Free The Viscount's Revenge (The Royal Ambition Series Book 4) by M. C. Beaton Page B

Amanda, who had become increasingly nervous. Her plain muslin gown and nankeen pelisse and Pamela bonnet seemed increasingly countrified.
     
    And why had she never noticed before how shiny with wear Richard’s morning clothes had become.
     
    Fortunately for Amanda, night had fallen, and her first sight of the town mansion which was to be her home in the succeeding months was no more than a vague impression of a vast, square bulk. And so she was able to convince herself that Mrs. Pitts surely rented a genteel flat among other genteel flats. No one could possibly live in the whole thing.
     
    A footman in scarlet-and-silver livery with silver epaulettes opened the door, looking every bit as grand as a Hussar officer.
     
    “Miss Pettifor and Mr. and Miss Colby, guests of Mrs. Pitts,” said Aunt Matilda.
     
    “There is no lady of that name resident here,” said the footman, his quick eyes flicking up and down their countrified dress. He made a move to close the door.
     
    “But you must be mistaken,” said Aunt Matilda, beginning to cry noisily. “You
must.
We have come so far, and Maria wrote this address down for me herself.”
     
    “What is it, James?” demanded another voice. The footman stood aside, and an imposing butler surveyed the small party on the doorstep.
     
    “My aunt wishes to see Mrs. Pitts,” said Amanda, throwing an irritated look at the now crumpled and sobbing Aunt Matilda. “But it is quite clear she has been given the wrong address.”
     
    “You are Miss Pettifor and Master and Miss Colby?” asked the butler, his face clearing.
     
    Aunt Matilda stopped crying immediately. “Yes, indeed,” she said, peering at him over the edge of a damp handkerchief.
     
    He stood aside. “Then you are expected. Come this way. Mrs. Fitzgerald’s maiden name was
Miss
Pitts.”
     
    “Of
course
!” cried Aunt Matilda, failing to notice the look of alarm on the twins’ faces. “How silly of me! I remember she married, but I could not remember the gentleman’s name.”
     
    Amanda and Richard shuffled nervously in behind Aunt Matilda, trying not to gawk at the magnificence of the entrance hall with its black-and-white tiles below and its painted ceiling above, which simulated an open sky with flying birds.
     
    “The family is in the Red Drawing Room,” announced the butler, throwing open a handsome pair of double doors and announcing the visitors in a loud ringing voice.
     
    Mrs. Fitzgerald arose and walked forward to meet them. Her eyes, so like her son’s, were pale and expressionless. She had a heavy jaw and a rather dumpy figure. Her hair was hidden under an elaborate lace cap.
     
    “My dear Matilda!” she said in the sort of resounding voice that is used to making its presence felt in marble halls. “Susan, come forward and make your curtsy.”
     
    A thin, tall, dark girl with a very hard face in one so young, and thick black hair which she tossed from side to side, made an awkward curtsy, gave them an unsmiling look, and promptly retreated back to a sofa in a corner of the room.
     
    Amanda took a deep breath. At least the sinister Lord Hawksborough was not present. With any luck, he did not live with his mother.
     
    Mrs. Fitzgerald drew Aunt Matilda down beside her on a sofa in front of the fire and proceeded to organise that lady’s life.
     
    “Now, Matilda,” she said, “in a moment I will ring for our housekeeper, Mrs. Renfrew, who will show you to your rooms. Dinner is at seven. I hope you will not find our town hours too late. I will lend you a gown, since I am sure you have nothing suitable. We planned a quiet evening, as it is your first. After dinner, we will play cards. My daughter and Amanda will become better acquainted.”
     
    Amanda and Richard looked hopefully towards Susan, who stared insolently back and then pointedly looked away.
     
    Mrs. Fitzgerald’s incisive voice went on and on. Aunt Matilda murmured “yes” and “no” like an obedient