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Authors: Siri Mitchell
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surreptitiously at Lizzie.
She returned the greeting.
“Stop that! You’ve guests to attend to. Prospective suitors. Leave Lizzie and her mother to their own devices. They’ve only come to see what it is that we have. At least they’ll see a tea given in a proper manner. And I’ve no doubt they’ll leave before it’s over.”
Aunt was right. For before I could free myself from the reception line and look to Lizzie for amusement, they had gone.
The receiving line seemed infinite. Filled with people, each one of them waiting to be received by me. There were young men of all shapes and sizes. From the one who immediately slunk into the corner and cast malevolent looks at me to the one who treated my greeting as a perfunctory obligation, to be endured only for the sake of access to the bountiful tea table. But there was no particularly dashing young man among them. Not even a rather disheveled darkhaired one. Among all those many guests, I never saw the man for whom I had been prepared. For whom I searched.
I greeted both mothers and their sons. Indeed, half my time was spent in greeting visitors. The other half seemed to have been spent in bidding them good-bye. To each of them I said the same. Thank you ever so much for coming and, when they were readying to leave, Good day . It was only after the last guest had exited the front door that I thought to ask about the De Vries heir.
“Did he come?” Had I missed him? I don’t know how I could have. In spite of my responsibilities and the crowds of people, I had been able to visit both the parlor and the dining room. Twice.
Aunt turned from a lampshade she was adjusting. “Who?”
“Mr. De Vries.”
“No.”
No? But … what little pleasure I had taken in my tea evaporated. He hadn’t been here? He hadn’t seen me? What had all of this been for if not for him? All of my work, all of my social etiquette had been put on display for nothing.
8
THE NEXT WEK I’m afraid my spirits were still rather low. If Mr. De Vries would not present himself for an introduction, I did not know how I should have the opportunity to win him. As had become my habit, I turned aside the cheeses and sausages. Took up a piece of dry toast instead. It was one of only very few foods that did not linger overlong in my stomach. I always took a taste of the cook’s coddle, of course. Aunt made me. But I always hid the remainder beneath my napkin as I left the table.
Aunt surprised me by speaking to me through the pages of her newspaper. “I have changed my mind. We will be attending Lizzie’s tea.” Aunt said it as if changing her mind were a daily occurrence.
“We … we will? Today?”
She glanced at me over the top of the paper. “We would not want to go tomorrow.”
Later, after lunch, the maid met me in my room. She pulled a visiting gown of pale green from my wardrobe. Laid it across the bed. Then she found my gloves and a pair of bracelets and placed them all beside it. As she was giving a quick tug to my corset laces, Aunt came in.
She fingered the gown on the bed, then glanced back, over her shoulder, toward the wardrobe. “Perhaps … perhaps your lavender silk would do better.”
“The lavendar silk? But isn’t it meant for receiving guests? At home?” And because it was meant for receiving rather than visiting, it was more subdued in design. More sober. And less … pretty.
“Yes, yes. Leave me think for a moment.” Lifting her head, she closed her eyes. I could see them at work beneath her eyelids, rolling back and forth. Up and down. Finally, she leveled her chin and opened them. “You must not seem too old; neither must you seem too young. Lizzie is altogether adorable. If you try to compete on the basis of plump cheeks and golden curls, you will surely lose ground to her. Your skin is rather too consumptive to compare favorably with her ruddiness. The best policy will be to keep you present at the tea but apart from her. And what is wanted in a
She returned the greeting.
“Stop that! You’ve guests to attend to. Prospective suitors. Leave Lizzie and her mother to their own devices. They’ve only come to see what it is that we have. At least they’ll see a tea given in a proper manner. And I’ve no doubt they’ll leave before it’s over.”
Aunt was right. For before I could free myself from the reception line and look to Lizzie for amusement, they had gone.
The receiving line seemed infinite. Filled with people, each one of them waiting to be received by me. There were young men of all shapes and sizes. From the one who immediately slunk into the corner and cast malevolent looks at me to the one who treated my greeting as a perfunctory obligation, to be endured only for the sake of access to the bountiful tea table. But there was no particularly dashing young man among them. Not even a rather disheveled darkhaired one. Among all those many guests, I never saw the man for whom I had been prepared. For whom I searched.
I greeted both mothers and their sons. Indeed, half my time was spent in greeting visitors. The other half seemed to have been spent in bidding them good-bye. To each of them I said the same. Thank you ever so much for coming and, when they were readying to leave, Good day . It was only after the last guest had exited the front door that I thought to ask about the De Vries heir.
“Did he come?” Had I missed him? I don’t know how I could have. In spite of my responsibilities and the crowds of people, I had been able to visit both the parlor and the dining room. Twice.
Aunt turned from a lampshade she was adjusting. “Who?”
“Mr. De Vries.”
“No.”
No? But … what little pleasure I had taken in my tea evaporated. He hadn’t been here? He hadn’t seen me? What had all of this been for if not for him? All of my work, all of my social etiquette had been put on display for nothing.
8
THE NEXT WEK I’m afraid my spirits were still rather low. If Mr. De Vries would not present himself for an introduction, I did not know how I should have the opportunity to win him. As had become my habit, I turned aside the cheeses and sausages. Took up a piece of dry toast instead. It was one of only very few foods that did not linger overlong in my stomach. I always took a taste of the cook’s coddle, of course. Aunt made me. But I always hid the remainder beneath my napkin as I left the table.
Aunt surprised me by speaking to me through the pages of her newspaper. “I have changed my mind. We will be attending Lizzie’s tea.” Aunt said it as if changing her mind were a daily occurrence.
“We … we will? Today?”
She glanced at me over the top of the paper. “We would not want to go tomorrow.”
Later, after lunch, the maid met me in my room. She pulled a visiting gown of pale green from my wardrobe. Laid it across the bed. Then she found my gloves and a pair of bracelets and placed them all beside it. As she was giving a quick tug to my corset laces, Aunt came in.
She fingered the gown on the bed, then glanced back, over her shoulder, toward the wardrobe. “Perhaps … perhaps your lavender silk would do better.”
“The lavendar silk? But isn’t it meant for receiving guests? At home?” And because it was meant for receiving rather than visiting, it was more subdued in design. More sober. And less … pretty.
“Yes, yes. Leave me think for a moment.” Lifting her head, she closed her eyes. I could see them at work beneath her eyelids, rolling back and forth. Up and down. Finally, she leveled her chin and opened them. “You must not seem too old; neither must you seem too young. Lizzie is altogether adorable. If you try to compete on the basis of plump cheeks and golden curls, you will surely lose ground to her. Your skin is rather too consumptive to compare favorably with her ruddiness. The best policy will be to keep you present at the tea but apart from her. And what is wanted in a
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