Back Roads to Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #6): A Novel Read Online Free

lighting must be taken—wax candles could drip onto the dancers below. As for the music, four musicians would be best—a piano and violin, perhaps a viola . . . certainly a flageolet would be less blaring than a horn. Fortunately, the waltz was no longer frowned upon, Queen Victoria herself having given her stamp of approval.
    And so ran Leititia’s thoughts.
    The village of Midbury, of course, did not boast an assembly room; the great hall at Middleton Grange would have to do. Inspite of everything, “class” would be very much in evidence. To flout or disobey the unwritten laws of society would be a terrible breach of etiquette. Still—Letitia determined even now—no cord would be stretched across the ballroom as at some country balls, the upper end of the room being appropriated by the aristocracy, and lesser personages being relegated to the lower half. How embarrassing for Quincy, to be corded off from those he wanted to impress, and at his own gala, too. Unaccustomed perspiration beaded Letitia’s upper lip, though winter was far from over and the house was plagued by drafts in spite of its coal fires in every room.
    Moreover, Letitia wondered now, increasing her agitation, should the ball be preceded by a large sit-down supper, or would light refreshments be sufficient? Bother! This was more anxiety-laden than she had realized.
    “Better get that needlewoman of yours onto the job right away—” Quincy, having made his wishes known, prepared to go off to his day in the mill’s offices with a pleased expression on his rather heavy features; money could accomplish so much! But as yet, it had failed to get him what he wanted most of all—recognition by the aristocracy.
    “I will, Quincy. Everything’s under control,” Letitia said with a confidence she didn’t feel. “There’s no need for you to fret about a thing.” That was all she needed—Quincy puttering and fretting the entire three months.

    “What’s the matter?” It was Sarah, opening the door to Allison’s room, stepping in, coming to the bedside. “I saw Mama coming out of your room and I knew something was wrong. Are you sick, Allie?”
    “Am I ever sick?” Allison enjoyed marvelous health. Marvelous health, high spirits, a vivid imagination, and boundless energy.
    Sarah, not so endowed, was carried along on the tide of her sister’s enthusiasms many times and admired her greatly.Younger, milder, more colorless in looks and in personality, Sarah had not a single jealous bone in her thin, childlike body. But neither did she have the slightest smidgen of passion in her entire makeup and, consequently, observed her sister’s zeal for life with constant amazement mixed, at times, with trepidation.
    Now she asked cautiously, “So why are you in bed? Why did Mummy come up here?”
    Allison’s toast arrived at that moment, carried by Becky, now so caught up in the little drama as to be almost visibly vibrating with excitement.
    Allison looked at the tray with distaste. “Go back, Becky, and bring me a decent breakfast, eggs—” Allison loved coddled eggs, as Becky well knew.
    “Oh, no, Miss,” Becky gasped. “Missus told me this’s all I was s’posed to bring. No matter what her begs for, her said—”
    Allison muttered a word that would have turned her mother’s eyes cold. Sarah put a hand to her mouth; even Becky, accustomed to such exclamations, pursed her lips and looked severely disapproving.
    “Allison!” Sarah said. “And in front of Becky, too.” Becky managed to look properly affronted.
    Allison spluttered but restrained any further outbursts.
    Her day, having started out so well, was disintegrating into something aggravating, not filled with the fuss and frenzy that should happily mark wedding preparations. But then, no one knew, not even Sarah. Consequently, everyone went their usual way, fixing fires, carrying trays, dressing, eating breakfast as if nothing momentous were happening.
    “I’m sorry, Becky,”