Read Online Rowena (Regency Belles Series Book 1) by Caroline Ashton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline Ashton
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parish church would fit inside with ease. The elaborate Tiverton coat of arms decorated a stone fireplace on the left. Garton paced weightily past a carved and gilded staircase. The serried ranks of Tiverton ancestors suspended up it wore costumes that had not been seen for a century. As for the Greek gods painted on the ceiling in all their glory, they were draped in not much more than pieces of muslin. Rowena averted her eyes.
The vast salon was no less impressive than the hall and staircase. Four tall windows draped with deep blue damask lined one wall. Carved and inlaid tables surmounted by large mirrors stood in the piers between them. Opposite, another Tiverton coat of arms was deeply carved into the stone firepiece that rose to a ceiling sculptured with large concentric ovals of plaster curls and shells. Two spindle-legged sofas covered in green satin stripes faced each other across the hearth. An army of matching chairs were placed around the room beside fragile tables and on either side of a black lacquer specimen cabinet.
Aunt Tiverton was seated on the sofa facing the door. She was even more magnificent than her surroundings. Pale carmine skirts spread gracefully around her feet. Light from the nearest window shimmered across the silken surface. Matching ribbons trimmed the high bodice, the hem and caught the puffed cap of the sleeves into slimmer columns. A cream shawl patterned with twining leaves was draped around her shoulders. The lace on her satin cap trembled as she looked up.
‘Miss Harcourt-Spence, m’lady.’
Rowena stepped around him and curtsied. ‘Good afternoon, Aunt Tiverton.’
Sophronia did not rise. The lady of uncertain years seated opposite her did.
Her aunt extended an arm. ‘Come here, child. Let me look at you.’
Rowena walked towards her, conscious of the critical gaze scanning her from bonnet to boots and back again.
‘Hmm. You’ve grown I think. You should avoid it. You are quite the Amazonian already.’
‘I think I am the same height, ma’am. My skirts are no shorter.’
The gaze dropped to her hem. ‘I dare say not then.’ She indicated her companion. ‘Allow me to present you to Miss Sybil Wexley. You’ll remember she has been gracious enough to lend me her company these many years. Sybil, my niece, Rowena.’
The two curtsied, though Sybil’s was somewhat shallower than Rowena’s.
Lady Tiverton lifted her cheek. ‘You may kiss me, child.’ Rowena obeyed, dropping a light kiss onto the scented skin. ‘Now, I suggest you take yourself to your room, remove your bonnet and spencer and tidy your hair. I dare say you are somewhat dusty from the journey. When you are presentable you may join us for the afternoon tea tray.’
Rowena was suddenly conscious of a tendril of hair escaping from her bonnet. ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’
An imperious hand waved. ‘Off with you then. Garton will show you the way.’
Rowena curtsied again and followed the butler out of the room, thankful that at least she had arrived before Lord Conniston.
Chapter Nine
A s an unmarried, untitled girl, Rowena’s bedroom was on the second floor in the east wing. With the briefest of orders, Garton instructed one of the hovering maids to lead the way, he being too grand to do it himself. The maid, whose red hair showed a distressing tendency to escape its cap, squeaked something inaudible at him then bobbed a curtsey to Rowena.
‘This way, miss, if you please,’ she whispered.
She started up the first, impressive curve of stairs as if she were trying to keep her feet from touching them. Rowena raised her skirts a fraction and trod up behind her. They reached a gracious landing furnished with a gleaming mahogany chest of drawers stationed between two massive blue and white porcelain urns each the height of a growing child. Lighted candles in the silver candelabrum on top of the drawers cast flickering pools of gold onto the polished wood.
‘Up here, miss,’ the girl said, her
The vast salon was no less impressive than the hall and staircase. Four tall windows draped with deep blue damask lined one wall. Carved and inlaid tables surmounted by large mirrors stood in the piers between them. Opposite, another Tiverton coat of arms was deeply carved into the stone firepiece that rose to a ceiling sculptured with large concentric ovals of plaster curls and shells. Two spindle-legged sofas covered in green satin stripes faced each other across the hearth. An army of matching chairs were placed around the room beside fragile tables and on either side of a black lacquer specimen cabinet.
Aunt Tiverton was seated on the sofa facing the door. She was even more magnificent than her surroundings. Pale carmine skirts spread gracefully around her feet. Light from the nearest window shimmered across the silken surface. Matching ribbons trimmed the high bodice, the hem and caught the puffed cap of the sleeves into slimmer columns. A cream shawl patterned with twining leaves was draped around her shoulders. The lace on her satin cap trembled as she looked up.
‘Miss Harcourt-Spence, m’lady.’
Rowena stepped around him and curtsied. ‘Good afternoon, Aunt Tiverton.’
Sophronia did not rise. The lady of uncertain years seated opposite her did.
Her aunt extended an arm. ‘Come here, child. Let me look at you.’
Rowena walked towards her, conscious of the critical gaze scanning her from bonnet to boots and back again.
‘Hmm. You’ve grown I think. You should avoid it. You are quite the Amazonian already.’
‘I think I am the same height, ma’am. My skirts are no shorter.’
The gaze dropped to her hem. ‘I dare say not then.’ She indicated her companion. ‘Allow me to present you to Miss Sybil Wexley. You’ll remember she has been gracious enough to lend me her company these many years. Sybil, my niece, Rowena.’
The two curtsied, though Sybil’s was somewhat shallower than Rowena’s.
Lady Tiverton lifted her cheek. ‘You may kiss me, child.’ Rowena obeyed, dropping a light kiss onto the scented skin. ‘Now, I suggest you take yourself to your room, remove your bonnet and spencer and tidy your hair. I dare say you are somewhat dusty from the journey. When you are presentable you may join us for the afternoon tea tray.’
Rowena was suddenly conscious of a tendril of hair escaping from her bonnet. ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’
An imperious hand waved. ‘Off with you then. Garton will show you the way.’
Rowena curtsied again and followed the butler out of the room, thankful that at least she had arrived before Lord Conniston.
Chapter Nine
A s an unmarried, untitled girl, Rowena’s bedroom was on the second floor in the east wing. With the briefest of orders, Garton instructed one of the hovering maids to lead the way, he being too grand to do it himself. The maid, whose red hair showed a distressing tendency to escape its cap, squeaked something inaudible at him then bobbed a curtsey to Rowena.
‘This way, miss, if you please,’ she whispered.
She started up the first, impressive curve of stairs as if she were trying to keep her feet from touching them. Rowena raised her skirts a fraction and trod up behind her. They reached a gracious landing furnished with a gleaming mahogany chest of drawers stationed between two massive blue and white porcelain urns each the height of a growing child. Lighted candles in the silver candelabrum on top of the drawers cast flickering pools of gold onto the polished wood.
‘Up here, miss,’ the girl said, her
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