resort to any means necessary to catch his attention. So tell me, how are you going to go about introducing him to my daughter? My husband and I would be very pleased to host a dinner—”
“No, it should be at Montvale House,” her ladyship said. “In fact, I should have a house party in the country. That way there will be no distractions to keep him from acquainting himself with my daughter—”
“And mine,” Mrs. Pomfrey said.
“We shall see,” her ladyship replied breezily. “I haven’t decided the guest list.”
“You would cut Susanne out? Your own goddaughter?” Mrs. Pomfrey demanded. She didn’t wait for an answer but turned to Thea. “If it is a house party, then we should go to our family estate at Trumbull. It’s closer to London and twice the size of Lady Montvale’s.”