A Country Wooing by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1987-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The Wickfields were no sooner seated at breakfast the next morning than the cook began sending messages up to them via Mollie Prawne. First they were told that a brace of fowl had been sent down from Penholme, and should she prepare them for tea, as a different menu had been settled on earlier?

“We had better, for likely as not the children will come, and they will like the fowl. Yes, tell Cook to go ahead and prepare the fowl as well as the ham.”

Next it was a basket of fruit from Penholme’s pinery, and what were the plans for it? It, too, was to be prepared and arranged to form an edible centerpiece for the table. When breakfast was finished and the ladies had begun the chore of readying the house for a visit from Londoners, for all this fuss and bother was only to impress the Exmores, a head of cheese and two quarts of cream were delivered. There was a note addressed to Miss Wickfield stuck into the basket, which she opened with some impatience at their benefactor.

It read: “Dear Duck: To save your backhouse boy his forays up the hill, pray tell me if there is anything you require for this afternoon. Your obedient servant. P.”

She smiled and scrawled off a reply on the back of the same paper. “Dear Obedient: We require guests, as many as possible, with large appetites to consume the meal you have sent. A.”

Alex always liked to include the children in any treat, and after reading her note, he issued the order that the children were to be dressed up to attend. Exmore’s carriage and his were required to haul such a number of people. When Rosalie entered the saloon, she immediately began berating Alex for his thoughtlessness.

“Whoever heard of bringing children along to a grown-up party? Aunt Alice, I apologize on behalf of this brutish brother of mine.”

“We’re glad to have them.”

Certainly the children were happy to be there. Nor were they much bother, for it was only afternoon, and they soon ran outdoors to amuse themselves in the sunshine. When they had left, Rosalie looked around to see how the place was holding up. She hadn’t been to visit the Wickfields since Alex’s departure three years before. Nothing had changed. The same carpets, same draperies, not a chair recovered or a new bibelot added to the room. She liked to be always changing and improving her own surroundings.

“Have you seen the lovely new Carlton House tables they are using in London?” she asked. “Really desks, with dozens of little drawers. So sweet. Bertie got me one for my study. One of them would look good in this room, Auntie—just there between the windows.”

“We’re not up to all the new rigs,” Mrs. Wickfield told her. “We have the old Kent table desk in the study that we use for our writing.”

“I remember it, but these new desks are much more elegant. Not great, heavy things like those of Kent.”

“It would be out of place here.

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