Page 16 of Lady Emily’s Matchmaking Mishap (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #5)

Chapter Eight

Emily washed quickly and changed, swapping her woollen walking dress for a more elegant afternoon dress, and her holed, worn-out boots for a pair of thin slippers. There was nothing wrong with her current pair of boots. Sure, the laces were torn; the leather was dented and maybe even had a hole in it, and she’d had the soles replaced countless times, but they were as comfortable and practical as any old pair of boots could be. Besides, these boots had been given to her once, a gift from her forest fay, and her heart was more attached to them than it should be.

No one ought to run around barefoot, Fenn had written when she’d found that pair of boots in the tree hole, together with his missive. Least of all you.

She hadn’t even wanted boots. But her fingers had run reverently over the soft leather. She’d never owned boots as beautiful as those.

She’d had them resoled several times and replaced the old laces with new ones.

That coachman! She would never be able to wear her walking boots again without remembering the feeling of his hand on her ankle. The very memory of it sent a rush of warmth up her cheeks and goosebumps down her arms. He was blackmailing her in the most outrageous way, that scoundrel. She knew, of course, that he’d exaggerated. She and Cissy had done no harm to anyone with their deception. They committed neither fraud nor forgery, nor was there any financial gain involved. Death penalty, indeed! The worst that could happen to them was social ostracism and the complete ruin of any hope of a stable, secure future.

On reflection, she realised that his threats had been more teasing than serious, meant to provoke her. Still, they had frightened her. Words like debtor’s prison, Marshalsea, and transportation had cast a long shadow upon her childhood. She’d grown up fearing them. They weren’t abstract horrors, but real ones—threats the Duke’s steward had made to her father when he couldn’t pay the rent. And those threats hadn’t just been empty words.

Now she’d have to help muck out the stables and do whatever other chores he deemed necessary.

Wishes, really! She huffed. She was done with wishes.

But as long as George’s so-called favours were limited to such work, she’d be happy to do it, provided George didn’t betray her to the Duke.

The maid jolted her out of her thoughts by informing her that Cissy was in the Chinese drawing room upstairs and that she was expected there.

Emily paused in the doorway, took a deep breath and entered the room.

Cissy was reclining on a sofa, a blanket wrapped around her legs, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Around her were three figures, one in black, one in brown and the third in grey: three elderly ladies, all looking up and raising their quizzing glasses at her at the same time.

Macbeth’s hags,shot through Emily’s mind. Then she remembered her manners.

She bowed her head and curtsied.

“And you must be Lady Poppy Featherstone. The sister,” said the hag who sat closest to Cissy, a frightening creature with a nose as sharp as a hawk’s. “I am Lady Dalrymple. This is my sister, Lady Jane, and Lady Mabel Sinclair.” She nodded to the other two ladies, one with a horse’s face who looked at her briskly, and another who gave her a quick, shy, almost apologetic look. She was the only one to get up and offer her a seat.

Emily thanked her and took the chair opposite her sister.

“I daresay he hasn’t welcomed you yet, disobliging boy that he is,” Araminta said without beating about the bush.

Emily and Cissy exchanged glances. “Do you mean His Grace?” Emily inquired. “If so, no, we have not yet had the pleasure of meeting him here.”

“They say he saved you from an accident.”

“He did indeed, my lady. My sister would have been seriously injured if His Grace had not been there. There is no telling what would have happened. She might have broken her neck and died. He is such a gentleman.” Emily was not ashamed to exaggerate. She lowered her eyes, pleated her skirt under her fingers and hoped to give a convincing impression of being grateful.

“Good for him. And for you too, of course.” Lady Dalrymple turned to Cissy, inspecting her thoroughly through her quizzing glass. “It wouldn’t have been rightif you’d really broken your neck. I must say, you are most pleasing to the eye.”

Cissy dropped her eyes demurely and blushed. “Thank you, my lady.”

“He’s a busy man. I was hoping this house party would distract him a little, for he needs it. He works far too much.”

Emily thought of the dandified figure who had been mincing through the courtyard. No doubt his work consisted of choosing the right waistcoat and tying his cravat. Hard work indeed.

“He’s a nice boy. But he’s not exactly—how shall I put it?” Araminta turned to Jane.

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Affable? Good-natured? Companionable? I’m not sure which word you’re looking for.”

“Sociable, it was,” Araminta sniffed. “But I daresay the other words apply to him as well.”

