The Naked Marquis. Sally MacKenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
it would be easiest to have the ladies meet at Knightsdale. I didn’t mean to presume.”
“No, no, I would love you to consider Knightsdale your home. What is the name of this society I am hosting de facto?”
“The Society for the Betterment of Women.”
“My God.”
Emma thought the ladies sounded a bit more animated than usual as she approached the drawing room door. She glanced at Mr. Lambert, who was still hovering nearby. He cleared his throat.
“Lady Beatrice requested refreshments.”
“Yes, you said that.”
Charles chuckled. “Broke out the sherry, did she, Lambert?”
“And the brandy, my lord.”
“And the brandy? I suspect you will have some inspired discussions this afternoon, Miss Peterson. How long have they been at it, Lambert?”
“The ladies arrived shortly after you and Miss Peterson departed.”
“Ah. So plenty of time to get well and truly foxed.”
A burst of raucous laughter erupted into the hall when Emma opened the door. She stepped over the threshold cautiously.
“There she is. Come in, Miss Peterson. Let Lady Bea fill up your glass—uh, cup.” Mrs. Lavinia Begley, the squire’s wife, sat—well, sprawled, really—in a chair facing the door. Her nose was two shades redder than normal, and her face was definitely flushed.
Charles’s aunt looked over. She had changed into an apple green and jonquil striped dress with a diamond tiara. The tiara had slipped slightly so it was in danger of sliding over her eyes. She pushed it back and smiled.
“Yes, do come in, Miss Peterson—and you, too, Charles.”
Emma glanced around the room. The regular Society attendees were all here—Mrs. Begley, the Misses Farthington, and Miss Blanche Russell. She had tried to get the younger ladies of the neighborhood interested in Society meetings, but so far she had not been successful. Mrs. Begley, who was comfortably over fifty, was the youngest of the group besides Emma.
“I’m very sorry, Lady Beatrice. I forgot about the meeting—and I never would have invited the ladies here if I’d known you would be in residence. I mean, I never meant to impose….”
“Don’t get yourself in a pucker, Miss Peterson. I’ve enjoyed making Mrs. Begley’s acquaintance and reminiscing with Miss Russell and the Misses Farthington. It’s been too long since we’ve enjoyed a comfortable coze, hasn’t it, ladies?”
Miss Esther and Miss Rachel Farthington, twins who had made their come out when the Prince Regent was an infant, nodded in unison.
“Yes, much too long.” Miss Esther had a green ribbon threaded through her sparse white locks.
“Since poor Paul’s wedding.” Miss Rachel’s red ribbon unfortunately accentuated the pink of her scalp.
“No, Rachel, remember…”
“…we didn’t go to the wedding. That’s right.”
“Because you were sick.”
“Had a touch of dyspepsia.”
“Which I caught from you the next day.”
“Would you care for some more inspiration, ladies?”
The twins nodded and held out their teacups for Lady Beatrice to pour another dollop of brandy.
“And you, Miss Russell?”
Mousy Miss Russell hiccupped and nodded. Well, at least the spirits had put a sparkle in her watery eyes, Emma thought.
“Come in and join us, Miss Peterson, Lord Knightsdale.” Mrs. Begley took the bottle from Lady Beatrice and helped herself. “There’s still some left.”
“Oh, sister, there’s the new Lord Knightsdale.” Miss Rachel elbowed Miss Esther so hard a little of the liquid in her teacup splashed out.
“So it is.”
The two elderly ladies stared at Charles.
“He’s gotten big,” Miss Esther said.
“I remember when he used to get into all sorts of mischief.”
“And Miss Emma, she was always following him around.”
“Think they’ll make a match of it?”
Emma assumed the twins thought they were whispering. Since they were both more than a little deaf, their whispering was only slightly quieter than their regular speech.
Miss Esther nodded. “Smelling of April and May, I’d say.”
Emma bristled. She was afraid if she looked at Charles, she would find him grinning.
“They’ll make nice-looking babies, don’t you think?”
“Yes, indeed. Lovely babies.”
Emma heard a choked laug behind her. “Wonderful babies,” Charles murmured. “Many wonderful babies.”
She felt an odd trembling in her stomach. Perhaps she had a touch of dyspepsia.
“Aunt, I believe these ladies would make brilliant additions to our house party, don’t you?”
“Yes, indeed. Splendid idea, Charles.” Lady Beatrice held up her teacup. “What say you, ladies? Who’s for a house party?”
The ladies—even Miss Blanche—raised their cups high.
“A house party,” they said. “Huzzah!”
“I believe I’ll go check on Lady Isabelle and Lady Claire,” Emma said.
“Were the girls well-behaved, Nanny? Down, Prinny! Shh, you idiot dog. Whatever are you wearing?”
Prinny, attired in a doll’s red bonnet and cape, yapped and danced around Emma’s skirts.
“Course we were behaved, Mama Peterson.” Claire frowned at the dog. “Come back, Lady Prinny, it’s time for you to go to the ball.”
“I thought ye said that dog was yer sister’s.” Nanny took a mutton bone from behind a battered copy of The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes on the schoolroom shelf. “Here, ye heathen beast, go chew on this.”
Prinny grabbed the bone and brought it over to where Claire had arranged her dolls. Isabelle was curled up in the window seat, reading.
“He is Meg’s dog.”
“Don’t look like it to me.” Nanny adjusted her spectacles and tucked a few stray strands of white hair back under her cap. “Looks like he’s making himself right at home, I’d say.”
Emma watched Claire try to tie a small cart around Prinny’s waist.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll go home quite happily when Miss Hodgekiss comes back.” Emma hated to disturb the girls. Isabelle looked so engrossed in her reading. Perhaps sums could wait for another day. “How is Miss Hodgekiss’s mother? Has anyone had word?”
Nanny grunted. “Better, I believe.”
“Well, see then. You won’t have to suffer Prinny’s presence much longer. I am sorry about the flowers.”
“Oh, I don’t mind him, not since I got some bones from Cook.” Nanny pursed her mouth and looked at Emma. “I’m just wondering if yer making yerself at home, too.”
“Nanny!” Emma’s stomach dropped to her slippers. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing bad, miss, so ye can wipe that look off yer face. I’d be happy if ye married his lordship. The girls like ye. And they need a ma. Why, Lady Claire’s