Paxton Pride by Kerry Newcomb

Visitors entering would be treated to a thousand reflections of candles sparkling on glass and glowing in the soft, warm sheen of wood and leather. To complete the quiet statement of aristocratic taste, the great white stairs at the end of the hall swept up and out of sight in the upper reaches of the house.
    The front parlor to the right was set aside as a cloak room to be managed by a reliable little English servant girl borrowed from the Edwardses. The one to the left was done in lilacs—white and pink only—and reserved as a sitting room for the ladies. A small table with sterling tea service and delicate, light blue Spode china cups and saucers given to Iantha by her mother graced one corner of the room. Another corner held a table laden with tiny cakes, delicately iced in white and pink. The room was impeccably staffed by two more of the Edwardses’ maids.
    Down the hall on the right the library was open. More somber, there were no flowers or other decorations, only an extra long table set with bottles of whiskey, rum, brandy, liqueurs and boxes of cigars. Harold, their New York butler, would handle this room. He had the quiet good sense and dependability needed for a man’s room. Nothing would go wrong there.
    The dining room opened off from the hall across the library. The great doors had been removed, leaving ample access from the hall and, from many places in the room, even a partial view of the stairs. Here was the heart of Iantha’s party, where the quiet good taste of the hall and front rooms exploded in gaiety. The ten-piece orchestra, without a cellist stills—there was never a cellist in this dismal country when one needed one—was set in the northwest corner near the French doors. A huge board at the south side of the room near the entrance to the kitchen would soon be groaning under the weight of countless dishes and platters. Hams, beeves, legs of lamb, venison, ears of steaming corn—when the time was right—and salads would lie ready throughout the evening. In the center of this table and outside on the lawn on another table sat the twin-cut crystal punch bowls surrounded by cup after cup arranged in neat lines. Hundreds of daintily iced cinnamon and sugar cakes lay on silver platters flanking the punch bowls. Iantha frowned. The room was too small—only thirty feet by sixty feet—and there wouldn’t be as much room as she would like for dancing. But the time would soon come for rectification of that particular drawback. Their next house would have a ballroom as befitted their place.
    But there was nothing of which Iantha needed to be ashamed. The room would be sumptuously decorated with countless candles shining brightly amid the yards of white streamers. Cherry, peach and apple blossoms already filled the corners, lay in great, flowing arrangements around the meats and other foods, festooned the orchestra’s platform and piled in a bower over the French doors leading to the side lawn. The lawn itself would twinkle and shine almost like daytime. Lanterns hung from trees and shrubs and a special chandelier brought down from New York hung suspended between the matching, age-old oaks which formed the basis of the garden arrangement. Iantha had yet to see such an outside chandelier in Washington and was well pleased with the sensation she knew it would create.
    All in all, Iantha was pleased. The evening would be perfect, a heady step nearer to the goals she had sought for years. She smiled secretly. There was no doubt the wedding was a coup. Next year the Edwardses would borrow some of her people for their annual party. At that point no one would question the Hamptons’ arrival.
    Down the hall, Retta fluttered about in animated nervousness. Karen had already fitted herself into a full formal gown of sheerest sky blue silk and deeper-hued taffeta. White satin slippers were lost beneath the voluminous folds of her skirt. Retta had bound her hair back and