keep her voice from quivering with the laughter that threatened. “Don’t you agree, Prudence?”
“Certainly,” Prudence replied stiffly, with a pointed glance at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Lord Foxhaven took the hint at once. “I see I haveexceeded my quarter hour,” he said, rising. “The fascinating company must be my excuse.”
Seeing him about to depart, Prudence unbent to the extent of a genuine smile. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“I will bid you both good day, ladies,” he said. “I leave tomorrow for Kent, to deal with various estate matters, but I hope to see you again upon my return in a fortnight.” Then, to Nessa, “Perhaps then you will permit me to take you for that drive.”
With a start, Nessa realized—as Lord Foxhaven must—that in a fortnight her year of mourning would be over. Her spirit seemed to expand within her at the thought. Conscious of Prudence stiffening again at her side, however, she only said, “That might be pleasant, my lord.”
“Until then.” Lord Foxhaven bent over Prudence’s hand and then her own, his gloved fingertips lingering on hers for just a fraction longer than was strictly proper.
And then he was gone.
The next two weeks seemed an eternity to Nessa. No further invitations included her, beyond an art viewing followed by tea one afternoon. Prudence’s circle of friends seemed more staid and, yes, boring, than ever.
“You were unusually quiet today,” observed her sister as they rode back to Upper Brook Street. “Mrs. Heatherton twice asked you about Warwickshire, but you gave her only the briefest of answers.”
“I am sorry, Prudence. I must have been woolgathering. I hope Mrs. Heatherton was not offended.”
“No, I think not. She mentioned something privately to me about your grief still preoccupying you.”
Nessa nodded absently. “May we go shopping tomorrow?”
Prudence blinked. “Why…I suppose so. Is there something in particular that you need? A new bonnet, perhaps? The milliner at the corner of—”
“Oh, let’s make a day of it,” said Nessa, as though on impulse. “I haven’t been shopping for an age.” And I plan to make up for it over the next few days , she vowed.
Though clearly puzzled, Prudence did not hesitate to agree. Half-guiltily, Nessa hoped her sister wouldn’t overly regret her compliance.
The next morning they left early, at Nessa’s urging. “Let’s start with Madame Fanchot’s,” she suggested as they stepped into the carriage.
Prudence gaped, for Madame Fanchot was the most au courant modiste in Town, dressing those at the very pinnacle of fashion. She offered no objection, however, to Nessa’s relief. If her sister had balked at this early stage, there was no knowing how she might react once she had a hint of what Nessa was really about.
She soon found out.
“Look at this pearl gray, Nessa,” said Prudence only minutes after they were ushered into the display room by Madame Fanchot herself. “This would be the very thing to ease you out of your blacks when you are ready.”
Nessa looked, then winced. Her sister had unerringly chosen the only drab swath of fabric in sight, andlooked as though she thought even that might be too daring. It was now or never.
“Oh, I am quite ready, Prudence,” she said, steeling herself against the shock on her sister’s face. “My proscribed year ends two days hence, and I wish to be ready. Madame, might I see that jonquil silk over there?”
“But that is so …bright ,” Prudence hissed as the modiste went to fetch the bolt of yellow fabric. “It scarcely seems proper. I had thought you might go to half-mourning soon—grays, browns, perhaps a subdued lilac—”
“No.”
Prudence’s eyes widened further.
“Many widows, I’ve observed, go to half-mourning after the first six months of their bereavement. I feel I’ve done my duty and over by wearing nothing but unrelieved black for the full twelve.”
“But…but Father—”
“Certainly,” Prudence replied stiffly, with a pointed glance at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Lord Foxhaven took the hint at once. “I see I haveexceeded my quarter hour,” he said, rising. “The fascinating company must be my excuse.”
Seeing him about to depart, Prudence unbent to the extent of a genuine smile. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“I will bid you both good day, ladies,” he said. “I leave tomorrow for Kent, to deal with various estate matters, but I hope to see you again upon my return in a fortnight.” Then, to Nessa, “Perhaps then you will permit me to take you for that drive.”
With a start, Nessa realized—as Lord Foxhaven must—that in a fortnight her year of mourning would be over. Her spirit seemed to expand within her at the thought. Conscious of Prudence stiffening again at her side, however, she only said, “That might be pleasant, my lord.”
“Until then.” Lord Foxhaven bent over Prudence’s hand and then her own, his gloved fingertips lingering on hers for just a fraction longer than was strictly proper.
And then he was gone.
The next two weeks seemed an eternity to Nessa. No further invitations included her, beyond an art viewing followed by tea one afternoon. Prudence’s circle of friends seemed more staid and, yes, boring, than ever.
“You were unusually quiet today,” observed her sister as they rode back to Upper Brook Street. “Mrs. Heatherton twice asked you about Warwickshire, but you gave her only the briefest of answers.”
“I am sorry, Prudence. I must have been woolgathering. I hope Mrs. Heatherton was not offended.”
“No, I think not. She mentioned something privately to me about your grief still preoccupying you.”
Nessa nodded absently. “May we go shopping tomorrow?”
Prudence blinked. “Why…I suppose so. Is there something in particular that you need? A new bonnet, perhaps? The milliner at the corner of—”
“Oh, let’s make a day of it,” said Nessa, as though on impulse. “I haven’t been shopping for an age.” And I plan to make up for it over the next few days , she vowed.
Though clearly puzzled, Prudence did not hesitate to agree. Half-guiltily, Nessa hoped her sister wouldn’t overly regret her compliance.
The next morning they left early, at Nessa’s urging. “Let’s start with Madame Fanchot’s,” she suggested as they stepped into the carriage.
Prudence gaped, for Madame Fanchot was the most au courant modiste in Town, dressing those at the very pinnacle of fashion. She offered no objection, however, to Nessa’s relief. If her sister had balked at this early stage, there was no knowing how she might react once she had a hint of what Nessa was really about.
She soon found out.
“Look at this pearl gray, Nessa,” said Prudence only minutes after they were ushered into the display room by Madame Fanchot herself. “This would be the very thing to ease you out of your blacks when you are ready.”
Nessa looked, then winced. Her sister had unerringly chosen the only drab swath of fabric in sight, andlooked as though she thought even that might be too daring. It was now or never.
“Oh, I am quite ready, Prudence,” she said, steeling herself against the shock on her sister’s face. “My proscribed year ends two days hence, and I wish to be ready. Madame, might I see that jonquil silk over there?”
“But that is so …bright ,” Prudence hissed as the modiste went to fetch the bolt of yellow fabric. “It scarcely seems proper. I had thought you might go to half-mourning soon—grays, browns, perhaps a subdued lilac—”
“No.”
Prudence’s eyes widened further.
“Many widows, I’ve observed, go to half-mourning after the first six months of their bereavement. I feel I’ve done my duty and over by wearing nothing but unrelieved black for the full twelve.”
“But…but Father—”
Similar Books
