Free The Waltzing Widow/Smith by Joan Smith Page B

you at the garden party this afternoon.”
    “She would not be so bold!” Lady Sara gasped, delighted at such melodramatic doings. “I hope you let her know she will not be welcome.”
    “Ho, much she cares about welcome. She’ll be here if she has to shoot her way in, and you may be sure she’ll be hanging on the idiot’s arm, so we can hardly ask her to leave.”
    “No, Tony will come with Isabel and Cousin Morton.”
    “Possibly. But what shall we do if she comes?” Avedon asked.
    Lady Sara gave it her deep consideration. “We can hardly turn them off after I invited them. We shall give them a cold shoulder, and the neighborhood will see what we think of women of Mrs. Percy’s kidney.”
    “You aren’t fully aware of the nature of her kidney, either. I don’t believe she was ever married at all,” Avedon said. “She let something slip last night.”
    Lady Sara promptly demanded all the details. “She may not even be a Percy for all we know,” she said after the tale was unfolded.
    “She could be anyone. There is a respectable family of Percys at Dorset, but I doubt she’s any kin to them. You know that fellow in Hampshire who was in the Peninsula, Sal. Can you find out form him if there was a Captain Percy there, and if he was married?”
    “Yes, George Wesley lost an arm, poor soul. I shall write to his mama this very day. Mrs. Percy is a scheming woman, come here to snap up Tony, but we shall soon be rid of her. How could she have heard of him, Adrian? Your advertisement was so discreetly worded.”
    “Mrs. Lacey, perhaps. No doubt the muslin company has a freemasonry amongst themselves to share word of their victims. If they have, Tony’s name must be at the top of their list. It is a great pity Mrs. Percy is so attractive. She just might succeed in nabbing him.”
    Lady Sara shot a suspicious glance at her brother, but Adrian was not susceptible to upstarts. He held too high an opinion of himself for that. If Adrian had a fault, which was by no means positive, it was pride. His angry face assured her he was in no danger from Mrs. Percy, no matter how pretty she was.
    “We shan’t worry any more about it till we see whether she comes. Her sister-in-law may deter her. She, at least, seems well-bred. Of more importance to me is my husband. He deserves that appointment, Adrian. And after he is archdeacon, he will be a bishop. It is only right that he should be called a lord, for I am Lady Sara. He’ll never manage it by himself. All he thinks of is the church; it is for us to make the connections. I am sure that a word dropped in the right ear would secure the appointment for him. Papa’s old friend, Judge Almont, is acquainted with the archbishop, is he not?” The conversation turned to the other inevitable subject, and Mrs. Percy was forgotten.
    With a letter to write to Hampshire and the arrangement of a garden party that must eclipse every other garden party in the county, the morning was a busy one for Lady Sara. There were the ices, always a dreadful nuisance but essential, as no one else served them. There was the punch, and the squeezing of three dozen lemons for lemonade, and only two squeezers in the whole house. There were the meat pies and lobster patties for the adults and sandwiches for the children. Cakes and petits fours and cream buns had to be tasted for freshness and quality—no tiresome part of the morning for Lady Sara, who enjoyed tooth work.
    On top of her other duties she had to examine the grounds for signs of slovenly gardening, to count the chairs and tables and see all was in order. One hundred and four bentwood chairs. One hundred was such a nice round number that she decided to take the four extra back to Hampshire with her. And perhaps that little iron-topped table for the rose garden.
    She found little fault with anything. Say that for Adrian, his house and grounds were properly maintained. As to the kitchen, though, it was a shame for the waste that went on.