Read Online Candice Hern by Just One of Those Flings - Free Book Online
Authors: Just One of Those Flings
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opened the ornate entry gates to allow the carriage to drive through to the large courtyard. By the time they reached the main entrance, the doors were already opened, and a stately butler and a liveried footman stood ready to receive them.
Beatrice and Emily were handed down from the carriage by the footman, and led inside by the butler. They walked into a large, elegant entry hall with a painted ceiling and a marble floor laid out in a geometric pattern. Two housemaids stepped forward and bobbed curtsies. Emily was helped out of her pelisse. Beatrice, however, did not relinquish her short spencer jacket, for the jaconet muslin dress she wore, with the double frill of Vandyke lace at the throat, did not look half as well without it. Both ladies removed their bonnets. Emily's bright curls framed her face charmingly, though she fluffed them a bit to make sure. Beatrice wore a cap beneath her bonnet, as all women of a certain age did, but it was a cunning little quartered foundling cap of lace with a silk flower pinned to one side. Just because she was long past her youth there was no excuse to be unfashionable. She smiled at Emily. They both looked fine enough to meet a duchess.
The butler led them through an arched colonnade of white veined marble, and up the grand staircase. Enormous portraits of the current duke and duchess met them at the landing; then twin staircases, equally grand, completed the ascent to the first floor.
Beatrice had been inside most of the important ducal mansions in London, but never this one. Its reputation as the grandest of them all was not unwarranted. It was a magnificent, palatial building that almost took one's breath away.
She looked at Emily and smiled. If things went well, this might all be hers one day. Mistress of all this grandeur. Her niece, a duchess! Beatrice's heart gave a little flutter of excitement at the possibility. What a coup that would be. Ophelia would probably drive Sir Albert into tossing her out just so she could move in here.
A footman stood guard at a pair of paneled mahogany doors polished to a high gleam. At a nod from the butler, he opened them to reveal a large saloon or sitting room. A tray-shaped coffered ceiling rose up at least forty feet above them, each coffer set apart with richly gilded molding and painted with classical figures. Gilt also decorated the ornate moldings around the windows and doors and fireplace. The draperies and the furniture — which was elegant, expensive, and very much in the French taste — were done in shades of crimson. Sunlight poured into the room from windows that reached the ceiling, and enormous mirrors were placed between the windows. The room was filled with light, and though impressively grand in scale, it was also warm and inviting.
"Lady Somerfield, Your Grace," the butler announced. "And Miss Emily Thirkill."
The duchess rose from a small writing desk and smiled. Beatrice guessed that she was in her late sixties, based on the ages of her children, but she looked at least a decade younger. She was slender and elegant, with a crown of thick hair that was more silver than brown. Her face was not unlined, but the fine bones of cheek and jaw gave it a timeless beauty.
Beatrice made a deep curtsey and was pleased to note that Emily's was even deeper.
"Good afternoon, Lady Somerfield. How nice to see you again. And Miss Thirkill?"
"My niece, Your Grace. I am chaperoning her this Season for my sister and her husband, Sir Albert and Lady Thirkill. I hope you do not mind that I brought her along."
The duchess smiled at Emily who, for once, actually did look demure. "Of course I do not mind. I am pleased to meet you, my dear. Charming," she said as she surveyed Emily from head to toe. "Quite charming." She gave a signal to the butler, who nodded and departed with a crisp bow. "Please sit down." She gestured toward two crimson-upholstered armchairs.
Beatrice and Emily took their seats and straightened their skirts. The
Beatrice and Emily were handed down from the carriage by the footman, and led inside by the butler. They walked into a large, elegant entry hall with a painted ceiling and a marble floor laid out in a geometric pattern. Two housemaids stepped forward and bobbed curtsies. Emily was helped out of her pelisse. Beatrice, however, did not relinquish her short spencer jacket, for the jaconet muslin dress she wore, with the double frill of Vandyke lace at the throat, did not look half as well without it. Both ladies removed their bonnets. Emily's bright curls framed her face charmingly, though she fluffed them a bit to make sure. Beatrice wore a cap beneath her bonnet, as all women of a certain age did, but it was a cunning little quartered foundling cap of lace with a silk flower pinned to one side. Just because she was long past her youth there was no excuse to be unfashionable. She smiled at Emily. They both looked fine enough to meet a duchess.
The butler led them through an arched colonnade of white veined marble, and up the grand staircase. Enormous portraits of the current duke and duchess met them at the landing; then twin staircases, equally grand, completed the ascent to the first floor.
Beatrice had been inside most of the important ducal mansions in London, but never this one. Its reputation as the grandest of them all was not unwarranted. It was a magnificent, palatial building that almost took one's breath away.
She looked at Emily and smiled. If things went well, this might all be hers one day. Mistress of all this grandeur. Her niece, a duchess! Beatrice's heart gave a little flutter of excitement at the possibility. What a coup that would be. Ophelia would probably drive Sir Albert into tossing her out just so she could move in here.
A footman stood guard at a pair of paneled mahogany doors polished to a high gleam. At a nod from the butler, he opened them to reveal a large saloon or sitting room. A tray-shaped coffered ceiling rose up at least forty feet above them, each coffer set apart with richly gilded molding and painted with classical figures. Gilt also decorated the ornate moldings around the windows and doors and fireplace. The draperies and the furniture — which was elegant, expensive, and very much in the French taste — were done in shades of crimson. Sunlight poured into the room from windows that reached the ceiling, and enormous mirrors were placed between the windows. The room was filled with light, and though impressively grand in scale, it was also warm and inviting.
"Lady Somerfield, Your Grace," the butler announced. "And Miss Emily Thirkill."
The duchess rose from a small writing desk and smiled. Beatrice guessed that she was in her late sixties, based on the ages of her children, but she looked at least a decade younger. She was slender and elegant, with a crown of thick hair that was more silver than brown. Her face was not unlined, but the fine bones of cheek and jaw gave it a timeless beauty.
Beatrice made a deep curtsey and was pleased to note that Emily's was even deeper.
"Good afternoon, Lady Somerfield. How nice to see you again. And Miss Thirkill?"
"My niece, Your Grace. I am chaperoning her this Season for my sister and her husband, Sir Albert and Lady Thirkill. I hope you do not mind that I brought her along."
The duchess smiled at Emily who, for once, actually did look demure. "Of course I do not mind. I am pleased to meet you, my dear. Charming," she said as she surveyed Emily from head to toe. "Quite charming." She gave a signal to the butler, who nodded and departed with a crisp bow. "Please sit down." She gestured toward two crimson-upholstered armchairs.
Beatrice and Emily took their seats and straightened their skirts. The
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