As the Earl Likes by Darcy Burke

Author:Darcy Burke [Burke, Darcy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zealous Quill Press

Chapter 11

After Saturday’s ball and a busy night at the Siren’s Call on Sunday, Jo was glad to be doing what she wanted to do on Monday evening. Smiling as she departed the hack, she stepped through the wrought iron gate to the front door of the Davenports’ house. It opened before she could knock.

“Good evening, Melrose,” Jo said.

“Good evening, Miss Harker.” The rather short butler closed the door behind her and took her cloak and hat.

Jo made her way upstairs to the drawing room, more eager than usual for tonight’s literary salon.

“If it isn’t the future Duchess of Henlow!” Mrs. Davenport exclaimed loudly so that everyone who had already arrived, perhaps ten people, quieted and turned to look at Jo.

In any other situation, Jo would have been horrified to have brought everything to a standstill, but she had known these people a few years now. She considered some of them friends, though not in the way of her new friends who were near to her own age.

Jo smiled. “Good evening, Mrs. Davenport.”

Mrs. Davenport, a petite woman in her late sixties who wore ornate white wigs that were firmly out of fashion, grinned at Jo. “Shall we have a toast to your good fortune?”

“That isn’t necessary,” Jo said. “Truly, though, I do appreciate your kindness.”

“It isn’t kindness so much as envy,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, to marry an earl!” She glanced toward her husband, who, as usual, was dozing in the corner. “You must tell me everything. When is the wedding?”

“I want to hear!” Mrs. Fletcher-Peabody hastened toward them. A widow in her early sixties, she possessed a round figure and surprisingly dark hair. Mrs. Fletcher-Peabody hosted the literary salons on the first and third Mondays of the month, while Mrs. Davenport hosted the second and fourth. If there was a fifth Monday, they took a respite, and the next salon was invariably at least an hour longer than normal.

“I would also like to hear,” said a third woman, Lady Standish. Her cane tapped on the floor as she approached. In her seventies, Lady Standish was a poetess and occasionally shared her work. Tonight was one such evening, and Jo was particularly looking forward to it. Lady Standish wrote of the intersection of love and nature, and her work moved Jo to seek out beauty and peace. With everything happening, she felt rather in need of the latter.

“What did I miss?” Lady Standish asked, looking at the two older ladies before settling her gaze on Jo. “Here’s our beautiful bride.”

“You haven’t missed a thing,” Jo said. “Mrs. Davenport asked when the wedding will be. Not until autumn or winter. We haven’t set the date yet.”

Mrs. Fletcher-Peabody pouted. “Why so long?”

“Please make it November or later,” Lady Standish said. “I won’t have returned from the country until then.”

Jo kept herself from laughing. As if she would plan a wedding based on Lady Standish’s plans. Even so, the woman’s desire to be present was incredibly sweet. Jo realized she would have liked all of them at the wedding breakfast.

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