“Gracious, thank you, Willie. Come, girls! We are late!” And Lady Bowen, skirts flying, hurried into the church with her family. Quickly taking their places in the front two pews, opposite the duke's private pew, they took up their hymnals and began to sing. Betsy Bowen could not resist glancing over into the duke's pew at George. He did look nice, and he had greeted her, and each of her sisters, most politely by name. He didn't appear at all high-flown or overproud. If only Mama wouldn't embarrass her by pushing her at him. I had best take matters into my own hands before that happens, she thought to herself.
When the service was over and they walked from the church, Betsy managed to maneuver herself so that she was walking next to George Spencer-Kimberly. “Do you ride, sir?” she asked him. “We have such lovely countryside hereabouts.”
“Perhaps you would show it to me,” he responded, “if, of course, your parents would permit it, Miss Elizabeth.” He liked this girl already. She wasn't silly or flirtatiously vain like the girls he had met in London. She was straightforward, and looked to be sensible.
“Mama, Mr. Spencer-Kimberly would like to ride with me one morning if he has your permission,” Betsy called to her mother.
Lady Bowen was astounded. Good Lord, how had Betsy elicited that invitation? Pray God she hadn't been forward, and Mr. Spencer-Kimberly thought her a lightskirt. “I shall have to speak to your papa, Betsy,” she told her daughter, and then, “Will you come to tea today, Mr. Spencer-Kimberly? We should be so pleased to receive you. Five o'clock, at the vicarage.”
“I should be pleased, ma'am,” George answered Lady Bowen.
“Oh, Lord,” Betsy muttered beneath her breath.
“I promise not to hold your mama against you, Miss Elizabeth,” George murmured with a low chuckle.
Startled, her eyes met his, and Betsy blushed, then said, “You understand, don't you?”
He nodded. “I have a doting and anxious mama too.” Then he bowed to her, tipping his hat. “Until this afternoon,” he said.
He is really too good to be true, Betsy thought, amazed at her good fortune. If he really is wonderful, we shall be engaged by the time that ball is held in May, else I lose him to some other girl! She stood watching as George rode off with the duke.
“How did you get him to ask you riding?” her sister Isabelle asked, coming to stand beside Betsy. Isabelle was fifteen. “Mama is ready to have an attack of the vapors, else he think you loose.”
“I simply asked if he rode and said we had pretty countryside,” Betsy said, linking her arm in Isabelle's as they walked to the vicarage.
“Do you think I'll be invited to the duke's ball?” the younger girl wondered. “Oh, I should so like to go, Betsy! I've never been to a ball in my whole life, and it's bound to be elegant.”
“Well,” her sister considered, “you will be sixteen on the thirtieth of April, sweeting. If you are included in the invitation, I will take your part with Mama. Papa is always easy to manage.”
“Oh, Betsy! You are the very best sister possible!” Isabelle said. Then she waved at the dowager as the ducal coach passed by on its way back to the hall.
Mary Rose Hawkesworth waved back. “Pretty chits, aren't they?” she said to her two companions. “Of course, Isabelle is too young for George, but Elizabeth would be most suitable, and I believe she likes him. Did you notice how cleverly she managed to get him to ask her riding, and now he is to go to tea at the vicarage this afternoon. I am most pleased,” she finished, and, smiling, sat back in her seat.
“The church is small,” Calandra noted.
“It is a country church, Cally, and quite charming,” Aurora said. “Certainly there are none larger on Barbados, I'm certain.”
“Who cares about Barbados” was her answer. “We've never been anyway, so we cannot know. The churches in London, however, are much bigger than St. Anne's, and far grander.”
“Did you go to services in any of them?” Aurora teased her sister. “I mean, before George and I arrived. In fact, if memory serves me, you did not go with us at all while we were in London.”
“You couldn't expect me to get up and go to church after having been dancing until dawn most nights,” Cally said irritably.
“How fortuitous, then, that you shall not have that problem here in the country,” the dowager said sharply. “We attend church each Sunday, Calandra. It is up to us to set an example for our people.”
“I thought the vicar's sermon quite good,” Aurora said.
“He preaches well,” Lady Hawkesworth agreed.
“It was short,” Cally said.
Aurora bit her lip to keep from laughing.
The days flew by. Spring had come in all its glory. George had made a success with the Bowens and now rode daily with Betsy, staying away from the hall, and spending more time at the vicarage as the weeks progressed. It was obvious that romance was in the air even if their brother had not said anything yet to confirm their suspicions.
“I think he means to offer for her,” Aurora said to Calandra one afternoon as they wrote out the invitations for the ball. “I will miss him when he returns to St. Timothy, won't you?”
Cally nodded. “We've been together our whole lives except for those few months when I first came to England. It will seem strange not seeing George. Will you go too, Aurora? I don't want you to go. Not now! Especially not now! I couldn't bear it if you left me alone!”
“Why are you so unhappy?” Aurora asked her sister bluntly.
“It is Valerian,” Cally whispered. “He is such a beast! I just want to go back to London, but he will not let me. He makes me perform
the act
each night. I have told him I don't want children. I just want to go back to London and have fun!”
“Cally, Cally,” her sister chided her. “Children are the fruit of a marriage. If you didn't want children, you should not have married Valerian. I know your husband is a good man. Give him his children and he will let you return to London for the season.”
“I want to live there all the time,” Cally said. “And if I hadn't married him, you would have had to do so. Besides, I wanted to be a duchess, Aurora, and you didn't! Oh, why do I even talk to you about this? How can you understand? You are a silly little virgin, but one day you will understand how horrible it is to have a man in your bed, pawing at you, and pushing himself into your body. I hate it!”
