Page 3 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

If nothing else, Mrs. Weston would provide a sympathetic ear. Having lived for many years at Hartfield as Emma’s governess, she was well aware of her former employer’s disposition. Mrs. Weston would be astounded by this turn of events.

Father beamed at her. “Then it’s all settled. Miss Bates will be so pleased.”

“I’m only sorry John and I won’t be here to give Miss Bates our best wishes, since we leave tomorrow,” Isabella said, making a game attempt at sounding sincere.

Father wrinkled his brow. “I was hoping I could prevail upon you and the children to stay an extra week or so. I know John must get back to London, but surely you will not want to miss the party.”

Isabella and Emma exchanged a perplexed glance.

“What party are you referring to?” Emma asked.

“Did I fail to mention the party?” Father chuckled. “How like me. I’m referring to our betrothal party, naturally. Miss Bates insisted on it, and I didn’t have the heart to deny her. But there mustn’t be any cake, Emma. I hold the line on that point, at least.”

For her father to suggest any sort of large social gathering was unheard of. In fact, it took a great deal of coaxing to persuade him to go even as far as the Westons’ home, Randalls, for a holiday party, or for an outing at Donwell on a sunny day.

“Do you mean something like a dinner party at Hartfield?” she cautiously asked. “I’m sure we can—”

“No, my dear. I mean aproperparty, something along the lines of a dance or a ball.”

George’s eyebrows practically shot up into his hairline. “Are you certain you heard Miss Bates correctly, sir? She knows your preferences. Would you not find a dance or a large party inconvenient?”

“I confess that I cannot view such an event without trepidation, but Miss Bates insists on making it a festive occasion. She says it will be a great treat for Highbury after the difficult year we’ve all had.” He fluttered a hand. “With Mrs. Elton, you know. Most distressing for everyone.”

“Especially Mrs. Elton,” John sardonically replied. “But where will you hold this grand event? Surely you don’t wish for all of Highbury to be tromping about Hartfield, dirtying the carpets and causing a grand fuss.”

Emma felt herself go cold at the very idea. “Perhaps you’re thinking of the Crown Inn for a ball? Though I cannot think you would like that very well.”

Father looked horrified. “Emma, inns are such unhealthy, drafty places, especially at this time of year.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I so agree. That being the case, I think a nice dinner party at Hartfield—”

“I suppose we could hold a dance at the abbey,” George said, almost to himself.

“What?” Emma exclaimed.

Isabella winced. “Emma, that was right in my ear.”

“I apologize, dear.” Emma glared at her husband. “I was merely surprised.”

“I suppose you could hold it at Donwell,” commented John. “From what George told me, you did manage Mrs. Elton’s funeral reception with quite a large crowd. Smashing success, apparently.”

Emma gazed at him with disbelief. “Funeral receptions are not intended to be smashing successes. And it was a mob scene and an exceedingly troublesome event.”

George smiled at her. “John is correct, though. You managed that affair with great aplomb.”

“Emma, I think George’s idea has great merit,” Father said. “I feel certain Miss Bates would be thrilled with a party at Donwell Abbey.”

“Then we shall be happy to comply.” George gave Emma a pointed look. “Is that not right, my dear?”

Emma took in her father’s hopeful expression. For so many years, the old darling had mourned his wife’s death, retiring from the world to fret about his health and his loved ones. There was no doubt he’d changed in this past year, and for the better. That was obviously down to Miss Bates.

Mentally sighing, she capitulated. “George and I would be happy to host a party for you and Miss Bates at Donwell. When would you like to have it?”

“I thought Saturday, my dear. That should give you ample time to prepare. And that way Isabella will still be here to attend.”

Emma gaped him. “That gives us but six days, and in the middle of winter, too!”

“I’m sure we can manage,” George smoothly interjected. “The roads have been dry, so we can import from Leatherhead any supplies not available in Highbury. It will be fine, my dear.”