Page 11 of Murder in Matrimony (A Lady of Letters Mystery #4)

EIGHT

Dear Lady Agony,

I am new to hosting dinner parties and would like to attempt a French dish.

I can testify to its deliciousness, for I tasted it in Paris.

The problem arises with my cook, who claims she does not know how to prepare it and will not attempt it.

I think her attitude is incorrigible, but I cannot hire outside help.

It is beyond my means to do so. What else am I to do?

Devotedly,

A Professed Francophile

Dear Professed Francophile,

Your cook’s attitude is not incorrigible; it is absolutely correct.

She should not attempt a dish with which she isn’t familiar.

You are new to hosting, but I can vouch for her rightness.

I have attended many parties where a foreign dish is attempted and made inedible by inexperience.

Therefore, do not assault your cook. Thank her for helping you avoid a colossal mistake.

Yours in Secret,

Lady Agony

Amelia might have teased Simon about the dinner party, but in truth, she was excited to attend this evening.

It was the first gathering the Bainbridges had held since Lady Marielle had come out this season, and Amelia was looking forward to talking to her at length.

According to Simon, the family had invited twelve guests, including one of Marielle’s suitors, Lord Traber.

Amelia had met him at her ball, and he appeared to be a fine gentleman.

Time—and Simon—would tell if the couple advanced in their courtship.

He was the ever-watchful brother, and last time the two were together, it had ended with Simon stalking her gardens for evidence of a clandestine meeting.

He found none but was still convinced of their secret retreat.

“Your style is improved, Amelia.” Tabitha assessed her olive-colored gown as she descended the stairs.

“I wonder if Simon Bainbridge has something to do with your recent choice.” She raised a shapely gray eyebrow, but no criticism tinged her voice, and her lips pursed in a half-smile.

She’d seemed to come to terms with Amelia and Simon spending time together as of late, even going so far as extending him an open invitation to dinner.

“More likely Kitty Hamsted. I find Lord Bainbridge’s style rather plain, don’t you?”

“Always clever, but you don’t mistake my meaning.

” Jones helped Tabitha into her cloak, a rich black velvet with Hungarian cord trimming.

“I’m pleased with tonight’s invitation and cannot help but wonder if you haven’t positively influenced Lord Bainbridge as well.

I have seen changes in him—and the Bainbridge household—of which I approve. ”

Amelia shrugged wordlessly into a deep green cape, a shorter article she enjoyed wearing in the summer months.

Her instinct was to rush to thank Tabitha, but she resisted.

Tonight would be a first for the Bainbridges, and whether she had anything to do with it hardly mattered.

Her own need for acceptance shouldn’t be the focus.

For if she was honest, she still saw herself as an outsider, and no matter how many times she told herself Edgar had chosen her for that reason, it didn’t matter.

Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to belong to a world she loved so much, a world that she still held at some distance because of the difference.

It was impossible to forget she and Simon were dissimilar in that way, and while he praised her uniqueness, sometimes she worried it would become an obstacle in their burgeoning relationship.

At one time, Tabitha had thought it might, and no matter how much Amelia disagreed with her, she respected her opinion too much to dismiss it.

Tabitha was a pillar of society and knew its peccadillos as well as Amelia did her daily letters.

Still, Amelia felt warmed by her praise, basking in it all the way to the Bainbridges’ home in Berkeley Square.

The Bainbridge drawing room was filled with elegant guests who, like Tabitha, appeared pleased to be invited by the illusive duke.

Since his wife’s death many years ago, Christopher Bainbridge had shut his doors to society only to open them many years later for his daughter’s first season.

Since Marielle Bainbridge’s trouble with suitor George Davies, however, the duke had been much more considerate of her feelings.

Indeed, the affair had led to a change in the household, one for the better, according to Simon.

They were taking dinner together again, a tradition that had long been forgotten, and repairing the years of neglect one day at a time.

After being welcomed by His Grace, Amelia rushed to meet one guest in particular, Kitty Hamsted, who was dressed in a silk black-and-white gown with double-puffed sleeves and a bow at her waist that emphasized its smallness.

At her wrist dangled a matching fan that, when used, drew attention to her periwinkle-blue eyes, the only color on her entire person. The effect was utterly striking.

Kitty invited her into her circle with a gracious smile. “Lady Amesbury, good evening.”

