me,’ Mrs Horne said and frowned. ‘It is very reasonable, madam, but too much for me. We shall take the evening gown, but must say no to the others.’
The seamstress looked disappointed. ‘They were made for a customer who did not pay her bills,’ the seamstress replied. ‘I am letting them go at cost to recover some of my money.’
‘I wish we might take all three,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘But it cannot be done. If you would be kind enough to have it delivered to the posting inn, madam. We have some more shopping to do.’ She smiled at Marianne. ‘You will need slippers, too, my love—and a bonnet if we can manage it.’
‘It is a beautiful dress, Mama,’ Marianne said as they left the shop afterwards. ‘But expensive.’
‘I should have liked to purchase all three,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘But we shall buy some material from the market and you and Jo can make at least one afternoon dress before you leave if you each do some of the sewing.’
‘I’ll help, too,’ Lucy said and then laughed, for she was not yet as clever a seamstress as her sisters, being inclined to fall into a dream over her work.
‘Yes, you can help, dearest,’ Marianne said and smiled at her. ‘Besides, I have several dresses that can be refurbished with new sashes and some fresh lace.’
‘I have some lace put by,’ her mama said. ‘Yes, I dare say it will be enough, Marianne—and who knows, your aunt might give you something.’
‘You do not mean Aunt Wainwright?’ Marianne frowned. ‘I had rather not, Mama.’
‘I meant my aunt Bertha,’ Mrs Horne said and smiled. ‘Now, let us see what else we can buy…’
Two pairs of slippers and a pair of boots were bought next, but the bonnets proved too expensive. Marianne purchased some ribbons to refurbish her old ones, and a bunch of silk flowers. Both she and Jo were good at making and trimming their hats, and it was something they enjoyed doing together.
Jo had slipped away to the library while they were purchasing some small items from Mama’s remaining shillings, and returned with an armful of books for herself and Lucy. Her young sister was delighted with the illustrated copy of fables and thanked her sister with a hug and a kiss.
After partaking of some bread and honey and tea at the inn, they collected their parcels and climbed wearily into the coach heading home.
‘Well, that was a splendid day,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘I shall save my money again for some months and then we may do it again—perhaps for Lucy next time, because I am sure that Agatha will give you a generous sum to purchase your clothes, Jo. She would not allow you to appear with her in Bath looking dowdy.’
‘Yes, I dare say,’ Jo replied. She already had her nose in a book and was lost in a world of her own.
Mrs Horne gave her a rueful look. Jo was the least easy to manage of her daughters and she dreaded to think what might happen if she accompanied her aunt to Bath.
When they arrived back at the Vicarage, it was to discover that a letter had come from Lord Wainwright. In it, he said that he would be sending Marianne to Cornwall in one of his own carriages. She might therefore seek a refund on the public coach ticket that her godmother had purchased for her, and he had sent a small purse of gold sovereigns, which, once opened and counted, amounted to twenty pounds.
‘Oh, Mama,’ Marianne said in awe. ‘It is far too much. We must send it back. I could not take all that from my uncle.’
‘Nonsense,’ Mrs Horne said and smiled. ‘It is good of him, to be sure, and I did not expect it—but he would be offended if we returned it. You must write him a letter, my dear, and thank him for his kindness.’
‘I am very willing to do so,’ Marianne said, ‘if you think we may accept such generosity?’
‘Yes, of course. You will need some money in your purse and I was wondering whether I might sell my pearls…but now I can give them to you to wear, for you have nothing but your silver locket.’
‘Oh, Mama…’ Marianne glowed. ‘I shall keep them safe and give them back to you when I return. And I want you to take the ten pounds you spent for my clothes today, if you please. Ten pounds is more than enough for me.’
‘I shall take five, if you wish,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘Perhaps Lucy and I will have a day in Huntingdon when you two are away.’
‘Please take the ten pounds,’ Marianne said. ‘I felt very guilty to be spending all your money, Mama. You may need it and I shall be quite content with what I have.’
‘Had we known he intended to give you something we might have purchased all three of those pretty gowns, my love,’ Mrs Horne said, looking regretful.
‘I am very pleased with the material we bought, and that roll of blue velvet from the market was so cheap that there is enough for both Jo and Lucy to have something as well.’
‘You have such a generous nature,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘Your papa told me so often that you would make all our fortunes, because you were bound to marry well. He was sure that one day you would meet a young aristocrat at your uncle’s house—or a guest of the Marquis of Marlbeck…’
‘I have never met anyone I liked particularly at one of Aunt Wainwright’s dinners,’ Marianne said. ‘All her friends seem so proud and disagreeable, Mama. And you know that we were never invited to dine at Marlbeck, though of course we went to the open day in the garden as all the marquis’s neighbours did.’
‘Well, he has died, poor man,’ Mrs Horne said and sighed. ‘As yet no one has met his heir. I have heard that he spends most of his time in London, but I do not know how true that may be.’
‘Even if he lived here, it would change nothing,’ Marianne said and smiled at her mother. ‘He is probably very proud—like his uncle—and I am sure he would not wish to marry the daughter of a parson, even one as beautiful as Lucy.’
‘Well, it does not matter,’ her mother said. ‘All I want is for you to be happy, dearest. If it pleases you to marry a good man with no fortune, I shall not blame you.’
‘Oh, Mama,’ Marianne said, smiling at her through eyes misted with tears. ‘We were all so fortunate to have dearest Papa. I am sure that none of us would consider marrying a man who did not match up to him.’
Alone in her room later that night, Marianne sat at the window and looked out at the night sky. The garden was in shadow—the moon had gone behind clouds and there were no stars to be seen. She had opened her window wide, because it was a warm night and she did not feel like sleeping. Her thoughts were busy with the visit to her great-aunt and her hopes for the future. Marriage had been a distant possibility until recently, because she had known that the lack of a dowry might hamper her chances, even if friends and family universally acclaimed her as a beauty. Her father’s curate, Thomas Rowan, liked her very much, possibly enough to ask her to marry him, but he could not afford to take a wife just yet and Marianne was not certain of her answer if he did ask her.
However, she was relieved that she had been spared the visit to Bath with Lady Wainwright, for she would not have cared to be paraded on the marriage mart. Her only true experience of high society had been met with in her aunt’s house, and it had led her to have a dislike of aristocrats. She much preferred
