Read Online The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark by Lawana Blackwell - Free Book Online

seventy-three-year-old Mr. Durwin, founder of Durwin Stoves , had been married in Saint Jude’s less than two years ago. “And was the glass still intact?”
    “We can tell its origin chiefly by the design on its back, Mrs. Durwin. And the face is actually of polished brass, not glass. We haven’t packed it up for shipping yet, so I’ll bring it up from the cellar later if any of you would care to see it.”
    Mrs. Latrell nodded. “Please do, Mr. Ellis.” The head movement caused her to raise a hand to hold her wig in place. It was of a style popular a decade ago, parted in the center with corkscrew curls over both ears. The stark black tresses leeched the color from her face, for her eyelashes and brows were still white. Vain though she was, the widow had traveled the world extensively on her own and possessed an unwaveringly cheerful outlook on life. “But do tell us, when did glass mirrors come to be?”
    Fiona met her husband’s eyes and smiled, for they were both aware of what was coming next. Mr. Ellis did not allow a conversation regarding his profession to continue for too long without generously including his assistant. Sure enough, Mr. Ellis pointed his butter knife at the younger man. “Would you say fourteenth century, Mr. Pitney?”
    If dark-haired Jacob Pitney were to play any role, it would have to be of a plowman in the fields. Big-boned and awkward, he towered over everyone in the lodging house. It was not surprising that in his midthirties he had not married, for to court a woman would require him to actually speak to her, and he was one of the most timid people Fiona had ever known. Only when answering a query about his beloved vocation did his brown eyes light up and he seem able to find his tongue.
    “Yes, fourteenth-century Venice,” he replied with a serious little nod. “Only the technology was crude, so for the next three hundred years or so the images were blurred and distorted.”
    “Fascinating, Mr. Pitney,” Ambrose commented, in spite of his dark mood. “But tell me, why would anyone tolerate mirrors with such imperfections? And for three centuries?”
    A corner of Mr. Pitney’s mouth twitched timidly. “Those early mirrors were expensive and therefore symbols of wealth.”
    “Some even wore them as jewelry, didn’t they, Mr. Pitney?” was Mr. Ellis’s rhetorical question.
    “They did. On small chains. Some men even had them set in the hilts of their swords. For practical usage, though, I believe many continued to use the metal mirrors until the technology advanced.”
    The conversation went on to Mr. Jensen’s recollection of something from the book of Exodus, where Moses commanded the women of Israel to surrender their “looking glasses,” to be melted down into a brass ceremonial washbasin for the tabernacle. This information was received with great interest, so the manager of the Larkspur offered to show everyone the exact location of the passage in his Bible after supper.
    Even Georgette and Sarah, maids standing at the sideboard to refill dishes and teacups, listened attentively—whether it was because they were also interested in historical antiquities or in studying Jacob Pitney’s handsome face, Fiona wasn’t sure, but she certainly couldn’t fault them. But there was one person in the room who almost never contributed when the conversation drifted over to archeology—Miss Rawlins. In fact, the gray eyes behind her spectacles almost seemed to glaze over during such times. Her silence was a mystery to Fiona, because one would think a writer of historical novelettes would be taking notes on such valuable information, at least mentally.
    Julia had once confided to her that she believed Mr. Pitney to be infatuated with Miss Rawlins. Now that she had had occasion to observe the two, Fiona was sure she was correct. They were almost the same ages, and though she supposed Miss Rawlins would not be considered a beauty in the classical definition, the coffee brown