the red suite will have to do,
even if it is not exactly to your taste.”
“Hummph! Hardly, grandson, hardly. I cannot
imagine what imp of perverseness induced your mother to rig out an
entire room in red. Such a color is only fit for whores and wild
Russians.”
“Madam!” the Duke protested, only to find he
was being ignored. The dowager had asked Tansy’s assistance in
rising from the sofa and was even now leaving the room on her arm,
chattering nineteen to the dozen about morning gowns and rout
parties and the “jolly times” they would all be having shortly.
Avanoll groaned and sank into a nearby chair.
Not only had he not rid himself of the silly prattlings of his
aunt, but he had been burdened even further by the addition of both
an irascible dowager and an impossibly outre cousin.
Why, oh why hadn’t he had the good sense to
be born an orphan?
Chapter Six
A s Tansy wandered
around her pleasantly-decorated bed chamber, enjoying her first bit
of solitude in nearly a fortnight, her mind traveled back over just
a few of the many exciting happenings since her arrival at Avanoll
House. She traced a vague pattern in the light layer of dust on her
desk as she moved to gaze out over the Square.
Naturally, her first thoughts were of her
newly discovered relatives—the silly, lovable Emily, the even
sillier and just as lovable Aunt Lucinda (Tansy could not bring
herself to call the old lady Ce-Ce), the irascible and
unpredictable Dowager, and, of course, the seldom seen head of the
family, the Duke himself. Tansy was well pleased with them,
eccentricities, quirks, and all, and felt at home to a peg with
these characters who so resembled her dear, departed Papa.
She had to admit, though, that she was glad
the dowager had at last called a halt to the endless stream of
bodies that had been cluttering up the house these past two weeks.
Dressmakers, milliners, silk merchants, linen drapers, corsetiers,
even an Italian-spouting shoemaker, had all appeared within moments
of the dowager’s summons, to poke, measure, pin, and fit until
Tansy thought she would go mad.
The only respites from hours of standing
about like a wax doll while strange hands pushed and prodded at her
were a few excursions to shops on Bond Street, where her befuddled
mind tried to gather ribbons and laces that would match the
multitude of gowns that were threatening to outgrow her over-taxed
clothespress.
After two tedious hours spent being measured
for kid gloves. Tansy finally revolted. If she changed her clothes
from the skin out twice a day for a month she would still not
exhaust her supply of gowns. So she informed the dowager
matter-of-factly, and stoutly refused to accept so much as another
pair of lace-edged pantalettes.
Emily’s wardrobe had not been so much
augmented as adjusted. Under the dowager’s orders, yards of
discarded flounces, long streamers of ornately-worked lace, and
miles of satin ribbon collected in near waist-high mounds on the
sewing room floor. Aunt Lucinda was horrified, naturally, but not
too overset to keep herself from bundling up all this treasure and
cornering one hapless seamstress who soon found herself stitching
these same flounces, laces, and ribbons onto any bare stretch of
fabric to be found on the gowns Mrs. Benedict had graciously
allowed the dowager to order for her (and all added to the
dowager’s bill, needless to mention).
Even the old lady herself had condescended to
supplementing her wardrobe with several sedately-colored gowns, all
fashioned with matching turbans that she announced would make it
clear she least was not so silly as to be hanging out for a husband
at her age. This was said with a mocking glance toward Lucinda, who
blushed, flustered a bit, and then simply smiled shyly.
The Duke allowed this invasion of his
domicile in good grace, probably because he made it a point to be
absent from the premises whenever possible. What he thought of the
not inconsiderable stack of bills that
even if it is not exactly to your taste.”
“Hummph! Hardly, grandson, hardly. I cannot
imagine what imp of perverseness induced your mother to rig out an
entire room in red. Such a color is only fit for whores and wild
Russians.”
“Madam!” the Duke protested, only to find he
was being ignored. The dowager had asked Tansy’s assistance in
rising from the sofa and was even now leaving the room on her arm,
chattering nineteen to the dozen about morning gowns and rout
parties and the “jolly times” they would all be having shortly.
Avanoll groaned and sank into a nearby chair.
Not only had he not rid himself of the silly prattlings of his
aunt, but he had been burdened even further by the addition of both
an irascible dowager and an impossibly outre cousin.
Why, oh why hadn’t he had the good sense to
be born an orphan?
Chapter Six
A s Tansy wandered
around her pleasantly-decorated bed chamber, enjoying her first bit
of solitude in nearly a fortnight, her mind traveled back over just
a few of the many exciting happenings since her arrival at Avanoll
House. She traced a vague pattern in the light layer of dust on her
desk as she moved to gaze out over the Square.
Naturally, her first thoughts were of her
newly discovered relatives—the silly, lovable Emily, the even
sillier and just as lovable Aunt Lucinda (Tansy could not bring
herself to call the old lady Ce-Ce), the irascible and
unpredictable Dowager, and, of course, the seldom seen head of the
family, the Duke himself. Tansy was well pleased with them,
eccentricities, quirks, and all, and felt at home to a peg with
these characters who so resembled her dear, departed Papa.
She had to admit, though, that she was glad
the dowager had at last called a halt to the endless stream of
bodies that had been cluttering up the house these past two weeks.
Dressmakers, milliners, silk merchants, linen drapers, corsetiers,
even an Italian-spouting shoemaker, had all appeared within moments
of the dowager’s summons, to poke, measure, pin, and fit until
Tansy thought she would go mad.
The only respites from hours of standing
about like a wax doll while strange hands pushed and prodded at her
were a few excursions to shops on Bond Street, where her befuddled
mind tried to gather ribbons and laces that would match the
multitude of gowns that were threatening to outgrow her over-taxed
clothespress.
After two tedious hours spent being measured
for kid gloves. Tansy finally revolted. If she changed her clothes
from the skin out twice a day for a month she would still not
exhaust her supply of gowns. So she informed the dowager
matter-of-factly, and stoutly refused to accept so much as another
pair of lace-edged pantalettes.
Emily’s wardrobe had not been so much
augmented as adjusted. Under the dowager’s orders, yards of
discarded flounces, long streamers of ornately-worked lace, and
miles of satin ribbon collected in near waist-high mounds on the
sewing room floor. Aunt Lucinda was horrified, naturally, but not
too overset to keep herself from bundling up all this treasure and
cornering one hapless seamstress who soon found herself stitching
these same flounces, laces, and ribbons onto any bare stretch of
fabric to be found on the gowns Mrs. Benedict had graciously
allowed the dowager to order for her (and all added to the
dowager’s bill, needless to mention).
Even the old lady herself had condescended to
supplementing her wardrobe with several sedately-colored gowns, all
fashioned with matching turbans that she announced would make it
clear she least was not so silly as to be hanging out for a husband
at her age. This was said with a mocking glance toward Lucinda, who
blushed, flustered a bit, and then simply smiled shyly.
The Duke allowed this invasion of his
domicile in good grace, probably because he made it a point to be
absent from the premises whenever possible. What he thought of the
not inconsiderable stack of bills that
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