for Mr Bridge I have designed the snuffboxes, medals and more than one diadem for the Royal Family.’
Even with her limited experience, Lydia was aware that this unassuming gentleman dealt with the premier gold and silversmiths of England, who produced nothing but the best quality for their wealthy and titled patrons. While she did not share the awe felt by her lovesick aunt, she was impressed in spite of herself.
‘You must be paid handsomely for such work, sir,’ she exclaimed.
‘Lydia!’ Camilla was scandalized by the vulgarity of mentioning money so freely, turning apologetically to the Frenchman. ‘Please forgive her, sir.’
‘I am not in the least offended,’ he reassured them both. ‘I am indeed well paid. Well enough, at least, to hire a chaise to convey me to the ball on Friday. I wonder ...’ His pause was too enticing to resist.
‘Wonder what, sir?’ Camilla asked breathlessly.
‘Would it be too forward of me ...’ he coughed slightly, as though he found it difficult to utter the words ‘Would you do me the honor of allowing me to convey you to the ball?’
For a moment, Camilla Denton was quite bereft of speech. Had she seen Christ descending from Heaven with his angels, she could not have looked more rapturously amazed. It was left to Lydia to voice their acceptance.
‘That would be wonderful, would it not, Aunt?’ she said eagerly.
‘Indeed.’ Camilla swallowed and recovered herself enough to add, ‘But we would not wish to impose upon your good nature, sir....’
‘I would consider it a pleasure - and a privilege - to escort two such charming ladies.’
So it was settled, and the two charming ladies made their way home. Camilla was in a state of euphoria quite out of proportion to the event, while Lydia was very pleased with herself for having discovered more about her aunt’s suitor and having done more than her aunt had ever done to encourage his attentions.
They had almost arrived at the cottage when they were accosted by the Digweed sisters, who had their own confused speculation about the promised ball.
‘Just a select company,’ the eldest nodded sagely.
‘Everyone in town will be there,’ her sister insisted.
‘Such a charming man.’
‘Dreadful mushroom.’
‘The weather sure to be fine.’
‘Bound to rain.’
‘Must have a bottle green domino made.’
‘Russet the only color for a cloak.’
‘Is that not Mrs Wardle-Penfield?’
‘Surely not, Honoria.’
‘Must speak with her a moment.’
‘Adieu!’
* * * *
On the evening of the ball, Camilla herself arranged Lydia’s coiffure in a much more simple style without the profusion of curls and ringlets too often favored by damsels fresh from the schoolroom.
‘I think it much more becoming,’ she said, eyeing the results in a mirror.
Upon consideration, Lydia found herself in agreement. Her aunt might not be the brightest candle on the branch, but she had an unerring eye for fashion which her niece was coming to appreciate. The dress, too, was quite fetching. Of a pale golden color, rather than the usual virginal white, with sleeves rather over-puffed, it made her look far less insipid than the gowns mama had made for her.
‘Thank you so much, dearest aunt.’ She gave Camilla a kiss of real gratitude. ‘I have never looked half as pleasing before. Monsieur d’Almain will have eyes for no one but you, of course.’
‘Hush, Lydia!’ Camilla colored and smiled in spite of her rebuke.
But Lydia could not deny that her aunt was especially lovely tonight. Her gown of blue and green taffeta set off her eyes and made her look like Venus rising from the waves. The look in the Frenchman’s eyes when he arrived proved Lydia’s prophecy to be correct. He could scarcely tear his gaze away from the vision of Miss Denton in all her finery. He was looking quite dashing himself, and even Lydia could understand her aunt’s fascination, however ill-timed it might be.
It was a short but pleasant
Even with her limited experience, Lydia was aware that this unassuming gentleman dealt with the premier gold and silversmiths of England, who produced nothing but the best quality for their wealthy and titled patrons. While she did not share the awe felt by her lovesick aunt, she was impressed in spite of herself.
‘You must be paid handsomely for such work, sir,’ she exclaimed.
‘Lydia!’ Camilla was scandalized by the vulgarity of mentioning money so freely, turning apologetically to the Frenchman. ‘Please forgive her, sir.’
‘I am not in the least offended,’ he reassured them both. ‘I am indeed well paid. Well enough, at least, to hire a chaise to convey me to the ball on Friday. I wonder ...’ His pause was too enticing to resist.
‘Wonder what, sir?’ Camilla asked breathlessly.
‘Would it be too forward of me ...’ he coughed slightly, as though he found it difficult to utter the words ‘Would you do me the honor of allowing me to convey you to the ball?’
For a moment, Camilla Denton was quite bereft of speech. Had she seen Christ descending from Heaven with his angels, she could not have looked more rapturously amazed. It was left to Lydia to voice their acceptance.
‘That would be wonderful, would it not, Aunt?’ she said eagerly.
‘Indeed.’ Camilla swallowed and recovered herself enough to add, ‘But we would not wish to impose upon your good nature, sir....’
‘I would consider it a pleasure - and a privilege - to escort two such charming ladies.’
So it was settled, and the two charming ladies made their way home. Camilla was in a state of euphoria quite out of proportion to the event, while Lydia was very pleased with herself for having discovered more about her aunt’s suitor and having done more than her aunt had ever done to encourage his attentions.
They had almost arrived at the cottage when they were accosted by the Digweed sisters, who had their own confused speculation about the promised ball.
‘Just a select company,’ the eldest nodded sagely.
‘Everyone in town will be there,’ her sister insisted.
‘Such a charming man.’
‘Dreadful mushroom.’
‘The weather sure to be fine.’
‘Bound to rain.’
‘Must have a bottle green domino made.’
‘Russet the only color for a cloak.’
‘Is that not Mrs Wardle-Penfield?’
‘Surely not, Honoria.’
‘Must speak with her a moment.’
‘Adieu!’
* * * *
On the evening of the ball, Camilla herself arranged Lydia’s coiffure in a much more simple style without the profusion of curls and ringlets too often favored by damsels fresh from the schoolroom.
‘I think it much more becoming,’ she said, eyeing the results in a mirror.
Upon consideration, Lydia found herself in agreement. Her aunt might not be the brightest candle on the branch, but she had an unerring eye for fashion which her niece was coming to appreciate. The dress, too, was quite fetching. Of a pale golden color, rather than the usual virginal white, with sleeves rather over-puffed, it made her look far less insipid than the gowns mama had made for her.
‘Thank you so much, dearest aunt.’ She gave Camilla a kiss of real gratitude. ‘I have never looked half as pleasing before. Monsieur d’Almain will have eyes for no one but you, of course.’
‘Hush, Lydia!’ Camilla colored and smiled in spite of her rebuke.
But Lydia could not deny that her aunt was especially lovely tonight. Her gown of blue and green taffeta set off her eyes and made her look like Venus rising from the waves. The look in the Frenchman’s eyes when he arrived proved Lydia’s prophecy to be correct. He could scarcely tear his gaze away from the vision of Miss Denton in all her finery. He was looking quite dashing himself, and even Lydia could understand her aunt’s fascination, however ill-timed it might be.
It was a short but pleasant
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