Page 49 of The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess
“Seven. Four males and three females.”
“How old?”
“Four weeks, I believe.”
“Then take me to see them when they are six.”
* * *
Despite the disaster for the Duchess at the ball, the two older sisters were in heaven. Ann actually smiled occasionally, and her perpetually pinched face seemed to relax somewhat. To please herself, she often replayed her conversation with Beaumont at dinner over and over again in her mind.
Charlotte began a journal which she constantly updated with news or even thoughts about Beaumont.
But he was not the only catch of the evening. Several other young men had indicated they might call for tea in the next week to two—having been discreetly informed that each of the daughters came with a sizable living. Things were definitely looking up.
The Duchess, in anticipation of a new puppy, shed her widow’s weeds and decided several new day dresses were required for her eldest two. One could anticipate guests for tea almost any day, and fresh attire was called for. Madame Hortense was summoned, once again, and fabrics, ribbons, buttons, and trim were examined and chosen with the scrutiny of planning a military campaign—which they were.
Again, Betsy drifted through the process in a daze, unconcerned about her haberdashery.
But it had also become clear that both Charlotte and Ann were equally interested in Mr. Goodwin. They had never competed before for the same man, and there were times when sisterly affection was wearing thin.
Charlotte was prancing around Ann’s dressing room in her new green dress, twirling in circles to see how the fabric flared when she moved.
Madame Hortense cooed, “So lovely. The perfect shade of green to go with your eyes, Miss Charlotte.”
“You think so? Beaumont commented on the color of my eyes as we were dancing. He said they were the color of Burmese jade.”
Ann scowled. “All the best jade comes from China. Everyone knows that.” Madame Hortense was fastening up the yellow dress she had made for Ann.
Charlotte looked at Ann in her new dress. “Yellow. Really? Why would you ever choose that? It makes you look like a summer squash.”
“And you look like a scummy pond,” Ann retorted.
“Now, girls,” Mother scolded. “Behave yourselves. You should be pleased to have any suitable young gentlemen calling on you at your ages. Be ladies and stop this quibbling nonsense. You are both too old to be behaving like catty, jealous children.”
“Has anyone announced they are coming for tea this afternoon?” Ann asked, pulling up the dress over her shoulders.
“Not that I know of, but we extended open invitations, so we must be ready to receive guests each and every day. And always on our best behavior. Yes, my darlings?”
“Yes, Mother,” they said in unison.
* * *
For two afternoons the three daughters were elegantly dressed, anticipating one or more young gentlemen, but the only one to call was Mrs. Stevenson, head of the Stevenson All-Girl Academy, soliciting funds for the Christmas pageant.
However, on the third afternoon, there were several callers. First to arrive was Mr. Hawthorn and his mother. He was the son of the Shaftesbury Mayor. He was but three and twenty, with a rotund face and wispy, thinning blond hair. His mother sat herself down with a cup of tea and her knitting and said barely a word the entire afternoon.
But to everyone’s delight both Mr. and Miss Goodwin arrived, having gone about the countryside for a gallop and deciding to grace the Graysons with their presence for tea—as invited.
Both Charlotte and Ann stood when the guests entered the drawing room, rushing over and taking the brother and sister’s hands and ushering them to the most comfortable chairs by the tea table.
Ann and Charlotte immediately engaged them in a conversation, tripping over each other as they tried to dominate the subject matter.
Poor Mr. Hawthorn, sat next to his mother with his cup of tea but no one paying him any attention until her Grace asked him, “Do you often get into the countryside? Mid-autumn is such a lovely time of year and I find it to be exceptionally invigorating. Is that not so?”
“I-i-i-t is,” he said with a stutter. O-o-often t-t-times I like to go fishing as w-w-ell. M-m-mother likes to go for a carriage r-r-ride when the leaves turn. Is t-t-that not so, Mama?”
“Aye, it is a pleasure,” she responded.
