door to the parlor opened, the pert Mollie entering the room in subdued fashion.
"Lady Dane," Mollie announced in awed accents.
She flattened herself against the door as her ladyship swept past. Lady Dane stalked into the parlor with all the majesty of a queen, leaning upon a silver-handled cane she in nowise needed, her bearing still upright, her step unhampered despite her advancing years. Her figure had lost none of its statuesque proportions, her eye none of its keenness. The only signs of age were the lovely waves of white hair flowing back from her brow, the feathering of lines upon her skin, which only seemed to draw attention to the aristocratic fineness of her bone structure.
Even in her youth something in Winifred Towers's countenance had made all the young men tremble in her presence, address her as madam. Only one had ever been privileged to see the softness of her smiles and that had been the bandy-legged little Baron of Dane whom she had chosen to marry.
No hint of that smile now transformed Lady Dane's features as she crossed the threshold of the tiny parlor, her hawklike gaze taking in both the chamber and its occupants. Mrs. Towers forced herself forward to greet her ladyship.
"Mother Towers. What a surprise."
"Maisie." Lady Dane unbent enough to offer her cheek, which Mrs. Towers dutifully saluted. She had then no choice but to present Mrs. Prangle and her daughters, who embarked upon a frenzied round of curtsying.
After subjecting the Prangles to a glacial stare, Lady Dane condescended to extend two fingers by way of greeting.
"I had the privilege of meeting your ladyship before at Chillingsworth," Mrs. Prangle gushed, "though I daresay my lady has forgotten."
"I daresay that I have.”
As abashed as Mrs. Prangle appeared by this remark, she was fully prepared to renew the acquaintance and made a movement to herd her daughters back to the settee.
"You must not think of staying upon my account," Lady Dane said in arctic accents. "I fear Maisie has already kept you beyond the time considered civil for an afternoon call."
Mrs. Prangle flushed a bright red but for once was unable to find anything to say. With scarce more than the raising of an eyebrow, Lady Dane sent the archdeacon's wife and daughters bustling toward the door.
This high-handed maneuver almost put Mrs. Towers in charity with her ladyship. Returning from seeing the Prangles to their coach, a gentle laugh escaped her as she asked Lady Dane, "However did you guess that woman had outstayed her welcome?"
"It required no great perspicacity. A most vulgar female," her ladyship pronounced. "I should have told my maid to deny that I was at home."
Mrs. Towers felt certain that her ladyship would, but she was not made of such stern stuff. Despite Lady Dane's masterly disposal of the Prangles, Mrs. Towers's smile vanished when she saw the footman dragging into the hall several large trunks to say nothing of a dressing case. Her ladyship's maid followed, her arms full of a supply of her ladyship's own bed linens.
"I trust you have a chamber available for me?" Lady Dane asked.
"Yes, of course," Mrs. Towers said, considerably daunted by this invasion. She retained enough presence of mind to direct the footman and lady's maid upstairs to the guest bedchamber before inviting Lady Dane to be seated in the parlor.
"I shall have Mollie bring in some tea."
"I prefer lemonade," said her ladyship.
Mrs. Towers did not believe they had lemons in the kitchen, but she knew her small household held Lady Dane in such awe that her housekeeper would procure some forthwith.
Having given her instructions, by the time Mrs. Towers returned to the parlor, she discovered that Lady Dane had eschewed the settee vacated by the Prangles and had enthroned herself upon a stiff-backed chair.
Seating herself upon the settee, Mrs. Towers nervously inquired after her ladyship's health. She had heard that Lady Dane had gone to take the waters in Bath. Had her
"Lady Dane," Mollie announced in awed accents.
She flattened herself against the door as her ladyship swept past. Lady Dane stalked into the parlor with all the majesty of a queen, leaning upon a silver-handled cane she in nowise needed, her bearing still upright, her step unhampered despite her advancing years. Her figure had lost none of its statuesque proportions, her eye none of its keenness. The only signs of age were the lovely waves of white hair flowing back from her brow, the feathering of lines upon her skin, which only seemed to draw attention to the aristocratic fineness of her bone structure.
Even in her youth something in Winifred Towers's countenance had made all the young men tremble in her presence, address her as madam. Only one had ever been privileged to see the softness of her smiles and that had been the bandy-legged little Baron of Dane whom she had chosen to marry.
No hint of that smile now transformed Lady Dane's features as she crossed the threshold of the tiny parlor, her hawklike gaze taking in both the chamber and its occupants. Mrs. Towers forced herself forward to greet her ladyship.
"Mother Towers. What a surprise."
"Maisie." Lady Dane unbent enough to offer her cheek, which Mrs. Towers dutifully saluted. She had then no choice but to present Mrs. Prangle and her daughters, who embarked upon a frenzied round of curtsying.
After subjecting the Prangles to a glacial stare, Lady Dane condescended to extend two fingers by way of greeting.
"I had the privilege of meeting your ladyship before at Chillingsworth," Mrs. Prangle gushed, "though I daresay my lady has forgotten."
"I daresay that I have.”
As abashed as Mrs. Prangle appeared by this remark, she was fully prepared to renew the acquaintance and made a movement to herd her daughters back to the settee.
"You must not think of staying upon my account," Lady Dane said in arctic accents. "I fear Maisie has already kept you beyond the time considered civil for an afternoon call."
Mrs. Prangle flushed a bright red but for once was unable to find anything to say. With scarce more than the raising of an eyebrow, Lady Dane sent the archdeacon's wife and daughters bustling toward the door.
This high-handed maneuver almost put Mrs. Towers in charity with her ladyship. Returning from seeing the Prangles to their coach, a gentle laugh escaped her as she asked Lady Dane, "However did you guess that woman had outstayed her welcome?"
"It required no great perspicacity. A most vulgar female," her ladyship pronounced. "I should have told my maid to deny that I was at home."
Mrs. Towers felt certain that her ladyship would, but she was not made of such stern stuff. Despite Lady Dane's masterly disposal of the Prangles, Mrs. Towers's smile vanished when she saw the footman dragging into the hall several large trunks to say nothing of a dressing case. Her ladyship's maid followed, her arms full of a supply of her ladyship's own bed linens.
"I trust you have a chamber available for me?" Lady Dane asked.
"Yes, of course," Mrs. Towers said, considerably daunted by this invasion. She retained enough presence of mind to direct the footman and lady's maid upstairs to the guest bedchamber before inviting Lady Dane to be seated in the parlor.
"I shall have Mollie bring in some tea."
"I prefer lemonade," said her ladyship.
Mrs. Towers did not believe they had lemons in the kitchen, but she knew her small household held Lady Dane in such awe that her housekeeper would procure some forthwith.
Having given her instructions, by the time Mrs. Towers returned to the parlor, she discovered that Lady Dane had eschewed the settee vacated by the Prangles and had enthroned herself upon a stiff-backed chair.
Seating herself upon the settee, Mrs. Towers nervously inquired after her ladyship's health. She had heard that Lady Dane had gone to take the waters in Bath. Had her
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