Read Online Barbara Metzger by Rakes Ransom - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rakes Ransom
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I need to cut a dash, as Arthur would say. You know you have La Belle Assemblée the same week it’s out in London.”
Samantha looked at her consideringly. “She’s right, Mama. Everyone is going to stare at her anyway, you know. And it’s not like there’s ever been anything exactly ordinary about Jacey either, so maybe she does need a look of her own. Besides, if we don’t go shopping with her, she’s liable to go off to London looking like Cambridgeshire girls make their clothes from horse blankets.”
“Now, Samantha. Jacelyn, if your father gives his permission, we’ll all go into Ryefield. Perhaps I could have my aunt in Kensington send some fabrics. I recall some dark green shot-silk at the Emporium Arcade…”
*
So Jacelyn’s next few weeks, and most of her thoughts, were taken up with clothes. There were trips to Ryefield and even an excursion to Royston, consultations with the Ladies’ Journal and Mrs. Bottwick’s aunt. And fitting after fitting. Jacelyn had never stood still for so long in her whole life.
She had an evening gown made of the emerald silk, with gold braid and gold slippers to match, and gold ribbons to thread through her newly styled hair, brushed back smooth except for a few curls at either temple, then piled on her head in twisted coils. Also for evening there was a cream satin embroidered with gold butterflies, and a gold tissue with a lace over-skirt. Her day dresses were of peach and apricot and amber, with simple lines to grace her figure, and only simple trims, nothing fussy to overwhelm her.
This was only the start of her wardrobe. The rest would be selected in London by a much more knowledgeable Jacelyn, but it was all the local seamstresses could accomplish in the time. Amazing how “young miss” would have had to wait for weeks, after being served by the lowest apprentice. Miss Trevaine, after a few words from Mrs. Bottwick, could have her gowns fashioned in days, assured Madame d’Journet (née Nellie Jones) herself, nearly forgetting her French accent in calculating her income from this windfall. With the chance of dressing Squire’s three daughters if she pleased the ladies now, Madame would sew the seams herself, if she had to.
There were two items of disagreement in the new wardrobe. The first was a deep rose velvet gown with a décolletage Mrs. Bottwick thought far too daring. Jacelyn adored it, and Samantha labelled it regal. They compromised with a lace insert, which Jacelyn determined wouldn’t reach London.
There was no compromise on the other outfit Squire’s wife considered in dubious taste. Jacelyn saw the fashion plate in La Belle Assemblée and couldn’t rest until she had one made: a riding habit with a scarlet Hussar-style jacket with black buttons, and a black split skirt.
“But, dearest, you cannot mean to ride astride in London!” Mrs. Bottwick was aghast.
“Of course not,” Jacelyn assured her, wondering if she could find a way. “But think about my present habit!”
Jacelyn’s bombazine riding outfit was serviceable, Mrs. Bottwick had to give it that. Otherwise it was a mud-coloured brown that was always dirt-streaked. The girl never seemed to remember to pick up the extra width so the train either dragged behind her or tripped her up. It was remarkable how such a graceful rider looked like such a clumsy waif on the ground. Mrs. Bottwick relented. They even found a tiny scarlet cap to match, with a white feather to curl down the side of Jacelyn’s cheek, highlighting the white lace she’d have at collar and cuffs.
All in all, Jacelyn was satisfied that her clothes were out of the ordinary without being outlandish. If she looked special, maybe, just maybe, Lord Claibourne would think she was special. Mrs. Bottwick, on the other hand, acknowledged that the new styles gave Jacelyn a more dignified, mature air, which should, the good Lord willing, make her act that way!
Luckily for Jacey, the new concern for her clothes took up a
Samantha looked at her consideringly. “She’s right, Mama. Everyone is going to stare at her anyway, you know. And it’s not like there’s ever been anything exactly ordinary about Jacey either, so maybe she does need a look of her own. Besides, if we don’t go shopping with her, she’s liable to go off to London looking like Cambridgeshire girls make their clothes from horse blankets.”
“Now, Samantha. Jacelyn, if your father gives his permission, we’ll all go into Ryefield. Perhaps I could have my aunt in Kensington send some fabrics. I recall some dark green shot-silk at the Emporium Arcade…”
*
So Jacelyn’s next few weeks, and most of her thoughts, were taken up with clothes. There were trips to Ryefield and even an excursion to Royston, consultations with the Ladies’ Journal and Mrs. Bottwick’s aunt. And fitting after fitting. Jacelyn had never stood still for so long in her whole life.
She had an evening gown made of the emerald silk, with gold braid and gold slippers to match, and gold ribbons to thread through her newly styled hair, brushed back smooth except for a few curls at either temple, then piled on her head in twisted coils. Also for evening there was a cream satin embroidered with gold butterflies, and a gold tissue with a lace over-skirt. Her day dresses were of peach and apricot and amber, with simple lines to grace her figure, and only simple trims, nothing fussy to overwhelm her.
This was only the start of her wardrobe. The rest would be selected in London by a much more knowledgeable Jacelyn, but it was all the local seamstresses could accomplish in the time. Amazing how “young miss” would have had to wait for weeks, after being served by the lowest apprentice. Miss Trevaine, after a few words from Mrs. Bottwick, could have her gowns fashioned in days, assured Madame d’Journet (née Nellie Jones) herself, nearly forgetting her French accent in calculating her income from this windfall. With the chance of dressing Squire’s three daughters if she pleased the ladies now, Madame would sew the seams herself, if she had to.
There were two items of disagreement in the new wardrobe. The first was a deep rose velvet gown with a décolletage Mrs. Bottwick thought far too daring. Jacelyn adored it, and Samantha labelled it regal. They compromised with a lace insert, which Jacelyn determined wouldn’t reach London.
There was no compromise on the other outfit Squire’s wife considered in dubious taste. Jacelyn saw the fashion plate in La Belle Assemblée and couldn’t rest until she had one made: a riding habit with a scarlet Hussar-style jacket with black buttons, and a black split skirt.
“But, dearest, you cannot mean to ride astride in London!” Mrs. Bottwick was aghast.
“Of course not,” Jacelyn assured her, wondering if she could find a way. “But think about my present habit!”
Jacelyn’s bombazine riding outfit was serviceable, Mrs. Bottwick had to give it that. Otherwise it was a mud-coloured brown that was always dirt-streaked. The girl never seemed to remember to pick up the extra width so the train either dragged behind her or tripped her up. It was remarkable how such a graceful rider looked like such a clumsy waif on the ground. Mrs. Bottwick relented. They even found a tiny scarlet cap to match, with a white feather to curl down the side of Jacelyn’s cheek, highlighting the white lace she’d have at collar and cuffs.
All in all, Jacelyn was satisfied that her clothes were out of the ordinary without being outlandish. If she looked special, maybe, just maybe, Lord Claibourne would think she was special. Mrs. Bottwick, on the other hand, acknowledged that the new styles gave Jacelyn a more dignified, mature air, which should, the good Lord willing, make her act that way!
Luckily for Jacey, the new concern for her clothes took up a
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