'Yes, ma'am,' Cally responded. 'The seamstress brought an excellent selection of both, and we have already chosen.'
'And your jewelry, Aurora? What will you wear?'
'Just my little gold chain, ma'am,' the girl said.
'I have a pair of aquamarine drops that will be perfect with your gown,' the dowager said. 'While Calandra will be the finest peahen in the family, you should not appear too plain. After all, we are seeking the proper gentleman for you, am I not correct, Calandra?'
'I certainly agree, ma'am,' Cally answered, hiding the jealousy she felt over her husband's grandmother giving Aurora family jewelry to wear. Still, Aurora should have something. Smiling, she said, 'And your gown, ma'am? What have you had made for yourself?'
'Nothing as fine as what you two girls have,' the dowager replied. 'My gown is of a deep blue silk the seamstress said is called Midnight in Morocco. I do not need to show such fine feathers any longer. After all, I am an old woman,' Mary Hawkesworth finished. 'I have no desire to catch myself a husband.'
The Bowens and their two elder daughters arrived in late morning the day of the ball. The younger daughter was almost ill with excitement.
Aurora immediately took Isabelle in hand. 'It's just a dancing party,' she reassured the girl. 'We went to them every night when we were in London. I was constantly exhausted. You will have a marvelous time, I promise you. How pretty you are. You shall take all the beaus, and I am already eighteen. Practically an old maid!'
'Ohhh,' Isabelle said, 'I am nowhere near as pretty as you are, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. Will you sit with me tonight?'
'Of course,' Aurora replied, patting the younger girl's hand.
'Do you think your brother is going to propose to my sister?' Isabelle asked ingenuously. 'My parents have been doing a lot of whispering lately, and grow silent when any of us girls are about. Betsy is quite mad over George, you know, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. I think he is wonderful too. I wish I weren't just sixteen.'
'But you are,' Aurora said, 'and there is plenty of time for some handsome gentleman to steal your heart, Isabelle. Now, why don't you call me Aurora.' She lowered her voice. 'We are almost family.'
'Let us let nature take its course, and allow Betsy to be surprised in her own fashion, Isabelle,' Aurora suggested. 'Come, you must see the gardens. They are lovely right now. Not as exotic as our gardens in St. Timothy, but beautiful in a different way.'
Together the two girls exited the house arm in arm.
'What a sweet girl Miss Spencer-Kimberly is,' Lady Elsie said to the dowager duchess. 'Why, she has put our Isabelle right at ease with whatever she said to her. How kind! What a pity our Willie is so young. She will certainly make some man a fine wife. Have you thought of any prospects for her?'
'No,' the reply came. 'Aurora is a young woman of definite likes and dislikes. But she does have good sense. I shall allow her to find her own mate, and she will, I am certain, make a good job of it.'
Then together the two women went into the drawing room where George and the vicar were awaiting them. Sir Ronald had a broad smile upon his face.
'My dear,' he said to his wife, 'Mr. Spencer-Kimberly has requested my permission to ask Elizabeth to marry him. I have, of course, given him it. I think we can be certain that Betsy will not be unfavorable to his proposal, eh?' He chuckled broadly. The vicar was a tall, full-figured man with a ruddy complexion and sandy hair.
'Oh, my dear boy!' Lady Elsie cried, dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.
'Go and find the chit, George,' the dowager said sharply, 'and get it over with before we are all prostrate with the excitement.'
Grinning, George bowed to the trio and hurried off to find his intended, who was in the hallway, directing the unloading of her family's baggage coach with particular emphasis on the trunk that held the ball gowns.
'Come along, Betsy!' he told her. 'Peters will see that everything is perfect, I promise you, won't you, Peters?'
'Indeed, sir' was the reply. 'I shall have the gowns unpacked immediately, and pressed, Miss Bowen.'
'Thank you,' Betsy called as she allowed George to drag her out the door into the sunshine. 'Where are we going?' she asked him.
'You'll see,' he said, leading her through the house's beautiful gardens, past the lake, and into a lovely marble summerhouse that overlooked the water. Seating her upon a marble bench, George knelt upon one knee. 'Miss Bowen,' he began, 'er, Betsy. Will you do me the honor… the supreme honor, of becoming my wife?'
'Yes,' said Betsy Bowen.
'We cannot remain in England,' George continued earnestly. 'I must return to St. Timothy very soon. We would have to make our life there in the western Indies, not that we couldn't occasionally visit England.'
'Yes,' replied Betsy Bowen.
'It is a very isolated life, as I have previously explained. You will have little female company but for my mother and the servants. Of course we can go to Barbados, and Jamaica, to socialize whenever possible.'
'George, get off your knees,' Betsy Bowen told him. 'I love you. I will most certainly marry you. I understand that life on St. Timothy will not be anything like life here in Herefordshire, but I know I will be happy because we will be there together.'
He stumbled to his feet. 'You will marry me?'
'Yes, George, I will,' she replied. Men were so dense. 'Where is my betrothal ring? I wish to wear it tonight and dazzle all the girls who have come to cast their nets at you. They will be most disappointed. Shall we have Papa officially announce our engagement? When will we marry? It must be fairly soon, I expect.'
'We don't have to return to St. Timothy until late autumn,' he said. 'From June until then there is danger of severe storms. We should leave probably in early November. That way we will be home in time for Christmas. That would please my mother very much,' he told her.
'Do you think your mama will like me?' Betsy wondered.
'I know she will!' he said happily, and then he drew forth a ring from his pocket and placed it on her finger. 'It isn't very large, for I am not a rich man,' he explained.
Betsy looked down at the round pink pearl which was surrounded by diamonds. She held her hand out, admiring the ring. Then, looking up at George, she smiled through her tears. 'It's beautiful!' she said.
'You're crying,' he exclaimed, quickly sitting next to her and placing a comforting arm about her shoulders.
'I am so happy,' she said. 'Will you not kiss me, George? I believe it is the traditional thing to do under these circumstances.'
Gently he brushed the tears from her cheek, and then George tenderly kissed Betsy Bowen's pursed pink lips. It was not the first time they had kissed, and he always enjoyed it greatly when their mouths met. This petite young woman with her dark blond curls, and her big gray-blue eyes, had the most astounding physical effect upon him. She was sweet as sugar water, and as warm as whiskey going down his
