A Soldier’s Heart(5)
They arrived in the entrance hall at the precise moment, and Serena stood quietly while Aunt Lavinia gave her appearance a thorough appraisal. Serena had taken great pains to get the white plume on her flat gray hat to curl just so. She was rewarded with a smile.
“You will do quite nicely, Serena,” her aunt declared. “But I believe one more walking costume is also in order.”
Aunt Lavinia was a woman of her word, Serena discovered. Whereas before, the rose silk had been too dear to consider making into an evening dress, now it had to be completed immediately, plus a scarf with spangles added as a drape about Serena’s shoulders. Another gown of a blue nearly identical to her eyes was declared a must by Madame Bretin and agreed to. A walking costume in the shade minuit and a perky hat with wide satin ribbons was added. There seemed to be no limit to Aunt Lavinia’s extravagance.
Apparently satisfied, her aunt rose from the chair Madame Bretin had provided, but sat rather firmly down when the modiste draped silk shot through with silvery threads over Serena’s shoulders.
Aunt Lavinia blinked several times. “It does do wonders for her pale skin. And against those ebony curls…” The owl eyes slitted as she pondered for long moments, unconcerned that Serena was standing in nothing but her shift.
Madame Bretin considered three or four plates before selecting, a shrewd look in her eye. “This style for Mademoiselle, I believe, to show off her fine shoulders and bosom.”
Finally Aunt Lavinia nodded. “It shall be the pièce de résistance. The very thing for Lady Sefton’s ball. It must be finished by this Friday.”
“But of course,” Madame Bretin promised, clapping her hands.
Two shopgirls hurriedly carried away bolts of fabric while another helped Serena back into her gray dress, which, in comparison, seemed lifeless and dowdy. She ran her hands over the proper costume Papa had made up for her trip to London. It had seemed the finest gown she’d ever owned.
Turning away from her reflection, she tried to regain her perspective. What would Papa think? Her dress was made of good fabric and would wear well, much more practical than the fine silks she’d just chosen. She hadn’t even read the daily passages from her Bible since arriving in London. She had, instead, concentrated on following Aunt Lavinia’s dictates for a successful Season: how to curtsy gracefully; how to hide behind her fan when flirting; and, most important—perfecting a bored expression amidst the balls and soirees, never allowing anything so vulgar as emotion to show. This, Serena couldn’t quite master. Now, suddenly, she wished for dear Papa and his wise counsel, and Buckle’s gentle understanding.
“Hurry now, Serena, I want you to rest this afternoon so you’ll be in prime looks tonight,” Aunt Lavinia urged, hastening back to their waiting coach. “The pink satin, I think, very springish and…”
The bustle of activity on Bond Street caused Serena to stop and look around her. Members of the ton promenaded both sides of the street: ladies in beautiful walking ensembles, bucks in shining Hessians, and dandies, their shirt points so high, they could turn their heads neither right nor left. The street itself was clogged with crested carriages, and a high-perched phaeton clipped past, pulled by a matching pair of blacks, a small tiger clutching the rear fender. There was an excitement in the very air which called to something inside her, something that must have been only waiting, dormant, during all the peaceful years growing up alone in the rectory at Market Weighton.
“Do stop daydreaming, Serena, and get into the coach!” Aunt Lavinia whispered sharply.
Serena realized she was blocking the sidewalk and dutifully climbed up beside her aunt.
“Really, Serena, do be more attentive! Tonight might be a turning point in Blackwood’s regard. I must gauge him carefully.” Her aunt’s face was uncharacteristically stern, her huge eyes almost hard. “I promise you I won’t let this opportunity slip away from you. I would be utterly lacking in familial feeling if I did anything but my utmost to bring Blackwood up to scratch!”
With rare insight Serena knew nothing her aunt or she could do would alter what was to come. Lord Blackwood had said he would not let her go. Serena believed him.
Matt’s first maneuver of sending Serena every posy he could find at such short notice had its desired result. When she entered Lady Farnsley’s ball, her gaze immediately searched him out even in the midst of one of the saddest crushes he’d ever seen. He fought his way across the crowded room, barely acknowledging greetings now that his objective was in sight.
Tonight she was again the picture of his dream, her ebony curls gathered in bunches over each shell-like ear, framing the sweet innocence of her face. A soft pink color flushed her cheeks as he presented himself.