“Wolferton and sociable, indeed,” Jane pursed her lips and shook her head. “He is as sociable as a hermit, despite the fact that every female is setting his cap on him?—”

Araminta interrupted with a loud harrumph.

“Be that as it may.” Jane sniffed. “It is time for this to end. He must settle down.”

Emily and Cissy exchanged another speaking glance.

Emily brushed away a stray thread from her skirt. “Rumour has it he is quite popular with the ladies,” she said in a tranquil voice. “One would think that is somewhat of a contradiction to his antisocial personality.”

“You mean he’s a rake?” Jane interjected bluntly.

Cissy gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand.

Emily bit her lower lip to suppress a grin. These ladies, they were something. She was finding the whole situation rather amusing. It was quite clear to her they had already nominated Cissy as a prospect for the Duke. They had eyes only for her. Little did they know they were playing into her hands. Who would have thought that they would be her allies? She would use this to her advantage.

“Nonsense. It is, as you say, merely a rumour,” Araminta put in hastily.

“Of course,” Emily agreed. “One should not listen to rumours. Ever.”

“Yet it is perfectly true,” Mabel murmured between sips of tea, but no one heeded her except Emily, who gave her a startled look.

Araminta drowned out her comment with a loud remark. “But we are forgetting our manners. How on earth did we end up on such an unpleasant topic of conversation? Lady Lydia.” She nodded at Cissy, then turned to Emily. “Lady Poppy. We are very pleased to have you both here. Tell us about yourselves. Lady Lydia, how is it we did not have the honour of making your acquaintance in London? Did you not attend the Season?”

The three ladies looked at Cissy, who took her time sipping her tea with a calm demeanour, then set her cup down before answering.

Emily looked at Cissy sharply. Even though they'd agreed on a background story, they hadn't yet spun out the details. Creativity wasn’t exactly Cissy's forte. That was more Emily’s domain. She opened her mouth to spin a colourful tale of life on the continent, harrowing escapes during the wars and a near brush with Napoleon, when Cissy suddenly spoke up.

“We haven’t attended the Season because we’ve been staying with our aunt in Bath these past three years. She is a rather reclusive lady with poor eyesight. Before that we lived with an uncle in Brussels and before that with our grandmother in Scotland. Our father died unexpectedly when Poppy was seventeen and I was fourteen.”

The ladies uttered soft sounds of sympathy.

Emily managed a strained smile. Cissy had told them the truth. It may have been a clever move to avoid being caught in a lie, but it also left her feeling uncomfortably exposed.

“How unfortunate,” Jane chimed in. “He couldn’t have been very old?”

“He wasn’t.” Cissy took an emotionally charged pause. “He died of lung fever.”

Mabel sighed softly.

“Orphans. That would explain why you have this innocent, otherworldly quality about you, so unlike most other ladies.” Araminta gave a satisfied nod.

Emily had a sneaking suspicion that somehow they’d passed a very important test. Or at least Cissy had. As for herself, it seemed irrelevant what she said or did. She didn’t matter. For the first time in her life, Emily was glad.

“We’ll leave you to rest now,” Araminta rose and motioned for her sisters to do the same. “We won’t be expecting you for supper, though Lady Poppy may join us?” She gave Emily a questioning look.

Emily folded her hands. “Thank you, but I would like to keep my sister company tonight. If she gets enough rest today, the doctor says she will be presentable tomorrow.”

Araminta nodded. “It would be most agreeable if you could both join us tomorrow. Wolferton is an excessively busy man, but he will be there, no doubt.”

“Unless he tries to make himself scarce again,” Mabel murmured.

“We could instruct one of the footmen to help you downstairs. It will not do for all the ladies to be present, but you, Lady Lydia—and, of course, Lady Poppy,” she added as an afterthought, “to be absent. That would not do.”

With an imperial nod, Araminta motioned to her sisters, and the three left.

“She will press the poor man to attend tomorrow night, come what may. I almost feel sorry for him. Did you also get the impression that the ‘poor man’ is being browbeaten straight to the altar?”

Cissy nodded vigorously. “Most dreadfully tyrannised by his own aunts.”

“The poor man must be positively put out, having to parade before these pernickety ladies who pester him with such persistence,” Emily mused.

“He’s peeved and plagued,” Cissy agreed with mock gravity.

“Practically panic-stricken.” Emily added, warming to the game.

“Piqued and petrified.”

“Perishingly p-p… panoramic?” Emily faltered, then wrinkled her nose. “Oh dear, that’s just nonsense, isn’t it?”

They exchanged a look and burst into laughter.