How to Steal a Scoundrel's Heart (The Mating Habits of Scoundrels #4)(15)
She was contemplating whether or not to try the maid’s disguise again when Maeve and Myrtle Parrish bustled into the colorful room, past the red caffoy settee.
Of Ellie’s aunts, Maeve was the elder and more reserved of the two. She never had an iron-gray hair out of place or a wrinkle in her sedate attire. And even though she appeared rather austere on the outside, she had a dry wit that could startle a laugh out of anyone and a fiercely devoted heart to all she held dear.
Myrtle was bright and cheerful, her nature matching her dandelion-fluff hair and plump porcelain cheeks. She was quick to smile and tease, and always smelled like freshly baked biscuits. “We’ve just come from the sweets shop with a pilfered recipe for the best Turkish Delight in town. Now, our Elodie’s wedding breakfast on Wednesday will truly be the talk of the ton.”
For Ellie’s sake, Prue hoped that only good things were said about her wedding day.
“Had we known you were here alone, we’d have taken you with us,” Maeve said, steadily plucking her gloves from her fingertips, one after the other.
Prue shook her head to release them of any sense of obligation. “Lord Hullworth and his sister dropped by to take Ellie to Gunter’s. His aunt has just arrived in town for the wedding and I didn’t want to intrude on their outing.”
“My dear, you could never be an intrusion. Why, Myrtle and I were just saying last night how lovely it would be if we all took a holiday together, while Elodie and Brandon are on their honeymoon.”
Myrtle carelessly stripped off her gloves inside out and tossed them on the nearest wine table. “We’ve never toured the southern coast before or sampled the food. And just because our Elodie is getting married, doesn’t mean our careers in recipe espionage need to be over.”
“Recipe espionage?” Prue parroted.
“Stealing all the best recipes. Soups, puddings, pastries, confections—oh, the list is endless. And delicious,” Myrtle added with a grin.
“We’ve been gathering these for years in preparation for Elodie’s long-awaited wedding breakfast,” Maeve added, and there was a small grin on her lips, too. “Not to boast, but we’re quite good at it.”
Myrtle nodded proudly. “I doubt many realize that there is an art to subterfuge.”
“Indeed,” her sister said. “The key to success is to believe that the recipe belongs in your possession. And that you are among a select few who can truly appreciate its worth. I’ve known for most of my life that Myrtle and I have been blessed with a superior palate. It would be selfish to squander such a gift by letting all the delicious foods we’ve tasted remain unsampled by our loved ones.”
Prue pressed her lips together, hiding her own smile at the unapologetic reasoning. “Have you never worried about being caught?”
Maeve exchanged a look with her sister. “In such circumstances, one must never appear to have all her wits about her. I prefer to deploy the subtle, vacant blinking method when I am nearly caught in the act.”
“And I flit my hands like a clipped-wing bird in a dither and sigh with great distress as I mention my poor nerves,” Myrtle added, demonstrating.
Recipe espionage? It might have been the oddest thing she’d ever heard. And yet, such experience might prove handy for her own endeavors. “Have you ever tried to, perhaps, disguise yourself as a maid?”
“That would never work,” Maeve said with a purse of her lips. “Maids are overseen by housekeepers and housekeepers are, as a rule, far too sharp-witted. They excel at keeping things in order.”
Myrtle sighed, nodding in agreement. “So true, sister. A lesson learned the hard way when we first set out on our quest and tried to insinuate ourselves into a house where a ball was underway. We’d had no invitation, you see,” she said to Prue.
And Maeve interjected, “Indeed, and that particular housekeeper had been ready to call the guard.”
“That’s hardly fair,” Prue said in commiseration. “What should it have mattered to her? That housekeeper was clearly overreacting and thwarting your attempts to reclaim something that was rightfully yours.” When that earned puzzled expressions, she made a hasty amendment. “I mean . . . um . . . you must have been frustrated to have been so close, as well as terrified about being caught. Whatever did you do? Dash to the door?”
“Heavens, no,” Maeve said. “That only makes one look guilty.”
Myrtle cupped her hand beside her mouth and said in a stage whisper, “Not to mention, running wreaks havoc on the corset laces.”
“Thankfully, it was a masquerade ball and we merely claimed to have lost our way. And speaking of masquerades, I heard that Lady Lewis is planning to host one at the end of next month. She’s doing everything she can to marry off her son.” Maeve passed a meaningful glance to her sister.
Instantly picking up the baton, Myrtle came to Prue’s side, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “There are sure to be dozens of eligible gentlemen there. Oh! And do I spy Lord Holladay’s name on your list? Excellent choice, my dear. The viscount is quite the well-to-do bachelor.”
Reflexively, Prue shielded the list, then folded it for good measure. “It isn’t what you think.”
The aunts prided themselves on knowing the comings and goings of every bachelor in England and Prue had a sinking suspicion that they were going to attempt a bit of matchmaking.