Page 41 of A Hint of Scandal

Chapter Twenty

When the invitation came to call on the Dowager Countess of Westbury and her daughter-in-law, the present countess, Araminta could barely conceal her satisfaction. The missive arrived at breakfast, which was being taken at ten in the morning as Araminta’s habit was not to rise until that advanced hour. The footman she’d engaged on their arrival brought the note in on a silver tray and presented it to her with some aplomb for a young man being paid the lowest amount possible. He must have been desperate for a job.

Ogden, whose head was buried in his morning copy of The Times newspaper, ignored this arrival.

Without a glance for her husband, who should have been the one opening it, Araminta unfolded the sheet of paper. As she read, her face, which had been wearing its usual sour expression, took on the appearance of the cook’s cat having her bowl filled with the unexpected largesse of cream. Her normally pebble hard eyes shone with triumphant excitement for an instant, before something must have dawned on her and she veiled them in a hurry.

Serafina, who’d been nibbling a piece of toast as she wasn’t at all hungry for some reason, glanced sideways at Letty, to find her gazing at her mother in expectation. She was clearly thinking this might be a missive of some kind from Mr. Talbot. Or possibly one of the other young gentlemen who seemed so taken with her. Although surely none of them would offer for Letty in such an unexpected manner.

Araminta refolded the letter with precise care and slipped it into her reticule, something she carried with her at all times. No doubt for purposes of concealment like this.

Letty set down her cup of hot chocolate. “Is it an important letter, Mama?” It must have taken a certain amount of courage to pose that question to her intimidating parent. But with her sojourn in London progressing, she was becoming bolder by the day. Not always a good thing.

Serafina swallowed her mouthful of toast, ears pricked. Something had affected her sister-in-law and she was now struggling to hide this fact.

Araminta compressed her already thin lips as though having to force herself to remain silent when what she would rather do was shout her news from the rooftops. Well, perhaps not quite that, but something similar. From the look she was having trouble hiding it had to be something good.

Ogden lowered his paper. He must have been listening after all. “What is it?” he grunted. “What’s going on? Something important, my dear?” His tone was casual, but with a hint of warning that she’d better not be hiding anything. Proof that on occasion, when necessity arose, he could get the better of his wife.

Araminta’s face contorted in indecision for a long moment before she heaved a sigh and withdrew the letter from her reticule. “We have an invitation to call on the Countess of Westbury at her house in Cavendish Square.” She was clearly having difficulty maintaining a balance between smug self-satisfaction and annoyance that this invitation had only been forthcoming due to Serafina’s unexpected engagement and impending marriage.

Good.

Serafina lowered her gaze to her half-eaten toast and kept her face as expressionless as possible. Difficult. If she could have chosen a betrothed for herself, out of all those available, she could not have chosen one whom Araminta would envy more, unless perhaps an actual duke or earl. Max might only be the son and younger brother of an earl, but it was obvious Araminta considered him the next best thing.

“We do?” Letty almost squealed. “Do you think Louis Herbert will be there? I do hope so.”

So much for encouraging her towards less flirting and more consideration of one suitable man.

“All of us?” Ogden asked, folding the paper up and laying it on the table. “To an earl’s residence?”

Araminta must have been fighting hard to suppress her smile of triumph, because it suddenly defeated her and sneaked across her face. “Yes. It will give Letty so much more credence if we let it be known that we are friendly with the Westburys. Of course all of us. This invitation will be the making of our family.”

Letty clapped her hands. “How perfectly splendid. I shall wear the new white gown with the roses embroidered on it.” She threw a glance at Serafina, who’d looked up. “But what about Fina? She can’t go to an earl’s house in any of the old gowns she has, can she? And she’s already been seen in the one new gown you bought her. And besides, that one is so dull and boring. She can’t wear that either. Not when she’s engaged to the earl’s brother.”

A stony silence fell in the dining room.

Serafina kept her head down, with a wary eye on her sister-in-law. A struggle was going on beneath the surface. Satisfaction that their family had received such an exalted and much desired invitation must be vying with Araminta’s innate desire to keep her young sister-in-law firmly under her thumb and in the shadows. Given Serafina’s new status, she was going to find that nearly impossible.

Ogden glanced at Serafina, brows furrowed. “She could wear one of your gowns, Araminta. She’s the same size as you are. A little thinner, perhaps…” He picked up his newspaper again as though he wished the matter closed. “I’d think the blue one would suit her well enough.”

Araminta’s mouth opened, but for a long moment, no sound came out. When she found her voice, it was as squeaky as Letty’s had been. “But that’s one of my new ones. Even I haven’t worn it yet.”

“All the better,” Ogden said with a snort that betokened a definite end to the discussion. “They won’t have seen it before, and they’ll think the gown is hers. That should do nicely.” He fixed his wife with a hard stare. “After all, we have only received this invitation because of her. We don’t want her future in-laws thinking she’s a poor relation, now do we?”

Only of course, she was.

Although Cavendish Square was but a short distance from Great Titchfield Street and easily walked on a fine afternoon, Araminta insisted on taking the carriage. “No one,” she pronounced, “goes anywhere in London on foot, unless they are of inferior birth, of course.” Whether this was true or not, Serafina had no idea. But from the number of well-dressed people she’d seen on the street both on her visit to the British Museum and in the park, she concluded Araminta might well be wrong, and perhaps just lazy.

So, that afternoon, with Serafina feeling both overdressed and out of place in Araminta’s new blue gown, the whole family took the short journey to Cavendish Square. Letty, who’d been fairly bubbling with excitement, had required a stern talking to about how she should comport herself, and a reiteration of Serafina’s earlier dire threats of what might happen to her, were she to behave in too forward a fashion. Consequently, she sat with unusual decorum all the way to their objective.

A butler showed them into the magnificent interior of Westbury House and up a wide marble staircase to a drawing room on the upper floor. He opened the door for them and announced their arrival in stentorian tones. “Sir Ogden and Lady Gilbert, my ladies, Captain. With Miss Letitia Gilbert and Miss Serafina Gilbert.”

Serafina did her best not to stare around herself in too awestruck a fashion, but this room was so much more magnificent than either the one in Great Titchfield Street or the one at home in Milford House. Everything about it was more sumptuous and luxurious, from the heavy curtains over the long windows to the thick Persian rugs and the upholstered seating. Paintings of people who must be Max’s noble ancestors festooned the walls, and elaborate ornaments sat on every available surface. What a room. She almost didn’t want to sit in it.

The two ladies seated near the blazing fire were on par with their surroundings. The dowager dountess, whom she’d already briefly encountered, was a tall, gray-haired woman of imposing demeanor, dressed in a gown that could only be described as flamboyant, while her daughter-in-law, the present Countess, was a plumpish, much more approachable looking woman with a ready smile on her face and brightly sparkling eyes.

Max was sitting on a chair opposite his two ladies, wearing topboots and a navy coat of immaculate cut, and with his hair teased into a Grecian of artistic proportions. He looked as self-conscious as she felt.