Karen Harbaugh (11 page)

Mama’s abigail carefully lifted the dress over my head and gently pulled it on. As she laced up the back, I looked down to smooth the skirt. My heart stopped. “Oh, nooo!” I wailed.

Grimley stopped lacing and swiftly came to face me. “What is wrong, miss?” she said, looking over me anxiously.

The neckline was a full four inches below what it had been earlier that morning. The tight bodice was of no help, either; it pushed my bosom a little upward so that it seemed more full than it was. I looked, I thought, as if I were a misprint in Ackermann’s! The ruffles, which I thought added interest to the high cut, now brought full attention to a line that was not more, I was sure, than an inch and a half from the crest of my bosom.

Grimley was still worriedly searching my person with her eyes, apparently finding nothing wrong. “Miss Georgia, I don’t see—”

“My bosom!” I shouted. “My
bosom
is going to
fall
out of this
dress!”

Grimley pressed her hands to her ears. “No need to raise your voice, I’m sure!” she said testily. “It’s not like I’ve grown deaf!” She stepped back, arms akimbo, to survey the wanton piece of cloth I had on. “You look very well, if I may say so, miss, as a young lady should. I’ll not say I wasn’t glad to hear you changed your mind about that neckline, Miss Georgia, for those ruffles near your chin would have been the ruination of that dress, if truth be told!”

“Changed my mind! I did
not
change my mind! Where did you hear—”

“Georgia! You look charming, my dear,” exclaimed Mama as she swept in the room. “Ah, let me look at you!” She walked around me appreciatively. “Oh, to think my little girl has grown up so quickly! And into such a lovely young lady!” Her voice trembled sentimentally, and Grimley gave her a handkerchief with which Mama dabbed at a tear. “Why, I can remember—”

“Mother!” I said in warning. “I cannot wear this dress to Samantha’s party.” I looked into the mirror. The dress was net over silk satin, and I had thought when we bought it that with two fabrics combined, I would be well covered. But the net was sheer, the cut was close, and the light blue silk shimmered slightly underneath when it clung briefly to my form and whispered softly when it released. It looked as if I were walking through water when I moved. Surely, I thought, my form is just as revealed in this dress as it would be underwater!

Mama raised her brows in surprise. “Whyever can you not wear it, darling? It is a lovely dress, so particularly suited to you!”

I blushed. “Why, why, look at it!” I exclaimed.

“So?” replied Mama after looking me up and down.

I closed my eyes for a moment and counted to ten. I pointed to my chest. “I
bulge!”

“Mountains out of molehills, my dear!” said Mama, and laughed at her own quip. I did not. It did not seem to me to be a laughing matter.

“I am going to
fall
out of this dress!” I persisted.

“No, you are not. See these tucks in the cloth? It may make the bodice seem tight, but it also prevents anything being out of order. One of the secrets of dressmaking!”

“The one, no doubt, that we are not supposed to tell gentlemen,” I replied sarcastically.

“Really, Georgia!” Mama tried to sound affronted, but she turned and I could see her giggling behind her hand. She was still laughing at her quip. Grimley eyed her disapprovingly and looked pointedly at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. “Oh, yes, the time!” Mama wiped the smile off her face—unsuccessfully. “You need only pull up your underdress a bit above the edge of your bodice and you will be done dressing. It is getting late, so you must hurry!” She left the room, shoulders shaking with scarcely suppressed laughter.

Chapter Six

I had no choice but to wear the dress as it was. I had no other suitable gown with which to attend Samantha’s party. I tried at first to put a lace fichu around my neck to hide the offending bulges, but Grimley quickly whipped it off from behind. “
If
, miss, you think to leave this house so you can inform both great and small that
I
am a person who delights in dressing her ladies like
dowds,
you are mightily mistaken!
I
have my reputation to think of, miss, if you do not!” She put a small pearl pendant around my neck instead. It nestled between and a little above the bulges.

I was pushed into the carriage and onto the seat. I looked at Betty, the scullery maid, who was the only servant who could be spared from her duties to accompany me. She sneezed. For a moment I envied her.
She
did not have to worry about exposing herself to all and sundry. All she had was a cold. Then I castigated myself for my selfishness. Betty would have to attend me even though she had a miserable cold, while all I had to do was enjoy myself—or try to. I lifted my chin firmly. I would insist she go home to rest. Surely another, stouter servant would be available to accompany me home from Samantha’s party later.

