your aunt is feeling, and try to reassure her.”
Alexandra looked at her doubtfully. “Once Aunt Eliza has succumbed to the vapours, Grandmama, she usually takes to her bed for the day.”
Lady Beauchamp sighed as she stood up. “I know. But I must at least try to set her mind at rest.”
A few hours later, Lady Beauchamp looked across the parlour and smiled fondly at her granddaughter who was seated on a chaise-longue at the other end of the room. The ladies, sans Mrs Grantham who had retired to lie down prostrate in her bedchamber, had removed to the Yellow Parlour after partaking of a light luncheon of fruit and cold meats. John excused himself after the meal, laughingly shaking off his grandmother’s and sister’s protestations that he bear them company with the assurance that he would find looking over his accounts of far more interest than talk of London fashions, and Society gossip.
Viewing Alexandra now, Lady Beauchamp thought that the pretty parlour provided a perfect backdrop for her lovely, young granddaughter. Dressed in a charming yellow sprig muslin gown, with a matching yellow ribbon threaded through her Titian hair, Alexandra presented a very fetching picture indeed. She was engaged in the timeless ladylike occupation of embroidery, and looked the personification of a gently-bred young woman as she threaded her needle in and out of the cloth. Lady Beauchamp found herself romantically wishing that Alexandra could be captured on canvas in that particular pose, and even went so far as to name the imaginary portrait: It could be called “Lady at Leisure”, she mused. Or “A Gentlewoman’s Laudable Pastime.” Or even, she thought more expansively, “An English Woman Seen at Her Best.”
Alexandra, however, abruptly ruined her grandmother’s imaginative line of thought by giving a most unladylike howl of pain as her threaded needle pierced the soft flesh of her thumb. “Ouch!” she said, and grimaced as a drop of blood splashed onto the cloth lying on her lap. She laid the embroidery to one side and looked ruefully at her grandmother. “I have never been able to master embroidery, Grandmama. I constantly prick my fingers, and drip blood all over the cloth. It is most vexing and I loathe it! I would not embroider if I had the choice, but Aunt Eliza says that a young lady should have at least one feminine accomplishment to be acceptable to Society.” She sighed, then continued, “It is strange, is it not, that I managed to master Latin, French and mathematics with ease, yet all the feminine accomplishments that a young lady should have, have eluded me. I cannot paint with watercolours, or embroider, or carry a tune, or play the pianoforte. I am a dismal failure at all these things, and am sure to be a great disappointment to you in London, Grandmama.”
Lady Beauchamp looked kindly at her disconsolate granddaughter, and said bracingly, “Nonsense, my love! No matter how much Society prates on about feminine accomplishments, which, in my opinion, are utterly useless in themselves, you have what it takes to be a true success. I can tell you what the ton , especially the gentlemen, really value, and you have those qualities in abundance, my dear. You have a wonderful face and figure, and a sizeable fortune. No matter what anyone else says to the contrary, Alexandra, this is what truly matters in our world,” she finished rather cynically.
“Well, Grandmama, if that is all so true, all I need do to obtain an overwhelming success, is put on a certain vapid air. I shall simper and defer to the gentlemen at all times when I am in London, and I am sure to be even more sought after than the legendary Gunning sisters were!” Alexandra said with a deadpan expression.
“Alexandra! Don’t even contemplate it!” Lady Beauchamp said in a horrified voice. “Why, if you do as you say, you will become a dead bore, and...” she broke off suddenly as she saw the mischievous twinkle in her
Alexandra looked at her doubtfully. “Once Aunt Eliza has succumbed to the vapours, Grandmama, she usually takes to her bed for the day.”
Lady Beauchamp sighed as she stood up. “I know. But I must at least try to set her mind at rest.”
A few hours later, Lady Beauchamp looked across the parlour and smiled fondly at her granddaughter who was seated on a chaise-longue at the other end of the room. The ladies, sans Mrs Grantham who had retired to lie down prostrate in her bedchamber, had removed to the Yellow Parlour after partaking of a light luncheon of fruit and cold meats. John excused himself after the meal, laughingly shaking off his grandmother’s and sister’s protestations that he bear them company with the assurance that he would find looking over his accounts of far more interest than talk of London fashions, and Society gossip.
Viewing Alexandra now, Lady Beauchamp thought that the pretty parlour provided a perfect backdrop for her lovely, young granddaughter. Dressed in a charming yellow sprig muslin gown, with a matching yellow ribbon threaded through her Titian hair, Alexandra presented a very fetching picture indeed. She was engaged in the timeless ladylike occupation of embroidery, and looked the personification of a gently-bred young woman as she threaded her needle in and out of the cloth. Lady Beauchamp found herself romantically wishing that Alexandra could be captured on canvas in that particular pose, and even went so far as to name the imaginary portrait: It could be called “Lady at Leisure”, she mused. Or “A Gentlewoman’s Laudable Pastime.” Or even, she thought more expansively, “An English Woman Seen at Her Best.”
Alexandra, however, abruptly ruined her grandmother’s imaginative line of thought by giving a most unladylike howl of pain as her threaded needle pierced the soft flesh of her thumb. “Ouch!” she said, and grimaced as a drop of blood splashed onto the cloth lying on her lap. She laid the embroidery to one side and looked ruefully at her grandmother. “I have never been able to master embroidery, Grandmama. I constantly prick my fingers, and drip blood all over the cloth. It is most vexing and I loathe it! I would not embroider if I had the choice, but Aunt Eliza says that a young lady should have at least one feminine accomplishment to be acceptable to Society.” She sighed, then continued, “It is strange, is it not, that I managed to master Latin, French and mathematics with ease, yet all the feminine accomplishments that a young lady should have, have eluded me. I cannot paint with watercolours, or embroider, or carry a tune, or play the pianoforte. I am a dismal failure at all these things, and am sure to be a great disappointment to you in London, Grandmama.”
Lady Beauchamp looked kindly at her disconsolate granddaughter, and said bracingly, “Nonsense, my love! No matter how much Society prates on about feminine accomplishments, which, in my opinion, are utterly useless in themselves, you have what it takes to be a true success. I can tell you what the ton , especially the gentlemen, really value, and you have those qualities in abundance, my dear. You have a wonderful face and figure, and a sizeable fortune. No matter what anyone else says to the contrary, Alexandra, this is what truly matters in our world,” she finished rather cynically.
“Well, Grandmama, if that is all so true, all I need do to obtain an overwhelming success, is put on a certain vapid air. I shall simper and defer to the gentlemen at all times when I am in London, and I am sure to be even more sought after than the legendary Gunning sisters were!” Alexandra said with a deadpan expression.
“Alexandra! Don’t even contemplate it!” Lady Beauchamp said in a horrified voice. “Why, if you do as you say, you will become a dead bore, and...” she broke off suddenly as she saw the mischievous twinkle in her
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