decided that Annabelle wanted manners, and so, in between great mouthfuls of rice, she began to expound on the necessity of
good behaviour in young ladies.
‘When I was Minerva’s chaperone,’ said Lady Godolphin, ‘I told her that I may have my prejuices, I may be too strict, but I can’t abide Sophy Tray nor yet ladies
without Property. Ladies without Property tie their garters in public, that they do, and Worse!’
‘Propriety,’ muttered Mr Frampton.
‘Who is Sophy Tray?’ asked Annabelle.
‘Sophistry.’
‘Ah.’
‘And our handsome hero here,’ went on Lady Godolphin, waving a forkful of rice in the direction of the Marquess, ‘has set a few hearts a-flutter, but it ain’t no use you
young gels gettin’ your hopes up. Everyone knows Lord Brabington to be a famous Missing Jest.’
‘Do you mean that I am a poor sort of joke?’ asked the Marquess with interest.
‘I think my lady means misogynist,’ said Minerva in rather governessy tones. ‘Someone who does not like women.’
‘That’s what I said ,’ pointed out Lady Godolphin crossly. ‘You’ll need to take her in hand, Comfrey. Got a nasty habit of repeating what one says and
translating as if one spoke behindy, as the Colonel here calls one of them Indian languages.’
‘She really is impossible,’ said Mr Comfrey to Annabelle.
‘Oh, Minerva is always like that,’ said Annabelle sweetly. ‘Poor Lord Sylvester. She will tell him from morn till night to mind his Ps and Qs.’
‘I was referring to Lady Godolphin,’ said Mr Comfrey, very stiffly on his stiffs. ‘I would not dream of criticizing Miss Armitage. We all think Sylvester is a very lucky
fellow. To be wedding all that beauty and maidenly modesty . . . well, I just hope I am as fortunate.’
He turned away from Annabelle to speak to his neighbour and Annabelle cursed herself for having let her jealousy trip up her tongue. Of course she had known Mr Comfrey was referring to Lady
Godolphin, but it was so maddening the way everyone admired Minerva. If they only knew what a bore she could be.
Mr Frampton then turned politely to tell her that the gentlemen were going out shooting that afternoon and asked whether the ladies had decided as to how they would spend their day.
‘We have not yet had time,’ replied Annabelle, thinking hard. ‘I am surprised Lord Brabington should wish to engage in any form of sport after his ordeal.’
‘I don’t suppose Brabington will feel up to it,’ replied Mr Frampton carelessly.
Just then, the Duchess’s voice sounded down the table. ‘The ladies have a treat in store for them this afternoon. While you gentlemen are floundering about in the snow with your
guns, we shall be very cosy here. Lady Coombes has promised to show us her watercolour sketches of Wells Cathedral.’
There was a polite murmur from the ladies, the younger contingent trying to look pleased.
Annabelle then vowed to herself that whatever happened she was not going to spend the afternoon listening to Lady Coombes. The Marquess, provided he did not retire to his bedchamber,
should be hunted down. There was no time to lose.
Annabelle was beginning to feel much better now that she had a plan of campaign in mind. And no one had commented on her horrible gaffe of the night before. No one seemed to remember it.
But in this, she was to be proved wrong. No sooner was breakfast over than the Duchess of Allsbury with a polite smile requested the presence of Miss Annabelle Armitage in the morning room for a
few minutes.
‘I will come too,’ said Minerva quickly.
‘No, my dear,’ said the Duchess. ‘What I have to say to Miss Annabelle must be said in private.’
A mutinous look began to appear in Annabelle’s blue eyes. She could see a sermon rearing its ugly head and resented the fact she was about to be lectured like a child. She was a woman of
seventeen years, after all!
Nonetheless, there was little she could do but meekly follow her hostess to
good behaviour in young ladies.
‘When I was Minerva’s chaperone,’ said Lady Godolphin, ‘I told her that I may have my prejuices, I may be too strict, but I can’t abide Sophy Tray nor yet ladies
without Property. Ladies without Property tie their garters in public, that they do, and Worse!’
‘Propriety,’ muttered Mr Frampton.
‘Who is Sophy Tray?’ asked Annabelle.
‘Sophistry.’
‘Ah.’
‘And our handsome hero here,’ went on Lady Godolphin, waving a forkful of rice in the direction of the Marquess, ‘has set a few hearts a-flutter, but it ain’t no use you
young gels gettin’ your hopes up. Everyone knows Lord Brabington to be a famous Missing Jest.’
‘Do you mean that I am a poor sort of joke?’ asked the Marquess with interest.
‘I think my lady means misogynist,’ said Minerva in rather governessy tones. ‘Someone who does not like women.’
‘That’s what I said ,’ pointed out Lady Godolphin crossly. ‘You’ll need to take her in hand, Comfrey. Got a nasty habit of repeating what one says and
translating as if one spoke behindy, as the Colonel here calls one of them Indian languages.’
‘She really is impossible,’ said Mr Comfrey to Annabelle.
‘Oh, Minerva is always like that,’ said Annabelle sweetly. ‘Poor Lord Sylvester. She will tell him from morn till night to mind his Ps and Qs.’
‘I was referring to Lady Godolphin,’ said Mr Comfrey, very stiffly on his stiffs. ‘I would not dream of criticizing Miss Armitage. We all think Sylvester is a very lucky
fellow. To be wedding all that beauty and maidenly modesty . . . well, I just hope I am as fortunate.’
He turned away from Annabelle to speak to his neighbour and Annabelle cursed herself for having let her jealousy trip up her tongue. Of course she had known Mr Comfrey was referring to Lady
Godolphin, but it was so maddening the way everyone admired Minerva. If they only knew what a bore she could be.
Mr Frampton then turned politely to tell her that the gentlemen were going out shooting that afternoon and asked whether the ladies had decided as to how they would spend their day.
‘We have not yet had time,’ replied Annabelle, thinking hard. ‘I am surprised Lord Brabington should wish to engage in any form of sport after his ordeal.’
‘I don’t suppose Brabington will feel up to it,’ replied Mr Frampton carelessly.
Just then, the Duchess’s voice sounded down the table. ‘The ladies have a treat in store for them this afternoon. While you gentlemen are floundering about in the snow with your
guns, we shall be very cosy here. Lady Coombes has promised to show us her watercolour sketches of Wells Cathedral.’
There was a polite murmur from the ladies, the younger contingent trying to look pleased.
Annabelle then vowed to herself that whatever happened she was not going to spend the afternoon listening to Lady Coombes. The Marquess, provided he did not retire to his bedchamber,
should be hunted down. There was no time to lose.
Annabelle was beginning to feel much better now that she had a plan of campaign in mind. And no one had commented on her horrible gaffe of the night before. No one seemed to remember it.
But in this, she was to be proved wrong. No sooner was breakfast over than the Duchess of Allsbury with a polite smile requested the presence of Miss Annabelle Armitage in the morning room for a
few minutes.
‘I will come too,’ said Minerva quickly.
‘No, my dear,’ said the Duchess. ‘What I have to say to Miss Annabelle must be said in private.’
A mutinous look began to appear in Annabelle’s blue eyes. She could see a sermon rearing its ugly head and resented the fact she was about to be lectured like a child. She was a woman of
seventeen years, after all!
Nonetheless, there was little she could do but meekly follow her hostess to
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