Last Miss Phillips by Briggs Laura

Author:Briggs, Laura
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical romance, regency romance, christian romance, regency series
Publisher: Laura Briggs

*****

Goldleaf’s windows were alight again with lanterns and candles, its drawing room packed with the few families and citizens whose breeding Mrs. Servennia thought fit for her London guests–and a few others with whom one must make do to complete the crowd.

“Mr. Turner, a pleasure to see you,” said Mr. Hooker, greeting his fellow guest who was lately arrived with a polite bow.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” the surgeon answered.

“You’re quite welcome on these occasions, for you make a twelfth at dinner easily enough when one is in need of it,” continued Mr. Hooker, with a pleasant grin. “Is that not what is said, my dear?” This last line was addressed to the senior niece who kept house for the barrister and who had conveniently slipped away at this moment.

Mrs. Servennia, who might be of the opinion that Mr. Hooker also was an extraneous member of the party, endeavored not to show her dismay over this exchange while before her elegant guest.

“We are pleased that you have accepted our invitation, Miss Harwick,” she said. “I know our society may seem but small compared to your own, but we do hope that our manners and modest means of entertainment shall meet with your pleasure.”

“Indeed, Ma’am,” Hetta answered, “I think I have already found what I wished in Beiberry’s society, for I feel quite satisfied.” Her smile was polite, her tone charming, but her demeanor bore resemblance to artificial perfection, like a performer in a mask.

“You will play for us tonight, won’t you?” pressed Mrs. Servennia, even as she pressed her guest’s hand with this latest invitation.

“Of course. I should be honored,” replied Hetta. As she withdrew her hand and glided away, her appearance encouraged a flutter of comments among the less socially-qualified guests.

“Satin from Paris–and in such a shade of blue,” whispered Mrs. Thompkins from her place on the sofa, for the widow was inclined towards the romantic side of fashion.

“Those tucks may be all the fashion in London or Paris, but that embroidery seems a bit heavy for Mrs. Servennia’s drawing rooms,” observed Mrs. Jenner in an equally low voice as she stood by. Her own ample figure sensibly clad in her best muslin and a bonnet trimmed with shirred ribbons–in her youth, Mrs. Jenner had declined to wear silk in protest to its limited serviceability, much to the relief of her now-deceased lord and master.

“Ah, ladies, for shame–talking of silks and laces at a party itself is like talking of minces and meat pies before the dinner is served. It only serves to sour the stomach on the fine opportunities to come, does it not?” Mr. Hooker asked.

In the midst of all of this, Kitty found herself close beside Lucy Foster as they waited to be shown in to dinner. Her hostess’s niece wore a sprigged muslin undoubtedly made over from one of her cousins’ wardrobes, its shades of pale green ill-becoming her complexion.

“Miss Harwick’s dress is very fine,” observed Lucy. “It must be a real expense to dress in such things; my aunt says it’s not polite to talk about it, of course.

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