commission me to paint your lovely niece’s portrait.”
“Humph! We’ll see,” was all Augusta would say. She looked at Penelope and cast a meaning look at the clock. Penelope rose obediently to her feet. It would take the rest of the day to prepare for the all-important evening ahead.
To the Earl’s world-weary eyes Almack’s may have seemed dull, but to Penelope’s it appeared the epitome of high fashion. She felt like Cinderella arriving at the ball. Jewels flashed their myriad lights under the sparkling prisms of the crystal chandeliers. The air was heavy with scent worn by the guests, male and female alike, beeswax polish, oil lamps, and flowers. The dancers were whirling energetically in a Scottish reel, long tails flying, feathers bouncing as they weaved their way through the patterns of the figure eight.
The music stopped and Penelope found the Viscount at her side. He was correctly dressed in black and white. His cravat was snowy perfection and his knee breeches and stockings clung to his coltish legs without a wrinkle. He led her towards a set for a country dance that was just being made up and whispered in her ear, “I say, Miss Vesey. You look stunning. Take all the shine out of the others. By Jove, indeed you do!”
Penelope laughed at his gallantry, well aware that she could not possibly compete with any of the dark beauties with their intricate masses of brown or black hair and their flashing jewels. She did not know that the Viscount had spoken only the truth.
Her blond hair was dressed high on her head in a mass of soft curls with one thick ringlet falling onto her shoulder. Her dress was of the finest white Indian muslin, threaded under the breast with gold ribbons. The neckline was fashionably low and was framed by a stiffened lace collar, pointed in the Elizabethan manner. Her only ornaments were the modest string of pearls at her throat and a thin pearl and gold circlet set among her curls.
When the figure of the dance briefly brought Penelope and her partner together, the Viscount suddenly whispered to her, “Have a care! You are too young and innocent to have an aunt like that!”
Penelope flushed with anger and, when their steps brought them together again, she said, “If you dislike my aunt so much, why do you keep calling on us?”
“Because of you, my dear,” said Charles with one of the falsest smiles Penelope thought she had ever seen.
Penelope bit her lip as she gracefully twisted and turned in the steps of the dance. She could not see the Earl anywhere. Almack’s was not such a splendid place, after all!
The dance ended. Then the quadrille was announced, and Penelope found herself without a partner.
From her vantage point beside Miss Harvey’s great bulk, Miss Stride noted the fact and whispered to her companion, “It is generally known that your niece has no money.”
“So,” said Augusta. “What are you trying to say? Stop mumbling and get to the point.” Augusta did not waste any of her newfound airs and graces on Miss Stride.
“Well, if a girl is portionless, she is apt to lack dancing partners. Even rich men fight shy of a dowerless girl. You should let me put it about that you will leave Penelope your fortune when you die and
then
you will see the men flutter about her.”
“I ain’t leaving her a penny,” snapped Augusta.
“Really!” replied Miss Stride acidly. “What
were
you going to do with your money when you died. Take it with you?”
Augusta had not once thought of death. That was something that happaned to other people. But it would do no harm to
say
she was leaving the girl her money. “Oh, very well,” she said sourly, “though I must say I’m surprised that these society gents should be so mercenary.”
“Gentlemen,” corrected Miss Stride automatically and wondered why Augusta, so mercenary herself, should be so surprised to discover other people to be the same. But then one always intensely dislikes the faults in other people
“Humph! We’ll see,” was all Augusta would say. She looked at Penelope and cast a meaning look at the clock. Penelope rose obediently to her feet. It would take the rest of the day to prepare for the all-important evening ahead.
To the Earl’s world-weary eyes Almack’s may have seemed dull, but to Penelope’s it appeared the epitome of high fashion. She felt like Cinderella arriving at the ball. Jewels flashed their myriad lights under the sparkling prisms of the crystal chandeliers. The air was heavy with scent worn by the guests, male and female alike, beeswax polish, oil lamps, and flowers. The dancers were whirling energetically in a Scottish reel, long tails flying, feathers bouncing as they weaved their way through the patterns of the figure eight.
The music stopped and Penelope found the Viscount at her side. He was correctly dressed in black and white. His cravat was snowy perfection and his knee breeches and stockings clung to his coltish legs without a wrinkle. He led her towards a set for a country dance that was just being made up and whispered in her ear, “I say, Miss Vesey. You look stunning. Take all the shine out of the others. By Jove, indeed you do!”
Penelope laughed at his gallantry, well aware that she could not possibly compete with any of the dark beauties with their intricate masses of brown or black hair and their flashing jewels. She did not know that the Viscount had spoken only the truth.
Her blond hair was dressed high on her head in a mass of soft curls with one thick ringlet falling onto her shoulder. Her dress was of the finest white Indian muslin, threaded under the breast with gold ribbons. The neckline was fashionably low and was framed by a stiffened lace collar, pointed in the Elizabethan manner. Her only ornaments were the modest string of pearls at her throat and a thin pearl and gold circlet set among her curls.
When the figure of the dance briefly brought Penelope and her partner together, the Viscount suddenly whispered to her, “Have a care! You are too young and innocent to have an aunt like that!”
Penelope flushed with anger and, when their steps brought them together again, she said, “If you dislike my aunt so much, why do you keep calling on us?”
“Because of you, my dear,” said Charles with one of the falsest smiles Penelope thought she had ever seen.
Penelope bit her lip as she gracefully twisted and turned in the steps of the dance. She could not see the Earl anywhere. Almack’s was not such a splendid place, after all!
The dance ended. Then the quadrille was announced, and Penelope found herself without a partner.
From her vantage point beside Miss Harvey’s great bulk, Miss Stride noted the fact and whispered to her companion, “It is generally known that your niece has no money.”
“So,” said Augusta. “What are you trying to say? Stop mumbling and get to the point.” Augusta did not waste any of her newfound airs and graces on Miss Stride.
“Well, if a girl is portionless, she is apt to lack dancing partners. Even rich men fight shy of a dowerless girl. You should let me put it about that you will leave Penelope your fortune when you die and
then
you will see the men flutter about her.”
“I ain’t leaving her a penny,” snapped Augusta.
“Really!” replied Miss Stride acidly. “What
were
you going to do with your money when you died. Take it with you?”
Augusta had not once thought of death. That was something that happaned to other people. But it would do no harm to
say
she was leaving the girl her money. “Oh, very well,” she said sourly, “though I must say I’m surprised that these society gents should be so mercenary.”
“Gentlemen,” corrected Miss Stride automatically and wondered why Augusta, so mercenary herself, should be so surprised to discover other people to be the same. But then one always intensely dislikes the faults in other people
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