The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,25
She paced her room then returned outside to the stables in search of the headgroom, Glum. After a long and informative talk she and the bandy-legged man devised a plan that Cara hoped might help Richard overcome his fear of horses. She was contented with her day until she remembered the ordeal scheduled for the evening.
The thought of being scrutinized by Wilton's cold eyes sent a tremor of apprehension down Cara's spine. Her grandmother had cautioned her to remain inconspicuously in the background. She doubted if the Duchess would approve of her performance so far. Once more bracing her shoulders as if going into battle, Cara went indoors to prepare for the evening.
"Hold still, Belin, or I'll never get this sash tied."
Cara knew her voice was sharp but her frayed nerves were close to breaking. The children had been dressed and brought to her for a last minute inspection before they went down to see their guardian.
"There now. That's just perfect." Cara patted the bow in place and stood back to inspect the children one final time.
Richard was impressive from the frothy lace of his cravat to his shiny black boots. Gowned in pink, Belin looked angelic.
"I doubt if anyone will recognize us as the group of ragamuffins this morning," Cara announced, eliciting a weak smile from Belin and a vacant stare from Richard. He wore his habitual sulky expression and Cara knew that for him the evening would be a disaster.
Turning to the mirror she examined her own appearance. She had chosen a dark mustardy colored wool dress, bulky and uncomfortable for a June evening. The matching cowl-like headdress hung limp across her shoulders and down her back. Framed by the yellowish brown material, her pale complexion held an unhealthy pallor accentuated by the rice powder she had used to cover her brows and lashes. There was a ghostly quality to the nondescript figure in the mirror that amused Cara even as she winced at her non-personality. "Grandmother would approve," she muttered as she followed the children out of the room.
Outside the double doors of the large salon Cara pressed each hand and nudged the children forward as the footmen threw open the doors. While all eyes were on Richard and Belin, Cara slid inconspicuously along the silken wall just inside the doorway.
The salon was oddshaped with a rounded bay jutting out toward the back gardens. It was lavishly furnished in velvets, satins and brocades, however, despite the heavy furnishings, the room possessed an airy quality due to a myriad of beveled windows which reflected the candlelight and picked up the greens and golds which predominated and refracted the color like tiny suns glowing on the perimeter. The high vaulted ceiling was ornamented with richly carved plaster oddments and populated by glittering chandeliers hanging over the bay area and a comfortable seating area.
Cara smiled, remembering her grandmother's comment that "nobody ever looks at servants." Aside from a stir of activity as the children entered, her own presence had gone unnoticed. It was as though she were invisible, watching the players on a stage.
Her heart swelled with pride as she watched Belin chattering gaily, the only sign of nervousness a slight fidgeting with her dress sash. Richard was having a more difficult time. He stood ramrod straight, answering questions thrown at him by his uncle, Edward Tallworth, the man who had been with Julian at the lake.
"The pain was excruciating, Letitia," a heavily rouged octogenarian shouted at her equally ancient companion. "It radiated all down my right leg. It was the outside of enough that I had to resort to a cane."
"Well, my dear, that's what comes of all those rich foods." Letitia patted her diamond necklace, adjusting it more comfortably beneath her double chin. "It's gout for certain."
"Nonsense!" the old woman snapped. "That's for old fogies."
"La, Harriet. It's not like we're in our first bloom of youth." Letitia jabbed her fan into her friend's ribcage earning herself an affronted stare. "In my mind I'm still twenty but when I look around I'm surprised to note all the young ones. Innocent lambs, the lot of them."
Cara smiled as both ladies raised lorgnettes to survey the assemblage. She felt slightly sinful, eavesdropping on the women's conversation. Her own eyes went to the whist players in the bay area. She noted the details of the ladies' silk and muslin dresses, sighing over the beautiful jewels sparkling at exposed bosoms and wrists. The men's clothes she barely glanced at, except for one or