Setting down her embroidery, Kitty smiled. “Thank you, Lydia. It is all too likely that I must make my own if I wish to have more than one or two new outfits. A man of the cloth may not be expected to marry a woman who dresses too finely, but you know my love for clothes, and I do not mean to leave it behind.”
“Hear, hear,” Mary chuckled, “James Lucus is well aware of the woman he wishes to marry; if he is any kind of man, he will not expect you to set aside your interests. You, after all, do not wish him to change.”
“Perhaps I would wish him to retire his old great coat,” Kitty teased. “Even his father has been after him to have a new one made. Still, as that is something I can force myself to accept, I believe that it is as you say; I do not wish him to change. I am, however, quite thankful that we each find enjoyment in one another's interests, even when we do not share them on a more personal level. Clothes, for example. Or his love of fishing.”
Face pulling, Lydia all but gagged. “Fish! Always fish. If I ever marry, it will not be to a man who loves fish. Be it the act of fishing or eating those monsters, I will not have those scaly creatures in my house!”
“What if he were to give all of his catch away?” Kitty queried, her lips pulling upward at the wide eyes and frantic shaking of her sister’s head.
“The smell. No. No. Not even then!”
The response earning the laughter of the room, Lydia crossed her arms tersely before the bright faces and fervent gaiety of her sisters caused her shoulders to loosen and laughter to follow. Even Mrs. Hill, upon entering the room with an impressive stack of the day’s post, let out a chuckle as she set them in Jane’s outstretched hand; the amusement of the room turning to contentment mingled with dread or curiosity, depending upon which sister would be expected to answer those who had written.
Glancing toward Mary, Elizabeth allowed a small smirk to form.It was Mary’s turn if she recalled correctly. If not, then Jane’s; either way, it was not her turn. Not until two weeks hence, in any case.
“Anything from PaPa?” Lydia rushed, the faces of all falling as Jane shook her head.
“Nothing. Perhaps tomorrow though,” Jane suggested softly.
“Are they all business then?” Elizabeth questioned as she moved toward her sister, head tilted at the pile of correspondence, “Or is there something amusing for once?”
With a light sigh Jane examined the post, eyes cutting toward the watchful gaze of her sister. “A great deal of business I fear, though there is a bit of amusement as well. Aunt Gardiner has written… then there is this one here, I do not recognize the hand. It may prove amusing; or business in disguise.”
Opening the letter as her sisters gathered around, Jane’s eyes darted back and forth across the paper, mouth rounding more and more as she read.
“What is it?” Elizabeth hurried as she rose on tiptoe, “I cannot make it out from here.”
“Nor I. Do tell,” Mary added before frowning at Lydia, the younger having thrown the elder off balance as she sought to view the paper.
Stuffing the letter behind the others, Jane’s fingers flew over them madly until stilling on Aunt Gardiner’s.
“This will hopefully lend all of this sense,” Jane mumbled as she began to read; the surge of her curious sisters around her leaving no impact.
Squinting over Jane’s shoulder, Elizabeth did little more than catch sight of a word or two before the nudging of a sister would leave the rest lost.
‘Invite. Weather allows. Countess. Your mother. Promise. No. Ask it.’ None of it made any sense.
Furrowed brows and the general noises of dissatisfaction grew in number until Lydia grabbed the first letter, skimming its contents before laughing and waving it aloft.
“La, what fun! I only wish I were older; it is bound to be jolly. What shall you pack?”
“Pack?” Elizabeth questioned, grabbing the letter from Lydia’s hand.
The letter, written in an odd, regimented manner, at full odds to the swirling signature, likely showed the hand of a servant with the signature of their master, while the paper, of exceptional quality and drenched in a floral scent, again pointed to a wealthy lady.
Jaw slack, Elizabeth studied the missive several times over.A countess? Friends with their mother?
Mother would have said so, if there had been such a connection. The gossip. The one upping it could have brought. It all sounded too tempting.
Yet, Mother had been quite good at keeping family secrets. Her past, her childhood, even her life before Father, she had spoken little of. They had always thought it due to shame at her upbringing and connections, but if she had friends ranking as high as a countess, then shame would not come into it. Unless Lady Charmane had humble beginnings and happened to marry a count?she pondered.Either way, it hardly explained why she had invited them to a house party after all these years. Or why the Countess knew their aunt. Or why Uncle Gardiner had never spoken of his or his sisters' youth.
“What did Aunt say?” Elizabeth questioned Jane as the communication from Lady Charmane found its way from sister to sister, the wide eyes and murmured confusion following the letter as it went.
“She claims to have promised Mamma that, should she not be alive to see any of her daughters married, that before a single daughter did so, Aunt would make certain some of us would visit Lady Clarissa Charmane, the Dowager Countess of Underhill in Staffordshire. Mother was apparently most insistent, and Lady Charmane, it would seem, desires it as well–or at least desires to fulfill Mamma’s wish–for she invited us herself!”
“One of us ought to go then,” Elizabeth nodded, “for Mamma’s sake and for our own. I know I have never been so curious of a person as I am of this countess; that they were friends gives rise to more questions than I fear may be answered.”
Shaking her head, Jane lifted the letter from their aunt, “One will not do. Mamma wanted as many of her daughters to go as possible, why I cannot say, but Aunt says so. All of us cannot go of course, what with the estate to run and Lydia not yet out.”
