day, when she remembered Pitt would probably be chewing through heavy bread sandwiches with a little cold meat in them, if he was fortunate, if not, then cheese, dry and clogging in the mouth. She put her fork down, the peas rolling away. Neither Emily nor Vespasia noticed.
It took half an hour, much critical surveying by Emily, and a least a dozen pins, before Charlotte was satisfied that she looked acceptable in the plum silk and could go calling to the Walk. Actually she was rather more than satisfied. It was a very good quality silk indeed, and the color was remarkably flattering to her. The warmth of it against the honey of her skin and the richness of her hair was enough to carry her away in a flight of vanity. It was going to hurt to take it off and give it back to Emily at the end of the afternoon. The gray muslin had lost all its appeal. It no longer looked smart, merely drab and very much last year’s.
Aunt Vespasia complimented her with dry humor as she came down the stairs, but she met the old lady’s eyes without a flicker and hoped she had no idea how many pins there were in it, or how hard she had relaced her stays to get into Emily’s old waist.
She thanked Vespasia and walked with Emily out into the sunlight on the carriageway, head high and back very straight. Actually it was more than a little uncomfortable to hold herself in any other way, and she would have to sit with care.
It was only a hundred yards or so to Selena Montague’s house, and Emily said very little on the way. They knocked at the door and were let in immediately by a smart maid in black and lace, obviously poised to expect callers. Apparently Mrs. Montague was in the garden at the back, and they were invited to join her. The house was elegant and expensive, although Charlotte’s practiced eye could see tiny economies, a mend in the fringe of a lampshade, a cushion whose upholstery had obviously been turned, the new piece from the underside darker against the faded wings. She had done the same herself and knew the signs.
Selena was sitting in a wicker chaise lounge, her arms dangling over the sides, her face lifted upward, but protected from the harsh sun by a floppy, flower-decked hat. She had excellent features, although her nose was perhaps a trifle sharp. Her eyes were wide and brown, long lashed, and she opened them with intense interest when she saw Charlotte.
“My dear Selena,” Emily began in her best voice. “How charming you look, and so cool! May I present my sister, Charlotte Pitt, who has called upon me?”
Selena did not move, but surveyed Charlotte with barely disguised curiosity. Charlotte had an unpleasant feeling that nothing had been missed, from her rather worn best boots to every pin in her dress.
“How delightful,” Selena said at last. “So,” she glanced down at Charlotte’s boots again “—considerate—of you to have come. I am sure we shall all enjoy your company.”
Charlotte felt her temper rise instantly. Above all things she hated to be patronized.
“I hope I shall also enjoy yours,” she said with a cool smile.
The implication was not missed by Selena, and from the pressure of Emily’s fingers on her arm Charlotte knew that she too had taken the point.
“You must come and dine with us sometime,” Selena went on. “These summer evenings are so warm we frequently eat out here. The strawberries are quite delicious this year, don’t you think so?”
Strawberries were utterly beyond Charlotte’s budgeting.
“Very sweet,” she agreed. “Perhaps it is the sun.”
“No doubt,” Selena was not interested in where they came from. She looked up at Emily. “Please sit down. I’m sure you would like some refreshment, you must be dreadfully hot—” Charlotte saw Emily’s face tighten at the implication, and her cheeks did look flushed. “Perhaps a sherbet?” Selena smiled. “And you, Mrs. Pitt? Something cooling?”
“Whatever you care for yourself, Mrs. Montague,”
It took half an hour, much critical surveying by Emily, and a least a dozen pins, before Charlotte was satisfied that she looked acceptable in the plum silk and could go calling to the Walk. Actually she was rather more than satisfied. It was a very good quality silk indeed, and the color was remarkably flattering to her. The warmth of it against the honey of her skin and the richness of her hair was enough to carry her away in a flight of vanity. It was going to hurt to take it off and give it back to Emily at the end of the afternoon. The gray muslin had lost all its appeal. It no longer looked smart, merely drab and very much last year’s.
Aunt Vespasia complimented her with dry humor as she came down the stairs, but she met the old lady’s eyes without a flicker and hoped she had no idea how many pins there were in it, or how hard she had relaced her stays to get into Emily’s old waist.
She thanked Vespasia and walked with Emily out into the sunlight on the carriageway, head high and back very straight. Actually it was more than a little uncomfortable to hold herself in any other way, and she would have to sit with care.
It was only a hundred yards or so to Selena Montague’s house, and Emily said very little on the way. They knocked at the door and were let in immediately by a smart maid in black and lace, obviously poised to expect callers. Apparently Mrs. Montague was in the garden at the back, and they were invited to join her. The house was elegant and expensive, although Charlotte’s practiced eye could see tiny economies, a mend in the fringe of a lampshade, a cushion whose upholstery had obviously been turned, the new piece from the underside darker against the faded wings. She had done the same herself and knew the signs.
Selena was sitting in a wicker chaise lounge, her arms dangling over the sides, her face lifted upward, but protected from the harsh sun by a floppy, flower-decked hat. She had excellent features, although her nose was perhaps a trifle sharp. Her eyes were wide and brown, long lashed, and she opened them with intense interest when she saw Charlotte.
“My dear Selena,” Emily began in her best voice. “How charming you look, and so cool! May I present my sister, Charlotte Pitt, who has called upon me?”
Selena did not move, but surveyed Charlotte with barely disguised curiosity. Charlotte had an unpleasant feeling that nothing had been missed, from her rather worn best boots to every pin in her dress.
“How delightful,” Selena said at last. “So,” she glanced down at Charlotte’s boots again “—considerate—of you to have come. I am sure we shall all enjoy your company.”
Charlotte felt her temper rise instantly. Above all things she hated to be patronized.
“I hope I shall also enjoy yours,” she said with a cool smile.
The implication was not missed by Selena, and from the pressure of Emily’s fingers on her arm Charlotte knew that she too had taken the point.
“You must come and dine with us sometime,” Selena went on. “These summer evenings are so warm we frequently eat out here. The strawberries are quite delicious this year, don’t you think so?”
Strawberries were utterly beyond Charlotte’s budgeting.
“Very sweet,” she agreed. “Perhaps it is the sun.”
“No doubt,” Selena was not interested in where they came from. She looked up at Emily. “Please sit down. I’m sure you would like some refreshment, you must be dreadfully hot—” Charlotte saw Emily’s face tighten at the implication, and her cheeks did look flushed. “Perhaps a sherbet?” Selena smiled. “And you, Mrs. Pitt? Something cooling?”
“Whatever you care for yourself, Mrs. Montague,”
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