with Lady Mary to greet them.
She would have to wear white, of
course—but that was so insipid. Perhaps ivory; the colour flattered her fair
complexion. And for her hair? A wreath of tiny roses, she decided.
Angela descended for breakfast in
a splendid mood, until she remembered that Meg was not here to share her
happiness. “Do you suppose it was terribly uncomfortable, spending the night on
the coach?” she asked Lady Mary, helping herself to coddled eggs and ham from
the sideboard.
“I cannot think it was the most
pleasant night she ever spent,” said her mother over a cup of coffee. In the
morning light, her face looked more creased with worry than Angela had ever
seen it. “But there was no helping it, and they should be arriving in
Manchester shortly.”
They both lapsed into silence,
each with her private thoughts. How to bring up the subject on her mind without
appearing insensitive? Angela wondered. “What shall I wear to Vauxhall ton ight?”
she inquired at last.
“The pink muslin,” replied Lady
Mary without thinking, as it was Angela’s only presentable gown.
“Shall we call on the dressmaker
today?” her daughter continued.
“Beg pardon?” said Lady Mary.
“The dressmaker,” pressed Angela.
“I must have gowns if I’m to come out. Do you think we’ll receive vouchers for
Almack’s?”
“One can only hope.” Lady Mary
brushed a wisp of hair back from her forehead.
Angela couldn’t understand why
her mother failed to respond with more enthusiasm. “They cannot send the
vouchers until I’m formally introduced to society, can they, Mother?”
“No, indeed.” Lady Mary was
clearly listening with only half her mind.
Her daughter toyed with the food
and poured out a cup of coffee for herself. “Is something amiss, Mother?”
“What?” A startled expression.
“No, no. I was only thinking about... things.”
“We must make plans, for the
season is almost half over,” Angela pointed out. “How many new dresses shall we
order? I can make do with some of Meg’s clothes for riding and day wear, I
think, but don’t you agree I shall need new ball gowns? And we must make
arrangements for the band, and the food, and of course the flowers.”
Finally her mother paid full
attention. “Oh, dear,” she said.
That did not bode well. “Have I
said something wrong?” Angela asked worriedly. “I’m only concerned that the
season will be over before we begin.”
“Quite right.” Lady Mary pushed
aside her cup and was about to speak when the maid returned to clear away the
dishes. “Come upstairs, Angela. We have matters to discuss.”
Matters to discuss? the girl
wondered as they ascended. Always before it had been Meg who shared their
mother’s confidences, and she felt vaguely uneasy even as she enjoyed being
treated as an adult. If only the words didn’t sound so foreboding.
Lady Mary led the way into
Angela’s bedroom, closed the door firmly behind them, and went to open the
wardrobe. She began examining Meg’s dresses. “We can have this made over.” She
lifted out a gown of silver gauze embroidered with tiny rosebuds. “The
waistline can be raised to suit the new styles.”
Angela watched in distress. “But
can’t I have my own ball gowns?” she asked. “Someone might recognize this one
and say the Linleys are woefully pinchpenny!”
Her mother turned to face her.
“Sit down, Angela,” she said with a speaking look.
The girl sat in a gilt chair by
the dressing table. “Have I been rude, Mother?”
“No, my dear.” With a deep sigh,
the older woman sat on the bed with the silver dress over her arm, forgotten.
“It is time we discussed the matter of finances.”
“Finances?” Angela knew nothing
of bank accounts, rents and investments, so surely her mother did not mean
that.
“When your father died, I was
left with a modest competence,” said Lady Mary. “Enough to keep us in comfort,
if we lived quietly in the country. But that would have
She would have to wear white, of
course—but that was so insipid. Perhaps ivory; the colour flattered her fair
complexion. And for her hair? A wreath of tiny roses, she decided.
Angela descended for breakfast in
a splendid mood, until she remembered that Meg was not here to share her
happiness. “Do you suppose it was terribly uncomfortable, spending the night on
the coach?” she asked Lady Mary, helping herself to coddled eggs and ham from
the sideboard.
“I cannot think it was the most
pleasant night she ever spent,” said her mother over a cup of coffee. In the
morning light, her face looked more creased with worry than Angela had ever
seen it. “But there was no helping it, and they should be arriving in
Manchester shortly.”
They both lapsed into silence,
each with her private thoughts. How to bring up the subject on her mind without
appearing insensitive? Angela wondered. “What shall I wear to Vauxhall ton ight?”
she inquired at last.
“The pink muslin,” replied Lady
Mary without thinking, as it was Angela’s only presentable gown.
“Shall we call on the dressmaker
today?” her daughter continued.
“Beg pardon?” said Lady Mary.
“The dressmaker,” pressed Angela.
“I must have gowns if I’m to come out. Do you think we’ll receive vouchers for
Almack’s?”
“One can only hope.” Lady Mary
brushed a wisp of hair back from her forehead.
Angela couldn’t understand why
her mother failed to respond with more enthusiasm. “They cannot send the
vouchers until I’m formally introduced to society, can they, Mother?”
“No, indeed.” Lady Mary was
clearly listening with only half her mind.
Her daughter toyed with the food
and poured out a cup of coffee for herself. “Is something amiss, Mother?”
“What?” A startled expression.
“No, no. I was only thinking about... things.”
“We must make plans, for the
season is almost half over,” Angela pointed out. “How many new dresses shall we
order? I can make do with some of Meg’s clothes for riding and day wear, I
think, but don’t you agree I shall need new ball gowns? And we must make
arrangements for the band, and the food, and of course the flowers.”
Finally her mother paid full
attention. “Oh, dear,” she said.
That did not bode well. “Have I
said something wrong?” Angela asked worriedly. “I’m only concerned that the
season will be over before we begin.”
“Quite right.” Lady Mary pushed
aside her cup and was about to speak when the maid returned to clear away the
dishes. “Come upstairs, Angela. We have matters to discuss.”
Matters to discuss? the girl
wondered as they ascended. Always before it had been Meg who shared their
mother’s confidences, and she felt vaguely uneasy even as she enjoyed being
treated as an adult. If only the words didn’t sound so foreboding.
Lady Mary led the way into
Angela’s bedroom, closed the door firmly behind them, and went to open the
wardrobe. She began examining Meg’s dresses. “We can have this made over.” She
lifted out a gown of silver gauze embroidered with tiny rosebuds. “The
waistline can be raised to suit the new styles.”
Angela watched in distress. “But
can’t I have my own ball gowns?” she asked. “Someone might recognize this one
and say the Linleys are woefully pinchpenny!”
Her mother turned to face her.
“Sit down, Angela,” she said with a speaking look.
The girl sat in a gilt chair by
the dressing table. “Have I been rude, Mother?”
“No, my dear.” With a deep sigh,
the older woman sat on the bed with the silver dress over her arm, forgotten.
“It is time we discussed the matter of finances.”
“Finances?” Angela knew nothing
of bank accounts, rents and investments, so surely her mother did not mean
that.
“When your father died, I was
left with a modest competence,” said Lady Mary. “Enough to keep us in comfort,
if we lived quietly in the country. But that would have
Similar Books
