“A mathematical conundrum, to be sure. We should mention it to Mowbray Linfield and solicit his opinion.”
Prudence laughed. “Only if we have an hour to spare. He is a charming gentleman, but oh my goodness, get him started on a favourite topic and he has a tendency to lecture, doesn’t he?”
Ivy had to agree, and then mentally removed Mowbray from the list of eligible gentlemen she kept lurking in one corner of her mind. Prudence was now her niece-by-marriage, and thus Ivy felt a certain responsibility for her future happiness.
She was no matchmaker and never intended to be, but should Prudence display a particular preference for any one gentleman, Ivy wanted to at least be aware of it.
And Mowbray, obviously, wasn’t on that list.
“If it’s all right with you, Ivy, I’m going to slip upstairs to my room and try on my gown for Saturday. I need to see if it still fits properly.”
“Of course, love. A good idea. I’m pretty much done here, so I’ll take care of your lists.”
They parted, each to their own assigned chores, and Ivy cleared the surface of the table where they had worked, wondering if what they had all planned so carefully would achieve their goal. And also what the morning’s visitors were discussing with her husband.
Perhaps there would be chance to ask him later in the day.
Fortunately, she had plenty to see to; even though the Hartsmere House staff was beyond excellent, they still looked to her as their new mistress, and she had slipped into the role with a minimum of difficulty. With the private tea tomorrow and the large garden party on Saturday, there were more than a few decisions to be made, and she barely realised how fast time had flown.
To her surprise, Woodleigh approached late in the day to let her know that his Grace was dining out this evening and would see her in the morning.
She blinked. “Woodleigh…is that wise? We have tried very hard to keep his recovery quiet…”
“My sentiments as well, your Grace. But I was reassured that his evening would be spent somewhere that is both private and secure.”
“Oh.” She chewed her lip.
“I have never had cause to doubt his Grace’s word, Ma’am.” The butler gazed at her. “I shall continue to do so, even in light of recent troublesome events. If it will be of reassurance…” he leaned toward her slightly, “His Grace is in the company of those gentlemen from the Government.”
“Oh…yes. Yes indeed,” she nodded. “Thank you, Woodleigh. Your words are a comfort sorely needed at the moment.”
“Your Grace,” he bowed. “Cook has prepared a light repast for you in the small parlour. Miss Prudence is already there.”
“Then I shall join her,” she replied. “In case I haven’t mentioned it, Woodleigh, Hartsmere House is an exceedingly well organised establishment, and I do believe we have you to thank for it.” She smiled. “So thank you.”
Somewhat flustered, he coloured up, bowed again, and took himself off a little more quickly than usual, leaving Ivy to smother a chuckle.
God bless butlers, she thought to herself as she turned to the small parlour. Where would we be without them?
*~~*~~*
Friday dawned clear and sunny, for which everyone was most grateful since plans involved being outside, and a pouring rain would have interfered in the worst way possible. It was, of course, why nobody had mentioned it, since talking about the weather was held to be an invitation for it to change immediately.
Ivy rose early, dressed in her favourite gown—a delicate green and white lawn dress with darker green ribbons—and took out the matching bonnet, laying it on the bed with her gloves and shawl. She probably wouldn’t need the shawl, but the gloves and bonnet were necessary.
Preparations were well underway, both for this afternoon’s guests and for the party tomorrow, so Ivy spent some time in the kitchen, chatting with Cook and her busy underlings.
The scent of fruit pies made her mouth water, and she had to laugh when Prudence peered around the door, sniffing at the luscious aroma.
“It’s a siren’s song for one’s nose, isn’t it?” She laughed again as Colly’s head topped his niece’s. “I see it works on gentlemen too.”
Cook preened and waved them to a side table where a few tartlets were cooling. She dropped a quick curtsey. “‘Ere yer are, yer Grace. I knows that soft spot yer got fer them fruit tarts.”
It was a good start to the day; laughter and excellent food.
And there was enough to do for the following day’s event that Ivy found the hours winging past quite rapidly. She was grateful for it, since there was little or no time to worry.
Until the knocker heralded the arrival of their friends.
Lydia had travelled with Rose and Miles, and announced that Matthew would be along later, separately, so as not to attract attention.
Shortly thereafter, Judith arrived with Ragnor, and the last to appear was Mowbray.
It was half an hour before Miss Ringwood was scheduled to arrive, so there was a brief conference before everyone took their positions.
“I am armed,” nodded Miles. “So I’m all set.”
“Me too,” added Ragnor. “Pulled out my favourite pistols.” He patted his pockets. “I brought them both just in case.”
“Mowbray?” The Duke glanced at him. “Did you bring your own weapon or do you trust mine?”
“I have my own, if it’s all the same to you, your Grace.”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to borrow one of yours, your Grace,” Lydia looked up at him. “Since I’m not allowed to have one of my own.” The disgust in her voice was quite
