A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(85)

The Duchess of Aldonbury was, as duchesses went, a rather minor one. She was not a royal duchess. Nevertheless, Aunt Camille held her own version of court. She hosted a ladies’ card party on the third Wednesday of every month, and she guarded the invitations with every ounce of supercilious zeal her aristocratic rank allowed. Add to this the talent of a renowned Frenchtrained pastry chef, and each third Wednesday afternoon saw London’s most elite and influential ladies converging on Her Grace’s residence. To merit an invitation, one must bring a purse bursting with coin to wager and a quiver of witty rejoinders to amuse. Bel didn’t meet either qualification, but she was family and therefore exempt.

When she entered the Roman-styled parlor, there were already nearly two dozen ladies in attendance, arranged in neat clusters of four. Sophia was seated at a table of whist players near the hearth. Bel exchanged a warm smile with her sister-in-law as she moved to greet her aunt.

“Your Grace.” Bel dipped in a graceful curtsy, and followed it with a warm kiss to the matron’s rouged cheek. “How are you, Aunt Camille?”

“I am well, child.” Aunt Camille waved Bel to a seat and then promptly forgot her. Which suited Bel’s purpose, because she was here to speak with everyone except Aunt Camille. Armed with a small clutch of leaflets, she approached a knot of ladies chatting by the tea service.

“Lady Violet, Mrs. Breckinridge,” she greeted them brightly. The ladies turned to her with expressions of benign amusement. “I’m so delighted to see you. Did you receive my invitation to breakfast at Aldridge House, this Friday?”

“Yes, and I thought surely it was a joke,” Lady Violet replied. “Breakfast, at half-eight in the morning? Why, I’m scarcely abed by five.”

“It’s not only a breakfast,” Bel said. “The meal will be followed by a demonstration, of an exciting innovation in house hold management. This is the reason for the early hour, you see.”

“Oh.” Lady Violet gave her friend a speaking look. “An innovation.”

“And an exciting one,” Mrs. Breckinridge said with a smile. “It must be thrilling indeed, my dear. You’re positively aglow. I should like to learn your secret.”

The ladies tittered, and Bel’s confidence wavered. Then she thought of Toby and lifted her chin. “I do find it exciting,” she said. “There is a grave transgression being perpetrated on the helpless children of London, and we have the power to stop it.”

“Through innovations in house hold management?” Lady Violet looked dubious.

“Yes.” Bel passed each of them one of her leaflets. “As a member of the Society for Obviating the Necessity of Climbing Boys, I—”

“What an absurdly long name,” opined Mrs. Breckinridge. “Why, it hardly fits on the leaflet.”

Bel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “As a member of the Society, I invite you to attend our demonstration this Friday. The practice of forcing small children to remove soot from flues is not only barbaric, but inefficient. As our demonstration will show, the proper cleaning of chimneys is a task that can only be performed satisfactorily by a grown man.”

“A grown man.” Lady Violet’s eyes went wide. “Did I hear you correctly? Only the services of a grown man are satisfactory?”

“Yes. Well, not any grown man … he must have the proper equipment, of course.”

Mrs. Breckinridge looked on the verge of losing her mouthful of tea. She swallowed with apparent difficulty. “But of course. Tell me, Lady Aldridge, will your husband be a party to this demonstration? I think all the ladies of the ton have been curious regarding the state of Sir Toby’s equipment. One has only to look at you to see his services are quite satisfactory.”

Now Lady Violet choked on her biscuit.

Bel frowned, trying to imagine why these women would think Toby would be cleaning his own flues. “Why, my husband is currently occupied with the polling in Surrey. But if the election concludes early, perhaps he will attend. The demonstration itself will be performed by a chimney sweep.”

“Ah,” Lady Violet murmured to her friend. “She has turned to the help already. And a chimney sweep, no less. Worse than a footman.”

“This is not a demonstration for gentlemen,” Bel went on, ignoring the cryptic comment. “The power to change this deplorable situation rests within the female sex.” She continued speaking over their giggles. Why did this strike them as so amusing? “It is a true mark of our modern age, when we, the ladies of English society, find ourselves in a position to exert influence over our husbands and effect social change.”

Lady Violet struggled to compose her expression. “And what position would that be, Lady Aldridge? For exerting influence over one’s husband? Not supine, one supposes?”

“No, indeed not. This is precisely my point. We must not take this injustice lying down.”

The ladies collapsed into laughter. Bel wanted to growl with frustration. Why could she not make these women see? Were they purposefully misunderstanding her, or merely that obtuse?

And was it her passion-addled imagination, or did all of their barbs have a distinctly carnal implication?

“Yes, well,” she muttered, rising to her feet. Perhaps she would find a more sympathetic audience with the Countess of Vinterre across the parlor. “I do hope you will be able to attend.”