Calandra's face was a mask of revulsion and disgust, and Aurora was hard put not to shiver. “Mama did not seem to mind having Papa in her bed,” she said softly.
“Some women like
it,”
Cally said darkly, “but I do not. If I cannot escape this horror soon, I shall go mad.”
“If you could just have a child,” Aurora said. “I know you would feel different if you had a child of your own, Cally.”
The invitations were dispatched, and there was not one refusal. Everyone in the adjoining area was eager to come to Hawkes Hill Hall on May first for the ball being given by the Duke and Duchess of Farminster. Many of their neighbors had not yet met Calandra, for she had fled back to London soon after arriving in the country the previous year. There had been gossip, however, for everyone had a relation or friend in London society. And then, too, the duchess had an older brother, and a younger sister, both eligible, and both, if the tittle-tattle was to be believed, with very nice incomes. It was surprising, however, the scandalmongers chattered, that neither of these siblings had found mates in London. Obviously they were not attractive, or possibly a little too colonial for high society. Such things, of course, could be overlooked by a more practical country lady or gentleman.
Calandra had done little except help with the invitations. Her sole focus had been on the gown she would wear. Aurora had helped the dowager with all the fine details, overseeing the refurbishing of the ballroom, helping to choose the flowers and then working with herself and the housekeeper to arrange them, sending to London for the musicians. The dowager had chosen those fortunate few who would come to dinner; and invited the vicar, Lady Elsie, and their two eldest daughters to stay overnight. George had already informed his benefactress that he intended asking Miss Elizabeth Bowen to be his wife, and the dowager duchess had already ascertained that the Bowens would approve the match if it pleased their eldest daughter. George would speak to them formally the afternoon of the ball.
As the day of the ball approached, Calandra grew more and more excited. Her gown was finished, and, she declared, was a triumph that would be envied by every one of her female guests. Of rose-colored silk, it had a deeply scooped neckline that would allow her alabaster bosom to swell provocatively. The underskirt was of cloth of gold with embroidered silk roses. Gold lace and silk roses edged the neckline. Gold lace dripped from her sleeves. Her gold kid shoes had pink rosettes on them, and her silk stockings were gold and rose stripes. Her dark hair, with its single elegant curl, would be dressed with fresh roses. She would wear pear-shaped pearl earbobs, and a strand of large pearls about her throat. The pearls dated back to Elizabethan times, and had been hidden away during the Commonwealth era. It was a showy touch, for women in this day wore little jewelry, but Calandra didn't care. What was jewelry for but to wear. Not keep in some dark vault!
“Isn't your gown a bit short,” Aurora said, noting that the skirt of the ball gown seemed skimpy.
“It is the latest style!” Cally crowed. “A ball gown should come only to the ankle, so one can dance comfortably. We shall be more in style than any of our guests.”
“Practical,” the dowager said thoughtfully. Then, “A lady does not make her guests feel uncomfortable for any reason, Calandra.”
“No, ma'am,” Cally replied, flushing with irritation at having been rebuked by the old woman. She fingered the silk on the dress form.
“And what of your gown, child?” the dowager asked Aurora.
Aurora removed the dust sheet from the second form to reveal a gown of aquamarine silk, its chiffon underskirt painted with silver stars. Small silver lace stars decorated the rounded neckline, and the blue-green chiffon and lace sleeves.
“Why, it matches your eyes,” the dowager said, delighted. “It is charming. You shall be the two prettiest ladies at the ball, I vow. Do you have the proper panniers and petticoats?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Cally responded. “The seamstress brought an excellent selection of both, and we have already chosen.”
“And your jewelry, Aurora? What will you wear?”
“Just my little gold chain, ma'am,” the girl said.
“I have a pair of aquamarine drops that will be perfect with your gown,” the dowager said. “While Calandra will be the finest peahen in the family, you should not appear too plain. After all, we are seeking the proper gentleman for you, am I not correct, Calandra?”
“I certainly agree, ma'am,” Cally answered, hiding the jealousy she felt over her husband's grandmother giving Aurora family jewelry to wear. Still, Aurora should have something. Smiling, she said, “And your gown, ma'am? What have you had made for yourself?”
“Nothing as fine as what you two girls have,” the dowager replied. “My gown is of a deep blue silk the seamstress said is called Midnight in Morocco. I do not need to show such fine feathers any longer. After all, I am an old woman,” Mary Hawkesworth finished. “I have no desire to catch myself a husband.”
The Bowens and their two elder daughters arrived in late morning the day of the ball. The younger daughter was almost ill with excitement.
Aurora immediately took Isabelle in hand. “It's just a dancing party,” she reassured the girl. “We went to them every night when we were in London. I was constantly exhausted. You will have a marvelous time, I promise you. How pretty you are. You shall take all the beaus, and I am already eighteen. Practically an old maid!”
“Ohhh,” Isabelle said, “I am nowhere near as pretty as you are, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. Will you sit with me tonight?”
“Of course,” Aurora replied, patting the younger girl's hand.
“Do you think your brother is going to propose to my sister?” Isabelle asked ingenuously. “My parents have been doing a lot of whispering lately, and grow silent when any of us girls are about. Betsy is quite mad over George, you know, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. I think he is wonderful too. I wish I weren't just sixteen.”
“But you are,” Aurora said, “and there is plenty of time for some handsome gentleman to steal your heart, Isabelle. Now, why don't you call me Aurora.” She lowered her voice. “We are almost family.”
“We are?”
Isabelle squealed, and then she too lowered her voice. “Really? Are you certain? Ohhh, I should adore it!”
“Let us let nature take its course, and allow Betsy to be surprised in her own fashion, Isabelle,” Aurora suggested. “Come, you must see the gardens. They are lovely right now. Not as exotic as our gardens in St. Timothy, but beautiful in a different way.”