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“I have my orders, Your Grace. If the meeting goes longer than one hour, I’m to come to the door with an urgent reason for you to leave.”
With his exit strategy in place, West prepared to greet his future wife and her mother.
“Mrs. Chandler. Miss Chandler.”
“Your Grace.” Miss Chandler’s curtsy was very American. When she dipped, she bent forward to show him her overflowing bosom, and then glanced up to see what effect the sight had on him.
Strangely, the sight did nothing much except make him think of how Miss Beaton’s gowns weren’t cut low enough to see anything, and what a pity that had been.
Mrs. Chandler was a tall, handsome woman with the same auburn hair and deep brown eyes as her daughter. She was rail thin with sharpcheekbones and a piercing voice. The opposite of her husband, West thought. Mr. Chandler had been a soft-spoken, corpulent man with ruddy cheeks and a ready smile.
“May I present my sisters, Miss Bernadette, Miss Belinda, and Miss Birgitta, though we all call her Birdie,” said West, smiling at his sisters, who had lined up beside him.
“Mrs. Chandler, Miss Chandler, it’s a pleasure,” said Bernadette. “Miss Chandler, your pelisse is the exact yellow-green shade as many of theScarabaeidaefamily of insects, more commonly known as dung beetles.”
Miss Chandler sniffed. “I assure you I had no idea.”
“Dung beetles are lovely, lovely creatures. So industrious. Wait a moment, I think I have one here.” Bernadette pulled a square of black velvet from some hidden inner pocket and unfolded it. “Yes, a stunning example of the genusOnthophagus. See?” She held up the insect by its legs in front of Miss Chandler’s skirts. “The very color!”
“Oh!” Miss Chandler shrank away from the beetle. “How horrid.”
“Would you like to keep it, Miss Chandler?” Bernadette asked enthusiastically. “I was going to mount it on a pin for my collection, but I think it would make a fetching brooch for your shawl, or an ornament for one of your bonnets.”
“No, no thank you,” Miss Chandler said hastily. “You keep it, please.”
“Put it away, Bernadette,” West said, giving her a warning look.
Bernadette shrugged. “I’ve been told that fashion is all about accessorizing. I have several beetle brooches. Can’t see why they’re not all the rage.”
“My sister is a lover of insects,” Belinda explained with a grimace. “Which means that she always has something hideous tucked away about her person. I think your ensemble is the height of elegance, Miss Chandler,” she said with a wide smile.
“Why, thank you,” Miss Chandler replied, edging away from Bernadette toward Belinda.
“Come, sit beside me,” Belinda said, taking her hand. “We’re going to be fast friends, I can tell.”
“I thought you had five sisters, Your Grace?” Mrs. Chandler commented as a footman helped her to a seat.
“The eldest, Lady Blanche, is indisposed today. And Belinda’s twin, Betsy, is taking some exercise but will join us very soon.”
Mrs. Chandler glanced toward the door, expecting to see servants bearing tea trays.
“We’ll take our refreshment in a moment, Mrs. Chandler. There was a minor mishap in the kitchens this morning,” West explained. They’d better be quick about it. He required fortification.
“I do hope your cook wasn’t injured. It’s so very difficult to find a good cook. They’re worth their weight in gold. I wish we’d brought ours from Boston.”
“We lost our dear Miss Beaton, and nothing’s been the same since,” said Birdie with an accusatory edge to her voice.
“Your Miss Beaton?” Miss Chandler inquired.
“Our music instructor. But she was oureverything, really.” Birdie drummed her fingers on her knee as though she were playing the pianoforte.
“What happened to her?” asked Miss Chandler.
“She left her post. Becausecertain peoplecan’t be civil.”
“That’s enough, Birdie,” West said. They weren’t here to discuss the lack of Miss Beaton. This was about wedding details, a subject best dispensed of as swiftly as possible. “Now then, about the wedding.”
“It must be the grandest, most expensive, most impressive wedding of the Season,” Mrs. Chandler said.
