The Fifth Kiss by Elizabeth Mansfield Page B

unusual sort. She don’t mince when she walks, she don’t giggle and blush when you pay her compliments the way the other girls all do, and she says what she thinks straight out—quite like one of the fellows. And,” he added with a hearty chuckle, “she’s prettier than I expected, your little sister—she don’t resemble you in the least. She’s perhaps not quite an out-and-outer, but a very pretty little plum.”
    When challenged, Mr. Crawford was quick to act. The following week he called three times and succeeded in prevailing upon Olivia to ride with him in the park. This was followed by another series of morning calls, culminating with the proffering of a formal invitation to “Miss Olivia Matthews and Mr. James Matthews” to attend a ball being held by his mother in a fortnight’s time.
    Olivia, more in a spirit of curiosity than with any real enthusiasm (her mind more set on advancing her general education in love matters than in pursuing a specific flirtation), agreed to go. But when Jamie informed her that she would need to purchase a ball gown for the occasion, she balked. “I have no intention of doing any such thing,” she declared firmly. “I dislike those foolish, frippery gowns with nothing on top. It would be the greatest waste of time, effort and money, for I would have no occasion to wear it ever again. No, Jamie. Please tell Mr. Crawford for me that I’ve changed my mind.”
    But Jamie refused. “It will do you no harm to learn how to comport yourself in a ballroom,” he declared. “And it won’t hurt you to dress, for once, like a modish miss instead of a frumpish dowd.”
    â€œI do not dress like a dowd!” she objected vehemently, looking down at the puce-colored jaconet she was wearing at the moment. “What is wrong with my appearance?”
    â€œEverything!” he answered cruelly. “That dress you’re wearing is dull in color, outmoded in style by years and years, and is too broad in the shoulders, besides being—”
    â€œNever mind,” she cut in, making a face at him. “I quite regret having asked. This dress is completely suitable for my purposes. I don’t care to spend my days poring over the pages of The Mirror of Fashion or La Belle Assemblee just to familiarize myself with the latest designs. Nor do I wish to run up huge bills at some fashionable modiste’s.”
    Her brother hooted. “That, my dear Livie is quite plain. One only needs to take a quick look at you to see that you do not patronize a fashionable modiste’s!”
    Miffed, she turned her back on him and stalked off. But later, she put her head into Charles’ study door and asked if he agreed that she was a dowd.
    â€œA dowd ? Who said you were ?” Charles asked, surprised.
    â€œJamie. He wants me to buy a ball gown so that I might attend Lady Crawford’s fête. ”
    â€œWell, why don’t you?”
    She sauntered in and perched on a corner of his desk. “Oh, it’s too great a bother. There would be the expense … the search for a pleasing pattern … choosing the fabric … the fittings …”
    Charles shrugged. “Well, please yourself, of course. These matters are quite out of my element. But as to the expense, I would not let that be a consideration. Papa can afford it. We’re very well to pass, you know.”
    â€œAre we?” she asked with sudden interest. “I’ve never thought much on that subject, although I’ve always taken for granted the fact that we had sufficient income for our needs.”
    â€œMore than sufficient. Papa’s income may not be remarkable by the standards of, say, someone like Strickland, but it is sizeable. And in addition, you know, you have a legacy from Mama that assures you a comfortable independency for the rest of your life. I daresay you may purchase gowns to your heart’s