As the carriage slowed in front of the Ashcombe residence, however, I could not help thinking of my predicament. I motioned Betsy to get back into the carriage. While instructing the groom to take her home, I wondered miserably if I could claim susceptibility to chills so I could keep my cloak on.

The hope was futile. As I stepped into the Ashcombe residence, I saw the brightly lit fires in the hearth and felt the warmth permeating the merino wool. It helped nothing to see that the Ashcombes’ house was far more spacious and richly decorated than mine. I knew Mama had to practice a few economies, but we lived comfortably and could occasionally indulge ourselves if we were careful. But here, when I looked at the elegantly furnished foyer and the rich carpets, I felt quite out of place. A footman came forward to take my cloak. “Miss ... ?” he queried.

I put my hands on my cloak’s collar, but the footman must have interpreted my motion to mean for him to remove it. He reached to take it.

“M-Miss Georgia C-Canning,” I stammered, having to wrestle a bit in my attempt at retaining my cloak. “Perhaps I could—”

“Georgia!” cried Lucas’s welcoming voice from the doorway, startling me so that I lost my hold on the collar. “Samantha will be glad to know you are here!” As he walked up to me, the cloak fell from my shoulders. His gaze fell from my face to my neck, and his jaw dropped slightly. He did not seem to be able to look very far past the pearl at the end of my necklace, and it seemed as if he were holding his breath. It was too late to try to seize my cloak, for the footman had already left, and I flushed hot and cold and hot again in embarrassment. I tried hunching my shoulders to disguise whatever I could, but this only made the situation worse, for the bodice front gaped open a little at the movement, and I distinctly felt the pearl roll about in the valley. I hastily straightened my shoulders.

A slow smile formed on Lucas’s lips, and his eyes seemed a very deep blue as he looked into my own. He took my hand to his lips. “You look quite—quite grown-up,” he said huskily. “Quite the lady! Very—”

“Lovely, wouldn’t you say, Lucas?” came Samantha’s voice as she floated up to us in her rose-and-white confection of a dress. I drew a sigh of relief. I did not know how to react to Lucas’s hand kiss, and Samantha’s entrance excused me from having to do so.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, quite the thing, I was going to say.”

“Is that all?” cried Samantha. She looked from me to her brother, and an indecipherable expression passed over her face. She continued smoothly: “She looks beautiful! Georgia, you should always wear that shade of blue. It truly becomes you.”

I recovered under her chatter. “Not always!” I laughed. “It would become quite tiresome forever to wear blue, I am sure! But come, let me look at you!”

I stepped back to view her in toto. Samantha looked almost exactly as I had imagined she would when I drew her in pastel chalk; she had even put up her hair in the way I had drawn it. The pink bodice gave a glowing, rosy cast to her normally pale skin, and the very high waist made her seem taller. The only difference was that my drawing didn’t seem to reveal as much as the actual dress did. I surreptitiously compared her bodice with mine and found they were essentially of the same cut, though perhaps I protruded a little more than she. Not much more, thank God.

“Oh, you are just as I imagined you would look!” I said warmly. “You are beautiful, too, Samantha!” She blushed, shaking her head, and smiled.

Lucas cleared his throat again. “Well, now that you’ve both done the pretty, shall we go into the drawing room?” He gave both his arms to us, and we were escorted in what I thought was fine style.

I saw, as we entered the room, that there were only a few others there; I had come earlier than most. I felt nervous, for I knew only Lucas and Samantha. “Oh, there’s Mama,” said Samantha, directing my gaze to a lady sitting by the pianoforte. She cast a glance at her brother before saying, “Oh, dear! I think I hear some others at the door! Lucas, do introduce Georgia to Mama; I shall be back shortly!” She hurried from us to the door.

I felt confused. I was sure that Samantha was going to introduce me to Lady Ashcombe, but she had relegated the task to her brother; this was more what Mama had envisioned than what I had expected. Of course, Samantha could not neglect her other guests. I looked up at Lucas uncertainly and saw that he was looking rather slack-jawed at his sister’s retreating back. “Your mother knows, of course, that both you and Samantha are my good friends, does she not?”

