Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Yes, most definitely. I will describe every small detail,” I promised, although I hoped I saw it the way she would. I couldn’t be sure I’d notice the glamour she dreamed of at all. My views on the marriage mart were sorely different than hers.
Chapter One
Miriam Bathurst
Without even a knock to prepare me, the door to the bedroom I’d been given at my uncle’s home on 18 Mayfair Street swung open and my aunt Harriet came barreling into the room, carrying a gown the color of the bluest sky and grinning so brightly her gums were on display above her teeth. She smiled that way often. I now prepared myself for those wide tooth grins, knowing that something was about to be announced in her loud, strange American accent. She always spoke as if I were in the other room. I wondered if it was because I struggled with her accent and many of the words she used. Unlike the Americans I had read of in books, my aunt was not from those areas. My uncle had made his fortune in the transport of whiskey, tobacco and cotton in New Orleans, Louisiana, and he had met my aunt there. It hadn’t taken me but a moment to realize not all Americans were alike. They were indeed very diverse.
“It’s here, honey, and it’s a beauty!” she proclaimed as she laid the gown out at the foot of my bed. “I said something fit for a princess and the dressmaker delivered,” she paused, “Oh what is her name? It’s French, that I do recall.” Aunt Harriet began to bite her lower lip, which was a habit of hers as was talking too loudly as if I had a hearing impediment.
“Marguerite Badeaux,” I offered, although I knew Aunt Harriet wouldn’t remember it the next time either. She often forgot names amongst other things. Just yesterday, she was looking for her slippers that she’d taken off, as she often did, and the entire time she had been carrying both of them in her left hand.
“Yes, yes, well, she has done just as I asked. Look at this will you.” She waved her hand at the gown on my bed and sighed as she placed both her hands on her chest dramatically. “You will be a vision. Even more stunning than your introduction to the queen and you were a true star then. The way she so obviously approved of you, but then who wouldn’t? You have the face of an angel. I didn’t think it possible another dress could outshine that one, but this one has and oh how thrilling. You’ll be married before we can even blink!”
The gown was everything Whitney would love. Aunt Harriet was correct in that it was remarkable. I dreaded tonight so fiercely that I couldn’t even appreciate its stunning qualities. I had been in London for almost two months, preparing for the season to truly begin. However, it had been more intriguing than I had expected, for Uncle Alfred had not provided me with a proper English chaperon like my mother had said he would do. Instead, he had left me in the hands of Aunt Harriet and that, in itself, had been entertaining. She knew nothing of the ton’s rules and restrictions. Her mishaps and odd behavior brought a smile on my gloomiest of days. I’d been enjoying myself here more than I had ever thought possible.
I was sure my letters about my outings with Aunt Harriet had amused Whitney to no end. I could almost hear her musical laughter as she read my penned descriptions of my days spent at 18 Mayfair. I missed her terribly and hoped soon she would be sent for a visit. Mother was too concerned about my introduction into society that she didn’t want Whitney here this soon to distract me. I was already distracted with what was expected of me. Even with the daily entertainment provided by Aunt Harriet, I did so miss my home.
“I’ll send Betsey up to you shortly. Your hair is always glamourous, but I believe, given the time, Betsey can place it so that even a crown would pale in comparison.”
I doubted my aunt’s fanciful belief, but it was no hardship to sit for Betsey and let her do what she would with my hair. I had wanted to trim it for so long, but mother refused. The heaviness of my auburn locks often caused my head to ache. However, mother seemed to believe it was one of my finest attributes. I disagreed, but my opinion was of no value, it would seem.
“Thank you, Aunt Harriet,” I replied simply. For I was thankful. For many things. I was thankful that she wasn’t an uptight bore. I was thankful she was happy with the fact my uncle had dumped me on her to marry off. I was thankful that if I behaved properly, I’d have a good chance at giving my sister a better life.