A Lady of Letters Read Online Free Page A
Author: Andrea Pickens
choosing a style for the new ball gowns Mama wishes me to have." She paused for a moment to regard Augusta's profile and way the light filtering in from the window highlighted strong lines of her face and the golden flecks in her hazel eyes, now sparking with a flare of annoyance." Come look at this one. It would look marvelous on you, what with your height and figure."
Augusta brushed away a loose tendril of hair. "I have more than enough gowns," she said absently as she rummaged in her desk for some other papers.
"Yes, all of which look perfectly dreadful since you paid not the slightest attention to their cut or color and let Mrs. Huston do as she wished."
"Mrs. Hulston had been making my dresses since I was a child," replied Augusta.
"That is precisely my point. The woman is a dear old thing but she has no eye for how you should be attired."
"It hardly matters. It is you who need be concerned over such things, not me."
Marianne's brow creased. "You are wrong, you know. I can see that gentlemen take notice of you, and if you would give them even half a chance...." Her finger traced over the elegant picture in front of her. "Why I couldn't help but notice that even Lord Sheffield continued to follow you with his eyes the other night, and everyone says he is a man whose interest does not usually lie with young misses."
"Hah!" Augusta gave a snort. "He was merely trying to decide whether he could get away with pitching me headfirst over the balcony into the garden fountain. And anyway, the interest of that sort of man would hardly be flattering. He is exactly the sort of gentleman I find abhorrent—vain, shallow and self-absorbed."
"But surely there are others who you find of some interest," persisted Marianne. "You seem to enjoy the conversation of Lord Harwich."
"He, at least, has a sensible mind lurking beneath those carefully arranged curls," she allowed. "But...." She finished scribbling a list of things she needed and stood up.
Seeing that the discussion was at an end, Marianne returned to her original objective. "Why don't you let me have some gowns made up for you as well. I know exactly what would suit you, and Madame Celeste's workmanship is superb."
Augusta stuffed the piece of paper in her pocket. "Oh, very well, if it pleases you." She gave another sigh. "Enjoy your outing. No doubt Mama will have a host of errands for me, so I shall be not be back for ages."
Indeed, she was not in the best of moods by the time she arrived at Hatchard's. Not only had the various stops for her mother taken more time than she had expected, but the conversation with Marianne had stirred up a number of unsettling feelings. It wasn't as if she were entirely immune to the attractions of the opposite sex, she mused, or that she wished to spend the rest of her days alone, or as the doting spinster aunt to Marianne's future brood of children. It was just that any of the gentleman she knew who possessed a brain had little else to recommend them, while those whose other attributes might have caused her pulse to quicken always proved a bigger disappointment, what with their lack of wit or common sense. In short, all of them left her feeling lukewarm at best.
Other ladies, Marianne included, seemed to have no trouble finding men they could wax enthusiastic over. Were her own standards really so impossibly high?
The carriage rolled to a halt and she forced aside such glum thoughts. Leaving her maid at the front of the shop to search out a few popular titles for Marianne, Augusta made her way among the tall shelves to hunt for an obscure work from one of the French philosophes . Twenty minutes later her arms were full of books, but the one she desired still had not been located. Eyes glued to the very top row of offerings, she rounded the corner in a hurry, anxious to find it and be done.
Whoomph.
The collision nearly knocked her off her feet, but she managed to
Augusta brushed away a loose tendril of hair. "I have more than enough gowns," she said absently as she rummaged in her desk for some other papers.
"Yes, all of which look perfectly dreadful since you paid not the slightest attention to their cut or color and let Mrs. Huston do as she wished."
"Mrs. Hulston had been making my dresses since I was a child," replied Augusta.
"That is precisely my point. The woman is a dear old thing but she has no eye for how you should be attired."
"It hardly matters. It is you who need be concerned over such things, not me."
Marianne's brow creased. "You are wrong, you know. I can see that gentlemen take notice of you, and if you would give them even half a chance...." Her finger traced over the elegant picture in front of her. "Why I couldn't help but notice that even Lord Sheffield continued to follow you with his eyes the other night, and everyone says he is a man whose interest does not usually lie with young misses."
"Hah!" Augusta gave a snort. "He was merely trying to decide whether he could get away with pitching me headfirst over the balcony into the garden fountain. And anyway, the interest of that sort of man would hardly be flattering. He is exactly the sort of gentleman I find abhorrent—vain, shallow and self-absorbed."
"But surely there are others who you find of some interest," persisted Marianne. "You seem to enjoy the conversation of Lord Harwich."
"He, at least, has a sensible mind lurking beneath those carefully arranged curls," she allowed. "But...." She finished scribbling a list of things she needed and stood up.
Seeing that the discussion was at an end, Marianne returned to her original objective. "Why don't you let me have some gowns made up for you as well. I know exactly what would suit you, and Madame Celeste's workmanship is superb."
Augusta stuffed the piece of paper in her pocket. "Oh, very well, if it pleases you." She gave another sigh. "Enjoy your outing. No doubt Mama will have a host of errands for me, so I shall be not be back for ages."
Indeed, she was not in the best of moods by the time she arrived at Hatchard's. Not only had the various stops for her mother taken more time than she had expected, but the conversation with Marianne had stirred up a number of unsettling feelings. It wasn't as if she were entirely immune to the attractions of the opposite sex, she mused, or that she wished to spend the rest of her days alone, or as the doting spinster aunt to Marianne's future brood of children. It was just that any of the gentleman she knew who possessed a brain had little else to recommend them, while those whose other attributes might have caused her pulse to quicken always proved a bigger disappointment, what with their lack of wit or common sense. In short, all of them left her feeling lukewarm at best.
Other ladies, Marianne included, seemed to have no trouble finding men they could wax enthusiastic over. Were her own standards really so impossibly high?
The carriage rolled to a halt and she forced aside such glum thoughts. Leaving her maid at the front of the shop to search out a few popular titles for Marianne, Augusta made her way among the tall shelves to hunt for an obscure work from one of the French philosophes . Twenty minutes later her arms were full of books, but the one she desired still had not been located. Eyes glued to the very top row of offerings, she rounded the corner in a hurry, anxious to find it and be done.
Whoomph.
The collision nearly knocked her off her feet, but she managed to
Readers choose
Francesca Simon
Amy Stephens
Lacey Roberts
Gamearth
Richard Price
J. K. Rock
James Beard
Py Kim Conant
Ernest Hemingway