Bethlehem Road - Anne Perry [23]
“Yes—at least for a while. I may not be able to stay long.”
“But you can come!”
“Yes.”
Her face relaxed and she smiled at him, putting her hand over his. “Good! It will matter so much to Emily, as well as to me. And Great-aunt Vespasia will be there. You should see my new dress—don’t worry, I haven’t been extravagant—but it really is special!”
He relaxed at last, letting go all the knots inside him as the darkness slid away. It was so ordinary, so incredibly trivial: the shade of a fabric, the arrangement of a bustle, how many flowers on a hat. It was ridiculous, immensely unimportant—and sane!
4
PITT LEFT AT ABOUT half past seven the next morning, and Charlotte swept into action as soon as he was out of the door. Gracie, her resident maid, took care of everything in the kitchen, including getting breakfast for Jemima, now aged six and very self-possessed, and Daniel, a little younger and desperately eager to keep up. There was a tremendous air of excitement in the house, and both children were far too aware of the importance of the day to sit still.
Charlotte had their new clothes laid out on their beds: cream frills and lace for Jemima, with a pink satin sash, and a brown velvet suit with a lace collar for Daniel. It had taken over an hour’s persuasion and finally a downright bribe—that next time they rode on the omnibus he would be able to pay his own bright penny fare to the conductor—to convince him that he was going to wear this!
Charlotte’s dress had been specially made for her, something she had taken for granted before her marriage. Now she usually made her gowns herself, or adapted them from ones given her by Emily or on rare occasions by Great-aunt Vespasia.
But this was magnificent, the softest crushed plum-colored silk, low cut at the front to show her throat and fine shoulders and just a touch of bosom, fitted at the waist, and with a bustle so exquisitely feminine she felt irresistible merely at the sight of it. It swished deliciously when she walked, and the shade was most flattering to her honey-warm skin and auburn hair, which she had polished with a silk scarf until it shone.
It took her an hour and several unsuccessful attempts to dress, curl, and pin it exactly as she wished, and to assure that her face was improved in every way possible, short of anything which could actually be called “paint.” Paint was still a cardinal sin in society and only indulged in by women of the most dubious morality.
When another thirty minutes had been taken up in minor adjustments to the children’s clothing and Jemima’s hair ribbons, she finally put on her own gown, to the breathless squeals and sighs of the children and the intense admiration of Gracie, who could hardly contain herself for delight. She was on the edge of the most total romance; she had seen Emily many times and thought her a real lady, and she would hang on every word when her mistress returned and told her all about the wedding. It was better than all the pictures in The Illustrated London News, or even the most sentimental songs and ballads she heard cried in the street. Not even the penny dreadfuls she read by candlelight in the cupboard under the stairs could match this—after all, those were people she had never met, or cared about.
Emily sent a carriage for them on the chime of ten o’clock, and by twenty minutes past, Charlotte, Jemima, and Daniel alighted at St. Mary’s Church, Eaton Square.
Immediately behind her, Charlotte’s mother, Caroline Ellison, stepped out of her carriage and signaled her coachman to continue and find a suitable place to wait. She was a handsome woman now in her middle fifties and wearing her widowhood with vigor and a new and rather daring sense of freedom. She was dressed in golden brown, which suited her admirably, and a hat nearly as splendid as Charlotte’s. Holding her hand was Emily’s son Edward, now Lord Ashworth in his father’s stead, wearing a dark blue velvet suit, his fair hair combed neatly. He looked nervous and very sober and held onto his grandmother