“Now you’ve gone and done it,” he moaned dramatically. “All we’ll hear about from now on is babies.” He sighed.
“Nonsense,” argued Lydia. “It is wonderful news, but there are other matters we must discuss as well. When little Withersby arrives, yes, we’ll probably all be quite stupidly thrilled about it for several months. But…” she glanced at Ivy, “we have things to settle first.”
Mowbray chuckled, drawing their gazes. “What? I was just enjoying the ‘little Withersby’ sobriquet.” He looked at Ragnor. “You’d better get used to it. I’m afraid your firstborn will be little Withersby in everyone’s mind from now on.”
Ragnor shrugged. “I don’t suppose it will mind particularly.” His grin faded as he glanced at Ivy. “But Lydia’s right. Is there any news from Maidenbrooke, Ivy?”
She shook her head. “Nothing at all. I’m trying not to worry, but it has been far too long without word, for my liking.”
“So this Ringwood woman,” said Miles. “Anyone know much about her? I understand she may be the source for some of these ridiculous rumours.”
Lydia nodded. “So we’ve heard. She’s not unfamiliar to town; her family isn’t what you’d call high Ton, but they’re respectable enough. Small country house somewhere in Staffordshire, I think.”
“The Ringwoods have an undistinguished background, from what I gathered from my researches in Debrett’s,” added Ivy. “No odd offshoots, or Fitz-anythings that might possibly be associated with the Maidenbrooke line.”
“So no illegitimate offspring fathered by unnamed Dukes?” Matthew asked.
“Not a one,” she replied. “In fact they’re a rather dull lot when it comes to their history.”
“I hope you’re not talking about us,” said Sir Laurence, entering the room with his wife.
“Of course not,” laughed Rose. “Oh, since you’re here…do you know if Miss Beatrice Ringwood has arrived?”
Maud’s eyebrow rose. “As a matter of fact, yes, she has. I’ve been watching out for her.” She assumed an innocent expression. “Not that I would accuse her of scandalmongering of course, but if she’s been using the Wednesday Club as part of a whispering plot against Maidenbrooke…” The innocent expression vanished, to be replaced by something icy cold. “I shall not be best pleased.”
Ivy shivered. “Um…well, it’s a possibility, we believe.”
“Tonight, she’s commanding quite a bit of attention.”
“Why?” Lydia turned to Maud. “What’s she doing?”
“Showing off an engagement ring,” replied Maud. “Apparently she’s snabbled herself a fiancé, and wants the world to know about it.”
“Any idea who the victim is?” quipped Prudence with a certain amount of acerbity.
Miles huffed out a laugh. “Well put.”
Mowbray chuckled as well, resting carefully on the arm of Prudence’s chair. “She can’t be that bad, can she? Or Lady Maud would never have let her over the doorstep of Sydenham House.”
“She’s given us no cause for concern,” agreed Maud. “It’s only since these rumours began that I’ve heard her name mentioned more than a time or two.”
“And her future husband?”
“A gentleman by the name of Sir Timothy Barrett. Heading for a career in law, I understand. He’s in Chambers with somebody or other whose name I forget.”
“Angling for a peerage, no doubt,” added Miles wryly.
“Aren’t they all?” Sir Laurence raised a casual eyebrow.
“Well,” said Lydia, “Back to the matter in hand…does this Sir Timothy add anything to our thoughts on where these rumours about Maidenbrooke are originating?”
There was silence for a few moments.
“Obviously not,” sighed Ivy. “But it’s another name to research.”
Maud rose. “We should return, lest our absence cause comments. Lydia, why don’t you and Mowbray come with me, Ivy and Prudence can follow in a few moments, and the rest of you can return via the dining room if you’d like?”
“What about me, dear?” Sir Laurence whined. “You forgot me.”
“Never, darling,” she purred. “But you are off in pursuit of your usual activity, which is quietly downing a small glass of your favourite Scotch in the privacy of your library.”
“Am I now.”
“Indeed. You’ll be back in the ballroom shortly, of course.”
“Good to know.”
“I’ll be watching for you, too.” She shot him a look. “Only one small glass.”
He sighed.
Ivy left with Prudence, as directed, only to find Sir Ronan strolling toward them. “And there you are, ladies.” He smiled, the twinkle in his eyes directed at the younger lady. “You deserted me, Miss Prudence. This dance is mine and I’m taking you in to dinner after it. I’ll hear no objections.”
Prudence glanced at Ivy. “May I?”
Ivy sighed. “I’m helpless against this man’s charm. But a caution to both of you. No more dances or you’ll be starting your own gossip and we don’t want that.”
Sir Ronan nodded. “Understood, your Grace. I’ll have a care for this one.” He turned his smile to Prudence, who flushed slightly. “She’s a jewel to be treasured, is she not?”
“Oh pshaw,” scoffed Prudence, tucking her arm through his. “Dance, sir. Save your compliments for those more impressed by them.”
Ivy watched them walk toward the floor where the couples were assembling. They were well matched, she mused. He was older, of course, but Prudence had bloomed this Season from a shy young miss into a young woman gaining confidence all the time. She was intelligent, well-read, and more than a match for many of the women currently engaged in the measures of the dance.
What would Colly think of such a pairing?
The thought darted through her head and left a sense of unease in its wake. Where was he? What was he doing at this moment?
Would there be a note from him awaiting her when she returned?
That idea almost had her hurrying for her cloak, but she knew that being here with Prudence and pretending that all was well helped squelch the tide of those damn whispers.
Moving toward the dance, she surveyed the women present. Which was Miss Ringwood?
A
