The Perfect Finish

Chapter Fourteen - Taking Stock

"Oh, we have scarce found time to put head to pillow!" Davina bit delicately into a cucumber sandwich and smiled.

It wasn't a relaxed smile.  Just a satisfied twitch of the lips, like the warning stamp of a fresh stallion confined to a loose box for too long. But it wasn't unfriendly. 

Anna sipped tea from a delicate china cup and nodded.

"We stayed at Lord Arcott's garden fete till three in the morning! Can you imagine? It did not even feel late. When we finally finished there, the moon was so bright that it could just as well have been daytime! And of course, by the time we reached home and had our hot chocolate and Mary finally untied everything, and I was able to put on a nightdress and go to bed, it actually was daytime!  Can you imagine?"  Davina laughed. "So droll!"

"So did you sleep?" Anna asked.

"Eventually. I was determined to stay awake, but Aunt Louisa went straight to bed and since I had nothing to do, I thought I may as well go to bed after all." 

Anna caught sight of Mrs Rapston's face and looked down at her cup.

It was the first time they'd met since the garden party. Davina's clothes were vivid, her neckline plunged and her lips painted bright red. She was not garish - and truly, the bright colours suited her well. But she did look bold. And after weeks of lectures about debutante fashion calling for pale colours and understated embellishment, Davina's appearance was a shock.

Anna sipped her tea and nodded again.

They were at Lady Treworthy's, and when they left in their carriage Mrs Cosgrove gave a heartfelt sigh.

"Louisa Rapston is everything that is acceptable," she said stoutly, "But that young woman - I just hope she doesn't pull her aunt down with her when she has her comeuppance."

Anna looked across the carriage in surprise. It took a great deal to shake Mrs Cosgrove from genteel speech.

The older woman noticed and took a deep breath. "Well - let's hope she will come through."

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Upstairs in the house on Baron Street was an office.

It was a lovely room with a box seat window and two walls lined with bookshelves. The books sat behind glass doors, dust free and never touched. On a wall over the fireplace was a gilt framed portrait of Mr Alexander Cosgrove with two hounds.

This was his study, and there was no evidence that he had ever possessed a dog. But such was the fashion in portraits.  Since his death, Mrs Cosgrove did not come to the room. But she encouraged Anna to search his shelves for something to read, if she so desired.

It was the nicest room in the house. 

On the shelf was Debrett's 'Commoners of Great Britain' and she'd spent some time looking through the pages.

She took it out now and it opened too easily to the page she wanted.

TALSTON MANOR, COLERY, ESSEX. Withand, Thomas. b. 23 Apr 1763 m. 6 May 1790 Henrietta, only da. Miles Dashforth, lieut, and heiress presumptive. 

The book was old, but that was the house. And if Roger Withand was the one for her, this was her legacy too.  Roger was probably listed in the latest version, and one day his wife would be printed there too.

It was going to be Roger. And acknowledging this now was the sensible thing to do. Much better than wasting more of Papa's money on clothes and vouchers and coachmen and high class cooks. 

Anna put the book away and looked out the window.  At old cobs trundling over the paving stones, pulling merchant carts. At a young servant woman deep in conversation with a man in labourer's clothes. At a woman in a dark dress and a bonnet holding two children tightly by the hand.

When she was married this would be lost. And she was going to miss it. 

She turned from the window and left the room.