Page 2 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford (Regency Murder and Marriage #4)

Eudora smiled; though her father had spoken in jest, she was glad that he had verbalised her own feelings on the matter of the crowded kitchen. It was very difficult to feel like the eldest daughter of the house when the previous eldest daughters insisted on hogging the limelight.

“We’ll be leaving shortly,” Mary answered, nodding toward Jane and Charlotte. “We must oversee the final arrangements for the guests’ arrival.”

She stood up from her seat and reached for George, but Mrs Mifford refused to relinquish him.

“Why don’t you leave him here for the morning?” she suggested as she bounced her grandson on her hip. “You’ll be better able to help Jane if you’re not fussing over him every two seconds.”

“Oh, I - I….” Mary, who had not left George in the care of anyone since his birth, stuttered in reply, “I don’t know.”

“He’s perfectly happy here,” Mrs Mifford pointed out as George smiled at her to confirm her words, “Are you worried we won’t properly care for him?”

A strained silence followed, from which Eudora deduced that Mary was indeed worried about her parents’ caring capabilities.

“Not at all; you have both raised four children, after all,” Mary said in a manner that sounded like she was reassuring herself. “You know not to drop baby George on his head.”

“Babies are remarkably hardy,” Mr Mifford answered mildly, “You were dropped on your head several times, and it did you no harm that I can see.”

Mary’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline, her expression one of horror.

“Do you recall the time she rolled down the stairs?” Mrs Mifford interjected, with an indulgent smile, “Bop, bop, bop, all the way down, and when she landed she was laughing and smiling at the fun of it.”

Mary was not smiling now, in fact, her expression was one of horror. She glanced helplessly at Jane, who swiftly came to the rescue.

“Ivo wishes to spend some time with George,” Jane fibbed, “He needs to get some practice in. Mary will leave George with you the next time.”

“Well, if he’s not staying, then I’m coming too,” Mrs Mifford declared, “I don’t ever get to spend any time with him.”

“He’s always here, as is Mama,” Eudora interjected drolly, “So I don’t see how that can be true.”

As usual, Eudora’s contribution to the conversation was roundly ignored; the only person who acknowledged that she had spoken was her father, who gave a snort of agreement.

“We shall have to wrap George up for the walk,” Mary declared as she produced a fine woolen cardigan to swaddle him.

“Where did that come from?” Mrs Mifford queried suspiciously.

“Cecilia knitted it,” Mary answered, oblivious to the consternation she was about to cause.

Mrs Mifford considered Cecilia, Dowager Duchess of Northcott, a rival—especially when it came to Baby George. Her sense of competitiveness was rather pitiful, for, as far as Eudora could see, Cecilia did not consider Mrs Mifford at all.

“I’m quite the gifted knitter,” Mrs Mifford declared, “I shall make George something myself.”

“I wasn’t aware you could knit, dear,” Mr Mifford commented, as a smile played around his lips. “Imagine that, after twenty-seven years of marriage, there are still things I don’t know about you.”

“Well, I can,” Mrs Mifford huffed. “And your not knowing just proves that I am correct when I say that you never listen to me. Now, come girls, let us make haste for Plumpton Hall or your guests will arrive before we do.”

With much fussing and fanfare, Mrs Mifford, her two eldest daughters, Charlotte, and Baby George departed for the manor-house.

“Thank heaven for silence,” Mr Mifford said as the door closed behind them.

“That’s my favourite thing about having my own home,” Emily agreed happily, “The peace.”

Eudora felt a slight jolt of jealousy as she imagined how heavenly it would be to have a home of her own to which she could retreat when she wished for solitude. The kitchen in Primrose Cottage was so busy at times that it resembled a cattle mart.

“Enjoy it while you can, my dear,” Mr Mifford said with a knowing smile, “For I can guarantee that when you have children, you’ll never know a moment’s peace again.”

This time, Eudora felt a jolt of disquiet as she realised that Emily, like Mary and Jane, would soon be starting a family of her own. Charlotte had been correct—she was being left behind. Again.

She picked up a crumpet and took a large bite, hoping to find comfort in its buttery goodness. The pleasure it offered lasted only a moment, and once it was gone, Eudora was left with the same strange feeling of emptiness.

“I’d best return home,” Emily declared. “Freddie will be finished his toilette by now, and we can make our way to Plumpton Hall to greet Lord Delaney upon his arrival.”

“It’s not yet noon,” Mr Mifford commented, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “Are you certain he’ll be ready?”

“One can only hope,” Emily answered, her tone affectionate. “He does tend to get distracted by his reflection in the looking glass…”

The Marquess of Highfield was - by Plumpton standards at least - something of a dandy.