He brightened. “Of course she does! Samantha never stops chattering about you, you know. M’mater must have heard your name a tedious number of times.”

This was not at all heartening, for I did not want to be tedious even before I met Lady Ashcombe. Fortunately, I was not allowed to dwell on this, for he brought me immediately to his mother.

Her ladyship was a plump, comfortable woman. She, too, had the raven-black hair, but there was a swath of grey at one temple, which I thought looked quite distinguished. Her nose was less aquiline than Lucas’s, but not as straight as Samantha’s, and her kindly eyes were the same deep blue of her son’s. “Mama, this is Miss Georgia Canning. Miss Canning, my mother, Lady Ashcombe.”

I curtsied and clasped my hands in front of me. “I am pleased to meet you, my lady,” I said politely.

“And I you,” returned Lady Ashcombe, smiling. She patted the settee beside her, “Come, sit beside me. I have heard much of you from Samantha.” She gave a quick glance at her son. “And from Lucas. Lucas, dear, do go and fetch us some lemonade, if you please!” He obediently left. She turned back to me. “Now we can have a comfortable coze! Are you related to the Somerset Cannings?”

I wrinkled my brow. “I think so,” I replied. “My father was the third son of the Viscount Canning. They live near Shepton Mallet, I believe.”

Lady Ashcombe smiled and pressed my hand. “Ah, he distinguished himself under Wellington, did he not? You must be proud of your father! He did well for himself in the army. My husband, the late Lord Ashcombe, used to speak of him in his dispatches.”

My heart warmed toward her, and I grew more optimistic for Mama. Miss Angstead had been right in saying my father’s lineage and valor in battle could help make things right with society. I smiled gratefully at her. “My father fell in battle when I was quite young, but my mother has often shown me his portrait and told me of him, so yes, I am proud to be his daughter. I know he must have been a very good man.”

Lady Ashcombe nodded in approval. “Indeed! And speaking of portraits, I see you are an artist.” She gestured toward Samantha, who was talking to a young man at the other end of the room. “You see, we have copied the coiffure from your drawing.”

I blushed and cast my eyes downward, for I felt suddenly shy at her compliment. “I—I thank you, my lady, but I am the veriest amateur! I need far more practice before I become truly proficient.”

“Well, I must tell you that you have had your first piece hung, for we have framed your pastel picture and are displaying it in the parlour. A good likeness, I think!”

“I am happy you think so, my lady. It gives me hope that with practice I will be able to truly wear the name of artist.”

Lady Ashcombe raised her eyebrows. “You plan to be an artist, then? Yes, I believe Samantha has told me about your ambitions; it is no wonder she had taken a liking to you! She, too, has ambitions.” She smiled indulgently. “A thing I believe will not hold her interest long when eligible young men start calling.”

I didn’t want to be impertinent, so I said cautiously: “I think there are some ladies who are authoresses even though they are married, Mrs. Radcliffe, for example. Perhaps Samantha will be like her.”

“Hmmm.” Lady Ashcombe frowned in thought, then her face cleared. “No matter, as long as she marries well, and happily.” She sighed. “I do not know that I want it spread about that Samantha has literary leanings, however.”

I felt a little disappointed that Lady Ashcombe would think this. With such enlightened and intelligent progeny as Lucas and Samantha, I thought she would think differently. But I saw that her precepts were not much different from Mama’s. I could not see how Samantha’s talent could make her any less beautiful or amiable, but I said: “I would think that Samantha’s intelligence would be an asset rather than a detriment to a husband, would it not?”

Her ladyship smiled at my naiveté. “Bless you, child, for your loyalty, but you must know it is not always the case! Quite the contrary. My daughter’s intelligence narrows the field considerably! Most men find it difficult to fathom the complex ways of a woman’s mind in the first place, and this makes them feel quite nervous. Let them know there is a woman whose mind is as sharp as or sharper than a man’s, and you will see them fleeing in droves from her!”

I felt somewhat disheartened. I knew I read more books than most of the girls in Miss Angstead’s, so I must be in the same situation as Samantha— no, worse, for certainly my chestnut-colored hair was not a la mode as my friend’s raven-black was. This seemed to narrow my options for my future, but I bolstered my courage with the knowledge that I was already practicing my painting.