new ball gown. I can hardly greet my guest in an old ball gown.'
'Since none of our guests will have seen any of your ball gowns, Calandra, I do not understand why you need another one,' Valerian said dryly.
She glared at him. 'Do not be such a pinchpenny with me, sir. I will not embarrass myself by appearing in an old ball gown.'
'Then you shall not,' he said, 'nor shall any of my ladies. A seamstress shall be called in to make ball gowns for you and Aurora and Grandmama. It is only fair, I think.'
'What a fine idea!' his grandmother said, a twinkle in her eye.
'I do not really need another gown,' Aurora said, 'but I will not refuse your kind offer, Valerian. Perhaps, Cally, you will let me help you and Lady Mary Rose to repay my lord duke's kindness.'
'Oh, yes! You were always better than I in matters like this,' Cally said, delighted that her sister had volunteered her services. Perhaps she would not be angry at Aurora any longer. 'Mama always said you were good at planning entertainments.'
Well, thought the dowager, I will have some help in this endeavor, for she had quickly seen that Calandra was going to be absolutely no help at all to her. Aurora, on the other hand, would certainly be of value, and, the dowager suspected, probably had an eye for detail.
The following day was Sunday, and they traveled down into Farminster village to church. It was March, and a brisk breeze blew across the fields. Some of the trees were beginning to show signs of leafing, their buds plump and exhibiting green. Here and there, clumps of bright yellow daffodils were in bloom. The coach horses stepped smartly down the road, drawing up before St. Anne's. A footman jumped down from the rear of the coach where he had been riding, and opening the door, lowered the steps. Holding out his hand, he helped the ladies to exit the vehicle. The gentlemen had ridden, and were even now dismounting.
The dowager led the way, nodding to this side and that as the villagers greeted her, the women curtsying, the men doffing their caps as she and her companions passed. Now and then she would stop a moment to greet someone by name. As they reached the porch of the stone church, her sharp eye spied the women she had been seeking.
'Ahhh,' the dowager said, smiling toothily, 'my dear Lady Bowen. How'd ye do? And your lovely daughters too, I see, and Master William. A lovely day, isn't it? Have you met my grandson's wife, the young duchess?'
Lady Bowen was a tiny, birdlike creature with pale blue eyes and sandy-brown curls. She curtsied. 'How nice it is to see your ladyship again,' she twittered, for she found the dowager formidable. 'No, I haven't met the duchess yet.' Her eyes darted between the two girls.
Mary Rose Hawkesworth drew Calandra forward. 'Calandra, Duchess of Farminster, Lady Elsie Bowen, the vicar's wife.'
Lady Bowen curtsied while Cally nodded coolly as she had seen her London friends do when presented with someone of a lower station.
'And this is the duchess's sister, Miss Aurora Spencer-Kimberly,' the dowager continued, more pleased when Aurora held out her hand, curtsied prettily, and greeted Lady Bowen politely, than she had been with Calandra's high tone and slightly insulting manner. She turned, calling, 'Valerian, come and bid Lady Bowen a good morning before we go in to services, and bring George.' And when the two men came and the duke had done his grandmother's bidding, the old lady introduced George to the Bowens. First Lady Bowen, and then her son, William, a freckle-faced lad, who if the gossip had it correct was a little hellraiser, and his mother's despair. 'And here, dear George, we have Miss Elizabeth, Miss Isabelle, Miss Suzanne, Miss Caroline, and Miss Maryanne Bowen. Such pretty girls, Lady Bowen,' she complimented their mother, 'and all very accomplished, I am told. You are a fortunate parent indeed, and will certainly find husbands for them all when they are old enough.'
'Oh,' Lady Bowen twittered, 'Betsy is quite old enough now!'
'Is she indeed?' the dowager purred, and then with a nod she beckoned her family into the church.
'Really, Mama!' Elizabeth Bowen was outraged, and not just a trifle embarrassed by her mother's enthusiasm.
'Well, you are old enough for marriage,' her mother protested, 'and I am told that Mr. Spencer-Kimberly is looking for a wife. He will return to the western Indies, where he has been raised to continue to manage St. Timothy island plantation when he finds a suitable mate. He has an inheritance
'How on earth do you obtain all this information, and so quickly?' Betsy Bowen asked her mother. 'Why, the duke and his family only just returned this week to Farminster, Mama.'
'I have my sources,' her parent replied smugly. 'Remember, Betsy, you are not the only eligible in the neighborhood, and I have heard whispers of a ball in May at the hall. A fine young man like Mr. Spencer-Kimberly will be snapped up quickly, my girl, and your dowry is not so large that you can afford to turn up your nose at such a prize.'
'Mama! Mama! The organist is about to begin the processional,' William Bowen cried to his mother.
'Gracious, thank you, Willie. Come, girls! We are late!' And Lady Bowen, skirts flying, hurried into the church with her family. Quickly taking their places in the front two pews, opposite the duke's private pew, they took up their hymnals and began to sing. Betsy Bowen could not resist glancing over into the duke's pew at George. He did look nice, and he had greeted her, and each of her sisters, most politely by name. He didn't appear at all high-flown or overproud. If only Mama wouldn't embarrass her by pushing her at him. I had best take matters into my own hands before that happens, she thought to herself.
When the service was over and they walked from the church, Betsy managed to maneuver herself so that she was walking next to George Spencer-Kimberly. 'Do you ride, sir?' she asked him. 'We have such lovely countryside hereabouts.'
'Perhaps you would show it to me,' he responded, 'if, of course, your parents would permit it, Miss Elizabeth.' He liked this girl already. She wasn't silly or flirtatiously vain like the girls he had met in London. She was straightforward, and looked to be sensible.
'Mama, Mr. Spencer-Kimberly would like to ride with me one morning if he has your permission,' Betsy called to her mother.
Lady Bowen was astounded. Good Lord, how had Betsy elicited that invitation? Pray God she hadn't been forward, and Mr. Spencer-Kimberly thought her a lightskirt. 'I shall have to speak to your papa, Betsy,' she told her daughter, and then, 'Will you come to tea today, Mr. Spencer-Kimberly? We should be so pleased to receive you. Five o'clock, at the vicarage.'
'I should be pleased, ma'am,' George answered Lady Bowen.
'Oh, Lord,' Betsy muttered beneath her breath.
'I promise not to hold your mama against you, Miss Elizabeth,' George murmured with a low chuckle.
Startled, her eyes met his, and Betsy blushed, then said, 'You understand, don't you?'
He nodded. 'I have a doting and anxious mama too.' Then he bowed to her, tipping his hat. 'Until this afternoon,' he said.
He is really too good to be true, Betsy thought, amazed at her good fortune. If he really is wonderful, we shall be engaged by the time that ball is held in May, else I lose him to some other girl! She stood watching as George rode off with the duke.
'How did you get him to ask you riding?' her sister Isabelle asked, coming to stand beside Betsy. Isabelle was fifteen. 'Mama is ready to have an attack of the vapors, else he think you loose.'
'I simply asked if he rode and said we had pretty countryside,' Betsy said, linking her arm in Isabelle's as they walked to the vicarage.
