It did little to quell the anxiety roiling Isolde’s stomach and threatening to upend her breakfast. She was unsure which she disliked more—making morning calls with her mother or receiving them.
At the moment, they were to be on the receiving end. Isolde, her mother, Allie, and Lady Lavinia all attentively waited for guests to arrive.Ifthey arrived, that was.
The prim smugness on Lady Lavinia’s face loudly proclaimed her wishes for how the day would go.
Isolde took a deep breath and smoothed her skirts.
The knocker sounded from the entrance hallway below.
Hallelujah.
A few moments later, Fredericks ushered in Lady Lockheade and her youngest daughter, Lady Alexandra Whitaker. Both petite and blonde, the ladies were old family friends of the Hadleys. Lord Hadley and Lord Lockheade had known eachother for decades and had even voyaged to the South Pacific together.
Isolde rushed to greet them, arms spread wide in welcome.
“Lady Lockheade,” she said, pressing a kiss to the older woman’s cheek and remembering at the last moment to not call herAunt Lottie. They were not related, but Lord and Lady Lockheade had always felt like family.
“Lady Alexandra,” Isolde said.
Lady Alexandra showed no such restraint. She hugged Isolde boldly. “I am so thrilled for your marriage, Duchess.”
“As am I,” Isolde smiled. Perhaps morning hours wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all. “Won’t you please be seated?”
Fifteen minutes later, the room was buzzing with ladies. Most were close friends or relatives—kudos to Lady Hadley for convincing her niece, the current Duchess of Montacute, to attend—but many were mere acquaintances keen to see how the new Duchess of Kendall was faring in her august role.
The tea cart was brought in, and Isolde set about pouring. It was one of the first rituals a lady learned to perform, and she refused to be found remiss in her execution of it.
Carefully, she tipped the teapot at the precisely correct angle, inquired how the Duchess of Montacute took her tea, and added the required spoon of sugar. The cup was dutifully passed to Her Grace, and Isolde moved on to Lady Lockheade, the next lady in order of precedence.
She had just handed Lady Lockheade her teacup when the Duchess of Montacute began coughing uncontrollably.
Isolde and Lady Hadley turned to Her Grace.
“Is ought amiss, Duchess?” Isolde asked.
Red-cheeked and still coughing, the Duchess waved a hand in front of her face.
“You have”—cough—“put salt, not sugar”—cough—“into my tea.”
Mortification swamped Isolde. The crystals in the sugar dish certainly appeared less lumpish and brown than normal. Hesitantly, she tested a tiny amount.
Salt.
Bollocks.
“Surely, Your Grace,” the duchess continued, her coughing mostly passed, though she kept a hand pressed to her bosom, “your housekeeper and cook are more competent than this?”
The implication, of course, was that Isolde herself was incompetent in her management of the household staff.
“I shall speak with them immediately, Your Grace. I am terribly sorry for this mishap.”
Standing, Isolde crossed to the door.
Unable to help herself, her eyes flickered to Lady Lavinia.
The woman’s tiny smirk of triumph and the twitch of her ferrety nose needed no interpretation.
After the teadebacle, Isolde struggled to calm herself.