He took great pride in his appearance, wore only the latest fashions, and exuded a confidence that could be mistaken for vanity by those who did not know him well.

Despite all this, he had been roundly accepted into the Mifford clan, bar the occasional teasing remark.

Emily took off for home, still wearing Eudora’s bonnet, leaving Eudora alone with her father.

“Why so glum?” Mr Mifford enquired as Eudora gave a morose sigh.

“I fear that I’m being left behind,” she explained, gesturing around the now-empty kitchen, “No matter what I do, I always feel like I’m playing catch-up with the others. Marriage, babies, murders - they’ve all accomplished everything before I even have a chance to get started.”

“You must try not to feel like you’re in competition with your sisters,” Mr Mifford counseled gently. "You are each unique, and all the things you wish for will happen at a time that is right for you.”

“I know,” Eudora agreed, holding a petulant sigh. “It’s just that I’d like something to happen soon.”

“Well, you shan’t find a husband in the kitchen,” her father answered with a grin, “Why don’t you take yourself out for a walk and clear your head?

With any luck, you might stumble across a handsome bachelor - or a dead body.

At this stage, I’m not entirely certain which of those you would find a more exciting prospect. ”

On that chipper note, Mr Mifford left to return to his library. Eudora, with little else to occupy her - for she dared not set foot in Plumpton Hall while her mother was there fussing - retrieved her bonnet and pelisse from upstairs and set out on a walk.

She took off toward Plumpton, where she found the village bustling with activity as its residents went about their morning tasks. Outside the greengrocer’s, she spotted Mrs Canards - the village gossip - standing alongside her constant shadow, Mrs Wickling.

As Mrs Canards was not the sort of woman to take a sleight quietly, Eudora battled against her impulse to cross the road to avoid her. Instead, she pasted a bland smile across her face and attempted to pass the pair with a simple salute.

Unfortunately, Mrs Canards was determined to have some gossip from her, and maneuvered herself so that she blocked the footpath, preventing Eudora’s escape.

“Why, Miss Mifford,” she said, her tone laced with false sweetness, “How nice to see you out and about. Given that your guests are soon due, I thought we wouldn’t see any of you for days.”

“The others are up at Plumpton Hall, preparing for them now,” Eudora replied, though she wondered why she felt the need to explain herself. Something about Mrs Canards’ way of asking questions made her feel like a green girl about to be caught out fibbing.

“Yes, such preparations are best left to married ladies,” the older woman agreed, in what Eudora perceived to be an intended barb, before continuing, “Tell me, is it true that Lady Albermay is included on the guest list?”

“She is,” Eudora replied, “She’s a good friend of the family.”

“How strange,” Mrs Canards held a gloved hand to her chest, “From what I’ve read of her in the gossip columns, she doesn’t seem the sort of woman one would choose as a friend. Still, a duchess, a viscountess, and a marchioness can’t be wrong, now can they?”

“I suppose they’re called gossip columns for a reason, Mrs Canards, for they report rumours, not facts.” Eudora replied, mulishly, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m in a tremendous hurry.”

Eudora stuck her nose in the air and hurried past Mrs Canards, inwardly stewing at her thinly veiled attack on Lady Albermay.

The viscountess had become a target for the tabbies of the ton, who held her American background, her vivacious good looks, and the fact that she was some sixty years younger than her husband against her.

If Lady Albermay was seen merely conversing politely with a gentleman, it could be assured that it would be written about in the next day’s papers.

Eudora continued on at a fast pace to lend credence to her lie that she was in a hurry.

She crossed the bridge over the stream which divided Upper and Lower Plumpton and hurried up the London Road, as though she was headed for Northcott Manor.

She passed the church of St Mary’s and the rectory beside it, which had once housed the late vicar, Mr Parsims. His was the first murder to have been solved by a Mifford girl.

The first of three and there was unlikely to be a fourth, Eudora thought, with a great deal of self-pity, as she veered off the road toward a dirt path that would take her down to the river.

From there, she could make her way back to Primrose Cottage without having to traverse through the village again.

The briars that lined the path were slightly overgrown, and as Eudora pushed through them, she found that she was very glad that she was wearing Emily’s bonnet instead of her own.

“A marchioness can afford a few new ribbons,” she said aloud to assuage her guilt as she untangled herself from a particularly thorny branch. She took another step, but her boot connected with something rather soft but very big, causing her to jump back in fright.

“What on earth?” she whispered, and she glanced down to find the body of an elderly gentleman lying at her feet.