“You may surprise yourself. All the men on the list are under thirty. A husband has enough excuses to be domineering without adding significant age. I’d suggest that you marry a man younger than yourself, but I doubt you’d agree.”
“I’ve never considered the matter. I suppose he might be easier to bully.”
“A threatened man is a dangerous one.”
“Like a wild beast?”
Ariana was enjoying the bout with Lady Cawle, but her mother wasn’t. “Don’t be silly,” she said, and it seemed to be addressed to both of them. “A man’snature is not dictated by his age. My son could never be a wild beast, but I wouldn’t like him to marry a bully. And I wouldn’t like my daughter to be one.”
“Again, that was only in fun, Mama. I don’t care about the age of my husband, within reasonable limits, as long as he’s sensible.”
“Now she sets an impossible standard!” Lady Cawle exclaimed, but with that gleam of amusement. “What a pity that men no longer wear high heels,” Lady Cawle added. “Given the fashion for flat shoes for ladies”—hers were heeled in the style to suit her gown—“it would make some additional men of a height with you.”
“Did gentlemen truly teeter around on high-heeled shoes?” Ariana asked.
“Oh, yes.” Lady Cawle smiled. “I remember when the most virile and dangerous gentlemen did so, and with such style. A heeled shoe shows off a man’s calf extraordinarily well.”
To Ariana’s astonishment, her mother joined in. “It does. And now it’s nearly always boots, or pantaloons. I do like to see gentlemen dressed for the evening in breeches and stockings.”
The two older women continued to discuss men’s fashions and the way clothing revealed or concealed manly attributes until Lady Cawle noticed Ariana’s silence. “Have you never admired a gentleman’s physique?”
Hot-cheeked, Ariana said, “I don’t think...” She’d intended to say that she didn’t think it proper, but how could she criticize her mother? “I think a man’s behavior and moral reputation more important, ma’am.”
“Sounds like a recipe for a demmed bore,” Lady Cawle drawled, draining her glass. “But if you want to marry a milk pudding, I give you leave.”
“Thank you.”
“Starched up, are you? I have no power to dictate to you. Nor does your mother or your brother, for you’re of age. But use your freedom wisely.”
“You sound as if you doubt that I will.”
“Is anyone ever wise about matters of the heart?”
“Then it’s fortunate that the heart has nothing to do with my quest.”
“Ariana!” her mother protested. “You mustn’t give up hope of love.”
Ariana wished her words unsaid, for her mother persisted in believing there could be romance in this business. “I don’t give up hope, Mama. But I can’t insist on it. We’re often told that love can grow after marriage.”
“Or wither,” Lady Cawle said. “Choose with a cool head, Ariana, if you’re capable of it. Sweet words and flowers have snared many a poor soul to hell. You used to play the harpsichord. Do you still?”
It took Ariana a moment to catch up, but she admitted that she did.
“You played very well. There’s one in the music room next door. I’ve had the fire lit in there and I’d be obliged if you’d play for us.”
Despite the wording, it was a command, and Ariana saw no decent way to refuse. She didn’t even want to. The harpsichord was an unusual instrument in these days of the pianoforte, but she enjoyed it.
She went through to the next room to find the promised music room holding a variety of large instruments and some smaller ones on display. In keeping with Lady Cawle’s eighteenth-century style, there was no piano, but the harpsichord was a magnificent specimen, painted all over in rich pastoral themes.
When Ariana sat and tried out a few keys, she found it perfectly tuned. She settled to playing a familiar piece, soothed by the orderly, crisp plucks on the strings. The pianoforte was an instrument well suited to the passions, but the harpsichord was much more to her liking.
Chapter 3
The next morning the mantua-makers arrived in sequence, an hour apart. Each inspected Ariana’s wardrobe and had her in and out of gowns so they could try new trimmings and overlays of gauze or net. Each departed with two gowns to refurbish and a commission to create a new one, with all speed.
Lady Cawle observed and advised. Ariana’s mother had excused herself to visit an old friend. Ariana wished she’d been able to do the same, though she had no friends in Town as best she knew.
As Ethel fastened her back into a plain gray walking dress, Ariana grumbled, “I don’t see why a lady shouldn’t have a substitute of the same size to go through the tedium of fittings.”
