Lavinia cast one more look of longing over her shoulder at the unfinished letter to Miss Foote.
I should have liked to post that particular piece today.
It was clear this was a fanciful wish. She could not be both a steady correspondent and a proper hostess, at least not today.
Abandoning the missive, she allowed Charles to lead her out of the drawing room.
Soon, just as was predicted, the guests began to arrive. The enormous wooden doors of Crawford Hall swung wide. Lavinia, Charles, and their parents stood near the entryway, smiling and welcoming the guests.
Lavinia awaited the entry of the guests with her mother by her side. Her heart rate quickened at the sound of carriages stopping in the drive. She beamed at each newcomer, especially those who greeted her parents with warm enthusiasm.
“An anniversary ball!” the Countess of St. Vincent exclaimed as soon as the Baroness and Lavinia approached her.
The Baroness held her arms wide, welcoming the Countess into an embrace. Since Lavinia had last seen the Countess of St. Vincent in London, her hair had started to gray slightly near the temples, and there was a small wobble to her chin.
“Have we really been summoned to the countryside again to celebrate your wedding anniversary?” The Countess pulled out of the hug and fixed the Baroness with a disapproving look. “Did we not mark the occasion last year?”
The Baroness chuckled.
Lavinia did her best to hide her mirth behind her gloved hand.
“It is a delight to see you again, Lady St. Vincent,” the Baroness offered. “I know how you do not particularly appreciate the way my husband and I celebrate our love for one another, but?—”
“It is not your love I take exception to, Lady Crawford, but this spectacle.” Lady St. Vincent lifted her hand, which was covered in a supple kid glove, and gestured to the others who were crowding the hall. “Why must you host such an unconventional house party?”
“Oh, I suppose you prefer the house parties where young people run amok and several get engaged before the end of the week to this one?”
The comment came from Mrs. Caulfield, a respectable woman who had married the second son of the Viscount Caulfield. She wore a dress made of delicate blue fabric. The material was dotted with large Morning Glories, giving her a festive, unique look.
“I value tradition,” Lady St. Vincent sniffed as she looked down her nose at Mrs. Caulfield.
“As do I,” Mrs. Caulfield returned. “But is it not Lord and Lady Crawford’s habit to mark each wedding anniversary with a lovely soiree?”
Lady St. Vincent huffed, then turned her gaze back to the Baroness. “My only hope is that we do not spend all week watching you and your husband moon over one another. I expect to be entertained.”
“Then you shall be,” Lavinia jested. “If you wish to see two engaged couples before the week’s end, I will make it a priority to play matchmaker.”
“Make it three couples,” Mrs. Caulfield interjected, clearly enjoying the joke as much as Lavinia, “and we shall all be quite entertained. What do you say, Lady St. Vincent?”
Lavinia, her mother, and Mrs. Caulfield all laughed lightly, but Lady St. Vincent still seemed dissatisfied. She narrowed her eyes and looked at Lavinia long and hard.
“You wish to play matchmaker, do you, Miss Fitzroy? Does that mean you have given up all hope of finding a husband?” Her eyes flicked up and down Lavinia’s form before landing squarely on the diamond necklace. “You cannot be more than four-and-twenty, girl. Surely, you have not given up hope entirely.”
A small sigh escaped the Baroness’s lips, and Lavinia was not but a second behind in echoing the sentiment. She knew not how to reply. While she could tell her brother and parents all day that she would only marry once she fell in love, she did not wish to sound foolish or naïve while conversing with Lady St. Vincent or Mrs. Caulfield.
“I heard the Duke of Pemberton will be here this week.” Once again, perhaps because she was seeking to dispel the unease, Mrs. Caulfield was the one to speak. She looked kindly at Lavinia. “Is it true? Was he invited?”
“He was,” the Baroness answered readily. “And I do believe he means to attend. His mother wrote to me a few days ago; he came home this summer. The Dowager Duchess is delighted. She has been wanting us to meet him for many years.”
“But have you heard the whispers?” Lady St. Vincent asked in a hushed tone.
The Baroness’s ears perked up in curiosity.
Lavinia felt the urge to leave, but her mother squeezed her arm tightly, holding her in place.
“What whispers?” the Baroness almost whispered.
Lavinia discreetly shook her head at her mother’s behavior.