“Good evening.” Amelia dipped her chin. “Mrs. Hamsted, your dress is beyond compare.”

“Isn’t it?” said Lady Applegate, whose daughter, Constance, was also in attendance.

It was her first season, and she and Marielle had become fast friends.

“I hope by standing next to her, her elan will rub off on me.” She covered a little snort with a plump hand.

“My fashion choices have never been popular.”

Amelia bit back a chuckle. Lady Applegate was not the most fashionable woman in the room, and in fact, probably the least, despite going to great lengths with her attire.

She wore an expensive yellow gown that was more mustard than golden, and her usually pink cheeks, which were pretty and round, looked sallow.

But her eyes were full of life, an aqua blue that made up for her dull complexion.

“Not true,” said Kitty generously. “Your parties are very popular.”

Kitty was being kind. They were popular, yes, but for their unusualness.

Lady Applegate had gone to the same great lengths with her house, and her yard was a menagerie of statues and fountains that didn’t quite make sense.

Every year the ton looked forward to a new lawn ornament, which she never failed to reveal before her yearly ball.

It was very like an accident that one couldn’t resist watching unfold.

Lady Applegate flourished a yellow-gloved hand. “It’s my husband’s family’s ancient house. I can lay no claim to its beauty, although I have had a hand in the statuary, which, by the way, has gained a new resident. My husband intends to mention it at dinner.”

“I heard yours was one of the homes burgled this spring by the Mayfair Marauder,” put in Lady Catherine, who stood next to her. Her voice was nasal, and everything she said had a distasteful tone. “Dreadful business.”

“Indeed.” Lady Applegate’s cheeks puffed with offense, looking less sallow. “We were ransacked by the scoundrel. Just imagine, a thief going through my things!” She put a hand to her ample chest.

The house was not ransacked. One piece of jewelry was taken, albeit an expensive piece. More importantly in Amelia’s mind, it was returned. She made a pointed comment to this fact. “I thought the thief returned all the stolen items in a gallant gesture of apology.”

“Hardly gallant, in my opinion.” Lady Catherine sniffed, which emphasized the pointiness of her nose.

“I think it was incredibly gallant.” The blonde curls above Kitty’s ears shook with disagreement. “Stealing a jewel is one thing. The payoff is worth the risk. But to return a jewel without discovery? That took courage and selflessness. What obligation did the thief have to do so?”

Lord Applegate, who stood a few steps from his wife, had been listening and now joined the conversation. “Why, he was forced into it by that Lady Agony character. Have you heard of her?”

Kitty murmured a yes, and Amelia nodded noncommittally.

“Of course we have,” said Lady Catherine. “She’s made quite a name for herself.”

“Not all good.” Lady Applegate harrumphed.

“She ought to reveal his name. Those who have been burgled have a right to know who unlawfully entered their home.” Lord Applegate, a heavy-set man with a blustery voice and untrimmed side whiskers, turned to Amelia.

“Don’t you agree, Lady Amesbury? Your house was one of those robbed. What’s your opinion?”

Amelia counted to five before responding.

She knew what she should say to protect her identity.

Yes, the thief should absolutely be revealed.

But the reply stuck in her throat, not quite wanting to come out.

“I am pleased the jewel was returned. That’s what matters to me.

Had it not been, I might feel differently. ”

“Still,” Lord Applegate continued, “any concerned citizen would appreciate being forewarned of the culprit. As they say, forewarned is forearmed.”

Amelia’s heartbeat doubled. Any concerned citizen? The blackmailer had signed his name A Concerned Citizen. Could the Applegates be the blackmailers? Was Lord Applegate testing her now?

“True,” answered Amelia, studying his reaction while trying to mask her own. “Preparation is key in any crisis.”

“Quite so.” Lord Applegate looked pleased with her answer, his evening jacket stretching with self-satisfaction. “The authoress has obviously let her popularity go to her head. This is a matter for the Metropolitan Police, not a lady.”

“If she is a lady, which I doubt.” Lady Catherine slid a glance at Kitty. “I do not know of a peer among us who would give out such extraordinary advice.”

Kitty’s cheeks flushed with anger. She was not as comfortable as Amelia was with people criticizing her alter ego. “Perhaps not, but perhaps it is that advice which makes her so popular.”