Sherbrooke Twins (Sherbrooke Brides 8)

“Ha! When money is involved it won’t remain a secret for long.”

Douglas frowned. “Well, it has until now, but you’re right, Simon. Once she gets to London and it’s known she’s looking for a husband, even burying her money in the kitchen garden won’t help.” Douglas sighed and tapped his fingertips together.

A lovely low musical voice came from the doorway. “Good morning, my lord. So you are our august personage?”

CHAPTER SIX

There is no such thing as too much couth.

S. J. PERELMAN

DOUGLAS QUICKLY ROSE. “Maybella. You are looking fine this morning.”

She looked as she always looked, wearing one of her many pale blue gowns that covered her from throat to toe. She nodded and headed straight to the cinnamon bread. The plate was empty.

Maybella merely held out her hand. With obvious reluctance, perhaps even a small whimper, Simon stuck out his hand. On his palm lay two slices.

She took both slices without a word, sat herself down on the small sofa facing Douglas, and smiled placidly at him.

“Corrie will be down presently,” she said, and proceeded to eat, both men watching her avidly. “I believe she was searching for a stocking.”

“As I was telling Simon, Maybella, you are going to have to take Corrie to London this fall.”

She said matter-of-factly, “I hadn’t informed him of it yet, Douglas, because he would figure a way to get out of it.”

Simon said, “The weather is uncertain in the fall, Maybella. Perhaps Corrie can be presented when the weather is finer, in the summer, perhaps, two or three summers after this one.”

Douglas said, “I have just recalled that the second week of October is always pleasant, Simon, and we will see every balloon ascension during that week. Perhaps several will be held. Trust me.”

Buxted’s throat cleared once again in the doorway. “Miss Corrie is here, my lord, and she is not wearing her breeches. I did not inquire about her stockings as such a query could be taken amiss.”

Since Maybella’s mouth was full, she only nodded. Corrie came into the drawing room dressed in a very old muslin gown the same pale blue as her aunt’s. It needed more petticoats and fewer flounces and perhaps an inch of her neck showing. At least she was straight and tall, her waist small enough to please even Do

uglas’s mother. On the other hand, probably not.

“Good morning, my lord,” Corrie said and gave Douglas a fine curtsy.

“I taught her to curtsy,” Maybella said, beaming at Corrie as she chewed on the cinnamon bread. “Isn’t that shade of blue particularly fetching on her?”

“It always is on you, my love,” Simon said, eyeing that final slice of cinnamon bread lovingly held in Maybella’s right hand.

Douglas said, “Good morning to you, Corrie. That was a lovely curtsy. You’re tall and that’s excellent. No, straighten your shoulders. That’s right. Never stoop. Small, mincing girls aren’t to any gentleman’s taste, unless he is very short himself. You do not wish to attract a short man, he will make you bow your shoulders. Hmmm, yes, your shoulders are nice.” Douglas rose and made a circuit around her. Her hair was in a single fat braid down her back. “I think with your height you will enhance any gown Madame Jourdan can make for you.”

“I don’t understand why you are examining me, my lord.”

Simon said, “Douglas is going to advise you on clothes, Corrie, for London. He is evidently superior to his wife in this. He is evidently renowned at it. We will listen to him.”

“Pale blue is such a lovely color, don’t you think, Douglas? What a girl needs is blue, a lovely pale blue, I’ve always said.”

“She will have one pale blue gown, Maybella, no more. Your coloring is very different from Corrie’s. Now, you must trust me on this.”

Maybella bit into a slice of cinnamon bread, then said, “Perhaps you are right. Corrie has never had my radiance.”

“Indeed,” said her husband, and pushed his glasses back up.

Maybella, having finished the second slice of cinnamon bread, cleared her throat. “I say, Douglas, why is Jason skulking out there leaning against one of the lime trees on the drive? Or is it dear James? One can never tell since they are like two heads on the same Greek coin.”

Corrie immediately whipped around and skipped to the windows. “It is James, Aunt Maybella. He isn’t doing anything at all.”