Page 66 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

“One would think we’re being introduced at court instead of in Mrs. Coles’ drawing room,” Emma whispered to her sister.

Isabella choked. “Hush, Emma.”

Mrs. Cole, resplendent in a purple satin gown and matching turban topped with an enormous purple feather, sailed over to greet them. Her husband followed dutifully at her heels.

“Mr. Woodhouse,” she enthused. “We are so honored to have you grace us with your presence. It is quite the occasion when Mr. Woodhouse comes to visit, and a real cause for celebration.”

Mr. Cole bowed so low that his shirt points climbed almost up around his ears. “Pleased as punch that you could make it, sir, along with your lovely daughters and Mr. Knightley.”

Father, ever the gentleman, replied with a sweet smile. “It was exceedingly kind of you to have us. Miss Bates was very much looking forward to it.”

“And here is the blushing bride herself,” Mr. Cole jovially announced as Miss Bates bustled up.

Goodness, Mr. Cole,” she exclaimed. “You are too kind, but I’m well past the age of blushing. Although I did use to blush a great deal when I was younger, much to my father’s consternation. Hetty, he used to say, you’re much too sensitive to the opinions of others. Seek only God’s good will, and then there will be need for your blushes.”

“Er …” said Mr. Cole, his eyes going wide.

“Mr. Woodhouse,” continued Miss Bates, “you must be perishing from the cold. Fortunately, Mrs. Cole has arranged everything beautifully by the fireplace.” She touched Isabella’s arm. “You, too, Mrs. Knightley. Do come get warm.”

As she led them off, the Coles effusively expressed their gratitude to Emma for her family’s presence—so much so that she began to feel embarrassed.

Thankfully, George broke off from his chat with a group of men and came to her rescue.

“Mr. Knightley, you must excuse me while I speak with Mrs. Cole about getting dinner on the table. I’m sure everyone’s famished.” Mr. Cole winked at Emma. “We have a splendid goose for dinner, come all the way from London. Only the best for Mr. Woodhouse, eh?”

He then took his wife by the arm and steered her toward the dining room.

“I do hope the goose came by chaise,” Emma commented. “He would be dreadfully uncomfortable in the mail coach.”

“The Coles are genuinely excited that your father is here tonight,” George said in a mildly admonishing tone. “He never goes anywhere but to Randalls or Donwell, so it’s quite the occasion for them.”

“It’s terribly sweet, but one would think the Prince Regent himself had come to sup. The footmen even have new livery.”

“I seem to recall that not very long ago you wouldn’t deign to cross the Coles’ threshold. And yet here you are.”

She wrinkled her nose. “How dreadful of you to remind me. I was a terrible snob, wasn’t I?”

“My dear, I would never say that.”

“Wretch. You are certainly thinking it.”

He laughed. “Come and greet some of the other guests.”

As was usual for the Coles, dinner was a more intimate affair held before more guests arrived later to make up the sets for dancing. The Westons were present, as was Mrs. Goddard, along with—surprisingly—Miss Nash, the head teacher at Mrs. Goddard’s school. Mr. Barlowe hovered nearby the ladies, pretending to be part of the conversation but looking his usual awkward self.

Most interesting from Emma’s point of view was the presence of Mr. Cox and William Cox, who were chatting with the Perrys. She had to admit that William looked perfectly respectable as he stood by his father, politely listening to Mrs. Perry.

“In case you’re wondering,” George murmured, “William has been conducting himself in an exemplary fashion.”

Emma darted him a look. “The evening is young, dearest.”

Not that she truly expected William to descend into his cups at such a small gathering. But it should be interesting to observe how he interacted with Miss Nash or some of the other young ladies later in the evening.

George refrained from making a reply as they joined Guy Plumtree and an older gentleman.

“My dear, I’m sure you remember Mr. Guy Plumtree from our party,” said George. “But let me introduce you to Squire Plumtree. Sir, my wife.”

Emma extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”