Moments later, Peatrie opened the door again and said formally, “Mrs. Sherry, my lady.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Peatrie.” Lucy stood and almost bit her tongue right off to keep from howling with laughter. Sherbourne walked in, his step mincing, his large body elegantly gowned in the first stare of matronly fashion, all purple satin and vanity flounces, his upper arms covered by elbow length sleeves and his lower arms encased in pearl-buttoned gloves, effectively hiding his muscled, hairy arms. His bosom was impressive, though modestly covered by the neckline of the gown, disallowing a peek at his cotton cleavage, or his hairy chest. A purple turban with matching, waving ostrich feathers covered his head, hiding his hair. An enormous amethyst brooch winked from the folds. He’d rouged his cheeks and painted his lips into a bow. In one hand, he clutched a lorgnette, which he held to his eyes as he looked toward her. Clever man, for it was enough of a distraction, one failed to notice his face was not particularly feminine. Actually, not in the least feminine. But he was a distractingly handsome man, and made a handsome woman. Even with the turban.
The best was yet to come. He would know, of course, that Peatrie wouldn’t leave right away, but see that her guest was seated first, in the event anything was needed. Sherbourne minced toward her, padded hips swaying a tad too much, and swept into a deep curtsy. The distinct sound of creaking bones reverberated through the drawing room and Lucy noted Peatrie’s widened eyes, no doubt worried he’d be called upon to haul the large lady from the floor if her decrepit knees gave out on her. Luckily for Peatrie, Mrs. Sherry returned to her full height, her very impressive height, without undue mishap.
“Lady Bonderant, you simply must forgive my impertinence to call upon you without prior notice, but I saw you in the park this afternoon and, as I told dear Mr. Sherry, there is Lady Bonderant and her sweet son, and he, of course, said, why yes, m’dear, so it is, and I said, well, I shall have to call on her as soon as possible and welcome her to town. Mr. Sherry said it was a splendid idea, but reminded me we are to leave in the morn for Northumberland, to visit his dying granny, poor dear, hasn’t been well in an age, and I wonder if she’s actually close to death, or merely anxious for a visit, but it’s not for me to question, as it is, after all, Mr. Sherry’s own, dear granny, but as you see, it will be impossible to call on you on the morrow as I’ll be gone from town, so I am come tonight, instead, for I simply could not leave without saying hallo!”
Lucy blinked. If she didn’t know better, she wouldn’t believe this was Sherbourne, he of such strong, bold masculinity. His voice was pitch perfect, his manner of speaking spot on for a kowtowing matron. She avoided looking at his eyes, for she would surely break down and die laughing. Instead, she focused on the amethyst. It had to be paste, as it was so large as to be vulgar. “I’m honored, Mrs. Sherry. How lovely of you to call. Please, won’t you sit down and enjoy a bit of tea?”
“Delighted!” He sailed toward the sofa and lowered himself in another fit of creaks and groans.
Lucy perched on the chair opposite and nodded at Peatrie. “That will be all, I believe. I’ll ring if we require more tea.”
“Yes, my lady.” He bowed himself out and they were alone.
Lucy covered her mouth and let herself laugh until tears popped into her eyes. “Sherbourne,” she whispered, “you are . . . ” She couldn’t speak, she was laughing too hard. “That turban! And my God, your bosom . . . it’s . . . it’s huge.”
His blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Now, now, Lady Bonderant, shield your claws. I understand yours is quite impressive, but mine is colossal, which would, of course, send you into fits of envy.” He drew an arm beneath his bosom and pushed it up a notch. “I daresay my stays are inadequate, however. Gravity, you know, is the very devil on a woman’s bosom.” His gaze moved to her bosom. “How do you manage to keep yours so uplifted and perky? I vow, I imagine your nipples must be positioned perfectly, for I can see their outline, and oh, my, you’re a lucky, lucky woman, aren’t you?”
She moved to the sofa and sat beside him. “Peatrie isn’t one to eavesdrop, but if he were, he would doubtless find your observations unusual.”
“Perhaps not. Connie had several Mrs. Sherrys who dropped by to kiss her feet, who complimented her on everything from her hair, to the way she held her teacup, to her fine figure, despite so many babies. I recall one woman actually told her she had a lovely, fine bosom, and asked her secret to keeping them perky.” His gaze moved to hers, once again. “Hmm, it would appear I’ve a taste for perky breasts, would it not?” He reached up and removed one feather from his turban, then set about tickling her décolletage with it. “Let us hope Peatrie isn’t peeking through the keyhole.”