“The Duchess of Beddingfield, milady!”
His sonorous tones were markedly respectful and, as Roxanne rose to greet the visitor, she had a sinking feeling this was Aunt Semphronia, the family tyrant. A statuesque lady attired in sables surged into the room like a galleon in full sail. She flung off her furs, revealing a stout frame encased in purple satin, a massive bosom, and several chins that wobbled as she turned piercing blue eyes upon Roxanne. The clusters of dyed feathers attached to her turban by an enormous diadem proclaimed her penchant for fashion. A large sable muff landed on the floor as the lady tossed it carelessly aside.
“Dear gel!” boomed the matron, much to Roxanne’s surprise.
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