agree to introduce Christopher to his mentor—Joseph Paxton, designer of the Crystal Palace in London—he could possibly find well-paying employment.
Kate tried to pull the shawl collar of her dinner dress higher up onto her shoulders, but the gray-blue silk taffeta would not budge. Athena fussed over Kate’s hair, arranging a few long ringlets to rest over her bare right shoulder.
Though only Christopher and the Buchanans would be at table, Kate dreaded this dinner as much as those her father and Maud held for which the dining table had to be extended to seat more than twenty. She had a healthy appetite, but her stepmother’s admonitions to “eat like a lady” in front of others kept Kate’s stomach growling at meals taken in public. And though the Buchanans were blood relations, they were also strangers whose good opinion of her could be the making or death of her future here.
The butler called everyone into the dining room shortly after Kate arrived downstairs. She knew enough to hang back and allow her cousins to precede her into the dining room. Even as a young girl, she’d been taught by her mother how much emphasis the English put on arranging everything by social rank, even for something as simple as processing into the dining room. Sir Anthony took Edith’s arm, and, with a shy giggle, Dorcas took Christopher’s.
The youngest Buchanan sister hooked her arm through Kate’s. “I think you should probably walk in ahead of me, as you are an adult, but let us go in together, and then we do not have to dither about whether you or I have precedence.”
“I believe that is a wonderful idea, Cousin”—her heart caught in her throat a moment before the name popped into her memory—“Florence.” Kate towered over her youngest cousin, though Florence stood a few inches taller than her elder sisters.
“It’s Florie, please, Cousin Kate.”
Kate raised an eyebrow. No one in this household called her Kate, except . . . “I take it you have been talking to my brother about me.”
“Not about you, no, but we were the first two to arrive in the sitting room and he called you Kate. Is it all right if I call you that as well? Katharine seems too formal.”
Florie reminded Kate forcefully of her little sisters; and, as she did with them, she let the young woman have her way. “Of course, you may call me Kate.”
Kate nodded her thanks to the footman who held her chair. The superfluous length of the dining table made the party of six seem even smaller, all seated at one end with Sir Anthony at the head, Christopher and Dorcas to his right, Edith, Kate, and Florie to his left.
To be polite, Kate sampled a little of each dish, and found most of it to her liking. When she noted that Dorcas and Florie ate heartily, she too ate until satisfied.
Christopher and Sir Anthony spoke of railways and factories and, as Kate anticipated, ended up talking about the Great Exhibition—Christopher’s favorite topic since arriving in England.
“What you must understand, dear boy, is that the Exhibition threatens the peace and prosperity of London—of all England, in fact. Why, just think of the thousands upon thousands of people thronging into London, blocking up traffic, filling the city center in unwashed masses. I have already prepared my house staff to guard the doors and windows around the clock to protect against the thievery certain to be happening.” Sir Anthony motioned for the butler to refill his wineglass.
Obviously crestfallen, Christopher sputtered a moment. “But . . . think of all there will be to see and learn . . .”
“And then there is the construction of the building itself. Crystal Palace, indeed. Why, one strong storm and it shall shatter and fall to the ground. No, we shall not be attending, not I nor my daughters, for fear of our lives. And if you and your sister are wise, you will follow our example.”
Dorcas heaved a dramatic sigh. “This is my debut season—and it will be ruined by
Kate tried to pull the shawl collar of her dinner dress higher up onto her shoulders, but the gray-blue silk taffeta would not budge. Athena fussed over Kate’s hair, arranging a few long ringlets to rest over her bare right shoulder.
Though only Christopher and the Buchanans would be at table, Kate dreaded this dinner as much as those her father and Maud held for which the dining table had to be extended to seat more than twenty. She had a healthy appetite, but her stepmother’s admonitions to “eat like a lady” in front of others kept Kate’s stomach growling at meals taken in public. And though the Buchanans were blood relations, they were also strangers whose good opinion of her could be the making or death of her future here.
The butler called everyone into the dining room shortly after Kate arrived downstairs. She knew enough to hang back and allow her cousins to precede her into the dining room. Even as a young girl, she’d been taught by her mother how much emphasis the English put on arranging everything by social rank, even for something as simple as processing into the dining room. Sir Anthony took Edith’s arm, and, with a shy giggle, Dorcas took Christopher’s.
The youngest Buchanan sister hooked her arm through Kate’s. “I think you should probably walk in ahead of me, as you are an adult, but let us go in together, and then we do not have to dither about whether you or I have precedence.”
“I believe that is a wonderful idea, Cousin”—her heart caught in her throat a moment before the name popped into her memory—“Florence.” Kate towered over her youngest cousin, though Florence stood a few inches taller than her elder sisters.
“It’s Florie, please, Cousin Kate.”
Kate raised an eyebrow. No one in this household called her Kate, except . . . “I take it you have been talking to my brother about me.”
“Not about you, no, but we were the first two to arrive in the sitting room and he called you Kate. Is it all right if I call you that as well? Katharine seems too formal.”
Florie reminded Kate forcefully of her little sisters; and, as she did with them, she let the young woman have her way. “Of course, you may call me Kate.”
Kate nodded her thanks to the footman who held her chair. The superfluous length of the dining table made the party of six seem even smaller, all seated at one end with Sir Anthony at the head, Christopher and Dorcas to his right, Edith, Kate, and Florie to his left.
To be polite, Kate sampled a little of each dish, and found most of it to her liking. When she noted that Dorcas and Florie ate heartily, she too ate until satisfied.
Christopher and Sir Anthony spoke of railways and factories and, as Kate anticipated, ended up talking about the Great Exhibition—Christopher’s favorite topic since arriving in England.
“What you must understand, dear boy, is that the Exhibition threatens the peace and prosperity of London—of all England, in fact. Why, just think of the thousands upon thousands of people thronging into London, blocking up traffic, filling the city center in unwashed masses. I have already prepared my house staff to guard the doors and windows around the clock to protect against the thievery certain to be happening.” Sir Anthony motioned for the butler to refill his wineglass.
Obviously crestfallen, Christopher sputtered a moment. “But . . . think of all there will be to see and learn . . .”
“And then there is the construction of the building itself. Crystal Palace, indeed. Why, one strong storm and it shall shatter and fall to the ground. No, we shall not be attending, not I nor my daughters, for fear of our lives. And if you and your sister are wise, you will follow our example.”
Dorcas heaved a dramatic sigh. “This is my debut season—and it will be ruined by
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