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Authors: Candace Camp
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never said such a thing. You will have your aunt thinking that I am the most lack-mannered woman imaginable. I merely suggested that you add a few things here and there.”
Francesca turned toward Lady Woodley. “I find that girls rarely realize how many frocks they need for a Season. Don’t you agree?”
As she expected, Lady Woodley nodded her head, not daring to disagree with one of the foremost members of the Ton. “Yes, but I—well, Constance, this is a little unexpected.”
“Yes, I know. But I am sure I have enough room in my dresser for everything. And Lady Haughston has kindly agreed to help me sort through my gowns and decide what to do with them.”
At the news that one of the most elegant and highborn ladies in the land was going to be upstairs in her niece’s tiny room rummaging through her small store of decidedly ordinary dresses, Lady Woodley appeared torn between elation and embarrassment.
“But, my lady, surely…I mean, Constance should not have asked such a thing of you,” she said finally, stumbling over her words.
“Oh, she did not ask me,” Francesca assured her. “I volunteered. There is little I like more than dressing up one’s wardrobe. It is such a challenge, don’t you think?”
She swept up the stairs behind Constance, with Lady Woodley following them, babbling offers of tea and other refreshment, interspersed with admonitions to Constance not to impose on Lady Haughston.
At the door to Constance’s room, Aunt Blanche hesitated. The little room, barely large enough for the dresser, bed and chair that occupied it, seemed even smaller now with the piles of boxes and bags. There was hardly enough room for the three of them, as well, yet Lady Woodley clearly hated to leave Lady Haughston.
So she hovered by the door, looking uncomfortable and chattering on, while Francesca and Constance pulled out Constance’s dresses and laid them out on the bed.
“Such a small number of gowns, my love,” Aunt Blanche tittered. “I told you that you should bring more to Town. But, of course, a girl never foresees how very many gowns one will need.” She turned toward Francesca with a confidential look that suggested that the two of them were old hands at the social whirl. “And, of course, Constance is merely chaperoning the girls.”
“But what nonsense,” Lady Haughston said briskly. “Constance is much too young to be a chaperone…as no doubt you told her.”
“Oh, my, yes, of course!” Aunt Blanche exclaimed. “But what can one do? Constance’s nature is rather retiring, and she is, after all, well past the age of coming out herself.”
Francesca made a noise of disdain. “There are a good many years before Constance reaches that point. One has only to look at her to see how ridiculous it is to place an arbitrary age on a girl’s come-out. Some women are far more beautiful at this age than they were when they left the schoolroom. You have noticed that yourself, I am sure.”
“Well…” Aunt Blanche trailed off uncertainly. She could scarcely disagree with Lady Haughston’s pronouncements, especially given the way she so graciously linked Aunt Blanche’s thoughts with her own.
Lady Woodley watched as Francesca and Constance matched up ribbons and lace to some dresses and discarded others as unfit for anything but the most mundane daily wear, and talked of lowering necklines and adding overskirts or demi-trains, of replacing dull sleeves with others slashed with contrasting color.
Constance, too, had experienced a certain embarrassment at exposing her unimpressive wardrobe to Lady Haughston, but Francesca’s manner could not have been more matter-of-fact or uncritical. Her eye for color and style was unerring, which did not surprise Constance. One need not look at her long to realize that she was an artist when it came to clothes. But Constance did find it rather peculiar that someone like Lady Haughston should be so conversant with ways to modify, update and
Francesca turned toward Lady Woodley. “I find that girls rarely realize how many frocks they need for a Season. Don’t you agree?”
As she expected, Lady Woodley nodded her head, not daring to disagree with one of the foremost members of the Ton. “Yes, but I—well, Constance, this is a little unexpected.”
“Yes, I know. But I am sure I have enough room in my dresser for everything. And Lady Haughston has kindly agreed to help me sort through my gowns and decide what to do with them.”
At the news that one of the most elegant and highborn ladies in the land was going to be upstairs in her niece’s tiny room rummaging through her small store of decidedly ordinary dresses, Lady Woodley appeared torn between elation and embarrassment.
“But, my lady, surely…I mean, Constance should not have asked such a thing of you,” she said finally, stumbling over her words.
“Oh, she did not ask me,” Francesca assured her. “I volunteered. There is little I like more than dressing up one’s wardrobe. It is such a challenge, don’t you think?”
She swept up the stairs behind Constance, with Lady Woodley following them, babbling offers of tea and other refreshment, interspersed with admonitions to Constance not to impose on Lady Haughston.
At the door to Constance’s room, Aunt Blanche hesitated. The little room, barely large enough for the dresser, bed and chair that occupied it, seemed even smaller now with the piles of boxes and bags. There was hardly enough room for the three of them, as well, yet Lady Woodley clearly hated to leave Lady Haughston.
So she hovered by the door, looking uncomfortable and chattering on, while Francesca and Constance pulled out Constance’s dresses and laid them out on the bed.
“Such a small number of gowns, my love,” Aunt Blanche tittered. “I told you that you should bring more to Town. But, of course, a girl never foresees how very many gowns one will need.” She turned toward Francesca with a confidential look that suggested that the two of them were old hands at the social whirl. “And, of course, Constance is merely chaperoning the girls.”
“But what nonsense,” Lady Haughston said briskly. “Constance is much too young to be a chaperone…as no doubt you told her.”
“Oh, my, yes, of course!” Aunt Blanche exclaimed. “But what can one do? Constance’s nature is rather retiring, and she is, after all, well past the age of coming out herself.”
Francesca made a noise of disdain. “There are a good many years before Constance reaches that point. One has only to look at her to see how ridiculous it is to place an arbitrary age on a girl’s come-out. Some women are far more beautiful at this age than they were when they left the schoolroom. You have noticed that yourself, I am sure.”
“Well…” Aunt Blanche trailed off uncertainly. She could scarcely disagree with Lady Haughston’s pronouncements, especially given the way she so graciously linked Aunt Blanche’s thoughts with her own.
Lady Woodley watched as Francesca and Constance matched up ribbons and lace to some dresses and discarded others as unfit for anything but the most mundane daily wear, and talked of lowering necklines and adding overskirts or demi-trains, of replacing dull sleeves with others slashed with contrasting color.
Constance, too, had experienced a certain embarrassment at exposing her unimpressive wardrobe to Lady Haughston, but Francesca’s manner could not have been more matter-of-fact or uncritical. Her eye for color and style was unerring, which did not surprise Constance. One need not look at her long to realize that she was an artist when it came to clothes. But Constance did find it rather peculiar that someone like Lady Haughston should be so conversant with ways to modify, update and
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