An Honest Deception by Alicia Quigley

Author:Alicia Quigley [Alicia Quigley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Nov. Rom
Published: 2015-02-28T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Isobel was delighted to receive Letitia’s note; she had started to wonder if her friend would ever regain an interest in Society, and was pleased to think of this as the first step in restoring Letitia to the world to which she belonged. It was all very well, Isobel felt, for Letitia to immure herself in Kensington and befriend solicitors while she was in mourning, but it would not do for her to continue on this path. She should take her place in the world and overcome her aversion to gentlemen of fashion.

Isobel, like many another happily married woman, was determined that her friend should know the same joys she did, and she felt that Letitia was especially deserving of them, having suffered so miserably at the hands of Lord Morgan. Although she thought of Lord Eynsford as the perfect husband for Letitia, she was willing to allow that there were other suitable gentlemen available; the only difficulty was getting Letitia to meet them. She sat at her desk, Letty’s note in her hand, pondering this dilemma.

It would not do, of course, for Letty to be gadding about London, but surely now that Alfred had been dead more than six months it would be possible for her to make the occasional public appearance. Isobel’s face brightened. She had the perfect solution. She sent to the stables for her carriage and, changed her frivolous morning dress for a delightful afternoon dress of a blue silk, with a deep figured ruffle at the bottom. The weather being unseasonably chilly, she wore over it a long pelisse of white silk twill, with lapels and trim of a dark rose shade. It sported quite six inches of dark green knot work above the pink trim at the hem, and off center buttons from the high waist to the hem. Along with this staggeringly elegant ensemble, Isobel carried a paisley shawl in matching hues and wore a deep poke bonnet.

After the brief carriage ride she swept into Letty’s sitting room to find that lady half asleep on the couch, a book in her lax fingers.

“Goodness, Letty,” she said, “Only see what living in Kensington has led you to! Napping in the middle of the day like...like a dowager!”

“But I am a dowager,” observed Letty complacently. “Or at least a widow, which is very nearly the same thing.”

“You certainly don’t look like one,” said Isobel promptly. “What a fetching dress, my love. Did you make that yourself? I wish I had your skill with the needle; but of course dear Madame Celine would be heart-broken were I to suddenly start stitching my own gowns.”

“Whenever would you find the time?” asked Letitia teasingly. “As a widow I have little else to do but sew and nap and read, but you are the busiest woman I know. And your skills are so redoubtable that it does me good to know there is one area in which you cannot challenge me.”

“Pish,” said Isobel. “You certainly have nothing to be ashamed of.

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