her that she had allowed herself to be so neatly handled by her ladyship. There was no denying that Lady Basinberry was experienced in gaining her own way.
Following a knock on the door, Lady Basinberry herself swept into the bedroom. She was attired in a purple satin gown that lent elegance to her spare frame. Adorned by a single curling black feather, a turban of the same satin covered her head. Upon seeing Michele in her finery, she gave an approving nod. “Michele, you look lovely. I have just come from Lydia’s bedroom. She sends her regards and an adamant request that you wait upon her before we descend.”
“Thank you, my lady. I am ready now, so I shall go at once to Lydia.” Michele flashed a smile for the elder lady. “I hope that your expectations for the evening are realized, my lady.” She knew how much time Lady Basinberry had put into the planning of the ball, and even though she could not be wholly enthusiastic about the upcoming evening, she could yet hope that Lady Basinberry’s efforts were rewarded.
Lady Basinberry smiled and her eyes lit with amusement. She was quite aware that this niece of hers had ambivalent feelings about her presentation into English society. “I believe that it will go off very well. I anticipate that both my lovely nieces will be a complete success tonight, even though one prefers to hope otherwise.”
Michele laughed, shaking her head. “How do you know my thoughts so well?”
“You forget that I am an old woman grown wise to the ways of the world and the hearts of men. Pray go and discover what is of such importance to Lydia, but do not tarry long. I shall await you both downstairs. Our guests should begin to arrive quite soon.”
Michele went along the hall and knocked on Lydia’s door. It was opened immediately by her cousin’s maid. From inside came Lydia’s urgent query: “Michele, is that you?”
“Yes, it is I,” Michele said, stepping inside.
Her cousin was standing before her cheval glass. She was dressed for the evening and looked ethereally lovely with her blond hair haloing her even features. Unlike Michele, Lydia had never been presented before to society and so she wore the traditional pale color deemed appropriate for a young lady. Her gown was pale pink satin, and tiny beads had been embroidered over the bodice. Lydia’s appearance was perfect, down to the tiny matching pink satin slippers that peeped from beneath her hem, but she wore a look of distress.
“Lydia, whatever is the matter?” Michele asked, going to her cousin’s side.
Lydia motioned dramatically at a trio of posies that lay on the dresser. “Do but look! What am I to do, Michele? One is from dear, dear Papa, and this—such sweet rosebuds!—from my beloved Bernard. That is from Lord Randol.” Her shaking finger pointed to a lovely arrangement of white carnations. She looked up in despair. “I so wish to wear Bernard’s flowers, but Papa would be furious. He was present when I received the ones from Lord Randol, you see, and he said quite archly that he would not be at all offended if I should choose another’s offering over his own. Michele, you simply must help me.”
Michele thought for a moment while Lydia regarded her with anxious eyes. “The most diplomatic route would be to wear the gift from your father. However, in order to please him, you must wear the one from Lord Randol.”
Lydia’s face fell. “Oh, I had so hoped that . . . well, it is of little consequence. I shall do as you suggest.’’ Listlessly she picked up Lord Randol’s carnations and gave them to her maid so that they could be pinned to her gown.
Michele laughed at her cousin’s forlorn expression. “Come, Lydia! It but takes a little imagination to turn this fine dilemma to advantage. Do you not think that a few pink rosebuds twisted into your hair fillet would prove charming?”
Comprehension dawned in Lydia’s eyes. She threw her arms around Michele and gave a delighted giggle.
Following a knock on the door, Lady Basinberry herself swept into the bedroom. She was attired in a purple satin gown that lent elegance to her spare frame. Adorned by a single curling black feather, a turban of the same satin covered her head. Upon seeing Michele in her finery, she gave an approving nod. “Michele, you look lovely. I have just come from Lydia’s bedroom. She sends her regards and an adamant request that you wait upon her before we descend.”
“Thank you, my lady. I am ready now, so I shall go at once to Lydia.” Michele flashed a smile for the elder lady. “I hope that your expectations for the evening are realized, my lady.” She knew how much time Lady Basinberry had put into the planning of the ball, and even though she could not be wholly enthusiastic about the upcoming evening, she could yet hope that Lady Basinberry’s efforts were rewarded.
Lady Basinberry smiled and her eyes lit with amusement. She was quite aware that this niece of hers had ambivalent feelings about her presentation into English society. “I believe that it will go off very well. I anticipate that both my lovely nieces will be a complete success tonight, even though one prefers to hope otherwise.”
Michele laughed, shaking her head. “How do you know my thoughts so well?”
“You forget that I am an old woman grown wise to the ways of the world and the hearts of men. Pray go and discover what is of such importance to Lydia, but do not tarry long. I shall await you both downstairs. Our guests should begin to arrive quite soon.”
Michele went along the hall and knocked on Lydia’s door. It was opened immediately by her cousin’s maid. From inside came Lydia’s urgent query: “Michele, is that you?”
“Yes, it is I,” Michele said, stepping inside.
Her cousin was standing before her cheval glass. She was dressed for the evening and looked ethereally lovely with her blond hair haloing her even features. Unlike Michele, Lydia had never been presented before to society and so she wore the traditional pale color deemed appropriate for a young lady. Her gown was pale pink satin, and tiny beads had been embroidered over the bodice. Lydia’s appearance was perfect, down to the tiny matching pink satin slippers that peeped from beneath her hem, but she wore a look of distress.
“Lydia, whatever is the matter?” Michele asked, going to her cousin’s side.
Lydia motioned dramatically at a trio of posies that lay on the dresser. “Do but look! What am I to do, Michele? One is from dear, dear Papa, and this—such sweet rosebuds!—from my beloved Bernard. That is from Lord Randol.” Her shaking finger pointed to a lovely arrangement of white carnations. She looked up in despair. “I so wish to wear Bernard’s flowers, but Papa would be furious. He was present when I received the ones from Lord Randol, you see, and he said quite archly that he would not be at all offended if I should choose another’s offering over his own. Michele, you simply must help me.”
Michele thought for a moment while Lydia regarded her with anxious eyes. “The most diplomatic route would be to wear the gift from your father. However, in order to please him, you must wear the one from Lord Randol.”
Lydia’s face fell. “Oh, I had so hoped that . . . well, it is of little consequence. I shall do as you suggest.’’ Listlessly she picked up Lord Randol’s carnations and gave them to her maid so that they could be pinned to her gown.
Michele laughed at her cousin’s forlorn expression. “Come, Lydia! It but takes a little imagination to turn this fine dilemma to advantage. Do you not think that a few pink rosebuds twisted into your hair fillet would prove charming?”
Comprehension dawned in Lydia’s eyes. She threw her arms around Michele and gave a delighted giggle.
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