Emily Hendrickson by Drusillas Downfall Page A

in London.
    “Priscilla went to stay with our aunt, Miss Mercy Herbert. I gather she has been busy, for there has been little news. At least,” she amended, “nothing has been passed along to me. I confess I was pleased to learn she has caught the eye of a fine gentleman, as I gather Lord Latimer is. She deserves something good.”
    “It is nice to hear a young woman so happy for her sister. And you? Are you planning to marry?”
    “Like any young woman I wish to marry, but it does not always happen, does it? Some of us are destined to be spinsters, whether we wish it or not.”
    “Somehow, my dear, I doubt it is your destiny to remain in spinsterhood.”
    He said no more, to Drusilla’s disappointment. She smiled politely at Lord Ives, changing the topic to gardening, something she knew he enjoyed.
    In spite of the delicious food, Drusilla was glad when the dinner reached the stage where the marchioness nodded to the women. They rose to leave the room to the gentlemen and their port. Lady Felicia and Miss Knight followed, with Drusilla trailing behind. Sir Bertram had risen to bow the ladies from the room. He firmly shut the door behind them.
    “Did I hear that you play the pianoforte?” Lady Felicia inquired in her high-fluting voice.
    “I do my humble best. It has been a joy to practice on the fine Broadwood in the drawing room.”
    “It is nice to have a worthy instrument. Later on, you shall play and I shall sing. You can accompany me?”
    Drusilla gave her a rueful smile. “That depends on what music you select. Would you care to look over what is available here?” She guided the exquisite lady to the stack of music reposed on a table by the pianoforte. It took some minutes to find something suitable.
    The time without the gentlemen was usually a dreary interval, and it was no different tonight.
    Priddy brought in a large silver tray with the fine china, silver teapot on a spirit stand, with creamer and sugar bowl, and dainty cakes in a silver cake stand. There was also a bowl filled with candied nutmeats. The marchioness summoned Drusilla to pour.
    Drusilla poured out the fragrant, well-brewed tea into the fragile cups. A footman carefully offered them to the other women. Lady Felicia flounced over to the sofa, accepting her cup of tea and a tiny cake with a bored expression on her face. When she caught Lady Brentford watching her, she swiftly became the same animated woman who had sat next to Lord Brentford at the dining table.
    Well, well, Drusilla mused. It would seem at second sight that the young lady was not all she appeared to be.
    Miss Knight sent for her little spaniel, explaining, “He gets so lonesome in my room, I hate to leave him there for long periods of time.”
    There was time for gentle chatter before the gentlemen joined them. Lord Osman was the first one through the door, with Sir Bertram right behind him.
    “Ah, our fair ones. I trust you have missed us!” Sir Bertram cried, his blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
    “If I know you, there will be a demand for a game of whist immediately,” the marchioness said with amusement.
    Not wishing to play cards, for she was an indifferent player at best, Drusilla rose to go to the pianoforte. She now knew the marchioness liked to have soft music while she indulged in her card playing. Drusilla was only too happy to oblige.
    “I promised I would turn pages for you, and I shall keep that word,” Lord Ives said quietly so not to disturb the four who were setting up a table of whist.
    Miss Knight stood by the door, obviously waiting for her pet to be brought to her. Lord Osman and Sir Bertram joined Mrs. Twywhitt and Lady Brentford at one card table while Lord Brentford, Lord Somers, and Lady Felicia patiently waited for Miss Knight to take her place.
    At last the dog arrived and that foursome began their game. All would have been well but for the little dog that kept growling at Lady Felicia.
    Poor Miss Knight, who had been exclaiming about