I’m not, am I, Mother?’ He gave her an appealing look.
‘Well, George, perhaps…at this moment, let’s say. By the spring you’ll certainly be a little older,’ Cecily replied quietly, wanting to mollify him.
‘There, you see, Margaret! Our mother says because I’ll be older by spring I could go. I’ll think about it, and maybe I will come after all…I shall give it considered thought, as Papa always says.’
Edward chuckled. ‘I hope you’ll ensure I get an invitation, Meg,’ he teased, winking at his sister, wanting to make light of all this, since George looked sulky.
She laughed and nodded. ‘Of course I will. And if you come you’ll be the envy of every other man there.’
He looked surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Because all the young women will be falling at your feet,’ George announced. ‘Everybody says you’re a ladykiller.’
‘That’s enough, George,’ Cecily cut in, although she spoke mildly. ‘None of that type of vulgarity here, if you please.’ Turning to Meg, she asked, ‘Well, did you find anything interesting in the trunks?’
‘Oh, yes, Mama, I did: some wonderful frocks, all beautifully packed away in cotton bags. They’re like new. Will you come and look?’
‘I’ll be happy to,’ Cecily answered, taking her daughter’s arm. Laughing, the two of them went out together.
The attics at Ravenscar were large, and ran the entire length of the house, under the eaves. Since she was such a stickler for cleanliness and perfect order, Cecily had them cleaned and dusted once a month. Because of this, it was easy to find everything, and her neatness and talent for organization meant easy access to the chests, boxes and trunks which were stacked there.
Earlier, Meg had taken out several gowns, and laid them across a sofa which had been covered in a dustcloth. The gowns were made of silk, a light featherweight silk, since they had been designed to wear over bouffant underskirts, or hoop skirts, which had been so prevalent in the middle of the Victorian era.
Meg ran over to the sofa and picked up one made of pale green silk and held it against her. ‘I thought this colour would suit me. What do you think, Mama?’
Cecily stood facing her daughter, studying her for a moment. Then she nodded her head. ‘I must agree with you, it’s a pretty colour and perfect for you. I am sure we can have several of them remodelled to fit you. Madame Henrietta is such a good dressmaker, and innovative, she’ll create more up-to-date designs.’ Reaching for another gown, Cecily handed it to Margaret. ‘Let me see how this shade looks: it’s such a lovely blue, it reminds me of cornflowers.’
‘And Ned’s eyes,’ Meg murmured as she took the dress, held it in front of her.
‘Ah, yes, that is true,’ Cecily acknowledged, Ned’s eyes indeed. They were close, Edward and Margaret, with only a few years difference in their ages. Meg, like Richard, adored her eldest brother. He could do no wrong as far as she was concerned, and for his part Ned was protective of her, had kept a watchful eye on her since childhood. In turn, it was Meg who took charge of her younger brothers when necessary, mothering them when Cecily was away, guiding them in so many different things.
‘The blue is enchanting,’ Cecily now exclaimed, liking the way the colour enhanced Meg’s grey eyes. ‘We shall take the green and blue to London with us next week, and before we leave do go through the other trunks. Perhaps you’ll find several more which can be remade.’
‘Oh, how kind, Mama, thank you so much.’ Margaret stepped closer to her mother and hugged her in a sudden show of affection, the silk frock crushed between them.
Cecily, who was not a particularly demonstrative person, began to laugh. ‘It’s my pleasure, but Margaret, my dear, you’re ruining the dress.’
Meg let go of her mother at once, and shook the frock out. ‘I don’t think any real harm has been done,’ she murmured, scrutinizing it with some intensity.
With her head slightly tilted to one side, Cecily studied Margaret for a split second, realizing once again how pretty she had become, with her flowing fair hair and those large grey eyes, which were so beguiling. Instantly Cecily’s thoughts turned to the girl’s future, her marriage prospects. Meg would grow into a lovely young woman, that was clear. And she would definitely make just as good a marriage as Cecily’s two eldest daughters Anne and Eliza had done.
‘I shall speak to Lady Jameson next week when we return to town, Meg, in an effort to ascertain what her plans actually are. It has suddenly occurred to me that perhaps your father and I should consider giving you a small afternoon tea dance later this year, to celebrate your fifteenth birthday.’
‘Oh, Mama, that would be wonderful!’ Meg was startled by this suggestion, which was so unexpected, but the happy smile on her face revealed her genuine pleasure at the idea.
Cecily had also startled herself. She was not usually so spontaneous or impulsive, and normally spent days in deliberation about important things such as this. She wondered if she had made an error in bringing up the idea of a party for Meg, but immediately decided she could not backtrack now without upsetting her daughter. She would talk to Richard next week, but she was perfectly certain he would make no objection. He had always been quite content to leave such matters to her…the raising of their children…the running of their homes.
Richard. Such a good man. So devoted to his family, a wonderful father. The best husband any woman could ever have. She could not wait for him to come home. Her life was empty without him by her side, and lonely.
She hadn’t really wanted him to go to Italy but he had felt obliged to do so. There was some sort of problem at the marble quarries they owned in Carrara, and as the assistant managing director of Deravenel and Company, he agreed with Henry Deravenel Grant, the chairman, that he was the best person to investigate the situation. And so off he had gone with Edmund, who had never been to Italy before and was genuinely excited about making the trip.
Her brother Rick and her nephew Thomas went along to keep her husband and son company; Richard and Rick had been extremely close friends for many years, enjoyed each other’s company and travelling together. Also, Rick hoped to buy some paintings and sculpture in Florence; he was in the process of remodelling his town house in London and only the very best in art and artifacts would do. He was something of a connoisseur and had a great eye, and he had said to her only two weeks ago that the thought of Florence made his mouth water.
Rick and she had been close since childhood, and after their father’s death it was Rick who had taken over the family business. If her father had been one of the greatest magnates in industry, then Rick had surpassed him a thousandfold; today he was one of the richest men in the country, and because of his flair and genius in business her own inheritance had increased. This was a great relief to Cecily. Her husband was always at odds with Deravenels when it came to money, and it was a company that really belonged to him at that. At least he should have been running it, not Harry Grant. Like all the Lancashire Deravenel Grants, he was incompetent when it came to finance. As for Harry’s French wife, Margot, she was a woman who was riddled with overriding ambition and greed who managed Harry like a puppet master and sought to run the company herself. She probably is running Deravenels, Cecily now thought, and more’s the pity.
‘Shall
