Angel in Scarlet (Bound and Determined #4)(37)
“Of course I did. I would never leave out such important information. A week. One perfect week in the country. And at such a lovely time of year. Perhaps the leaves will even begin to turn. I do love the country when the harvest is in and there is a sense of relaxation in the air. I remember when I was a girl; your grandfather always had the most wonderful party to celebrate all the work being done. Cook made my favorite mince pies and I would eat myself sick. It was the only time she made mince pies other than Christmas.”
If her mother started reciting the recipe, Angela would scream. Her own worries were great enough without listening to the wonders of her grandfather’s cook’s mince pies one more time. And her mother always ended with repeating the recipe, although Angela wasn’t sure she’d ever actually stepped foot in the kitchen.
“Two cups of raisins and one of currants, red ones. Cook always said that was the secret—and if she could get them, some fresh gooseberries. I don’t know how she managed so late in the year, but it always made all the difference. And strong black molasses.” Her mother smacked her lips in a most unladylike manner. “I can taste them now.”
“And why don’t you instruct our cook to make them? I’m sure she’d be happy to prepare a dish that you love so much.”
A cloud blocked the sunlight pouring in the window, and for the briefest of moments her mother’s face fell into shadow. “I don’t know that I’d like that. And, besides, it is a secret recipe. I promised not to share it when Grandfather’s cook told me.”
Angela was quite sure that the purpose of the promise had been not to share the recipe between households, not to keep it only to herself, or what was the purpose in sharing at all? Angela was convinced that even when her mother was a child it had been clear that she was not of a truly domestic bent. “Then the recipe will be lost.”
“Nonsense, Angela. I am certain that you must know it by now. I’ve told it to you a couple of times, and you do have a retentive memory.”
More like a couple of dozen times, but that seemed beside the point. “Maybe sometime I’ll try repeating it back to you, and you can tell me if I have it right.”
“What a wonderful idea. But now we must concentrate on what you should bring to Lady Perse’s. You’ll need several day dresses, a couple that are appropriate for formal dinner, and one, maybe two, ball gowns. I wonder if I should find a way to inquire whether Lady Perse will have dancing on the first and last nights or just the last—or what if she wants to dance every night? It is always so troubling when one doesn’t know. One likes to be prepared, and gowns do take so much space in the luggage, and your father is always insistent that I don’t need carts for my trunks. Men have it so much easier. Their clothing simply does not take up the same amount of space. I think your father’s whole wardrobe takes up less space than one properly packed gown, and you know I do insist on proper packing. A gown is never the same if it is squished and crunched. The wrinkles never come out properly, no matter how it is ironed or how much starch is used.”
And this too was an old tale. Next her mother would begin to discuss how many extra bonnets and slippers she could bring if she needed to bring only one gown. And Angela could only hope she did not start on bringing one’s own hair irons as opposed to borrowing those of her host.
“And we will not even talk about straw hats. A lady does need a proper straw bonnet in the country, even when summer is past. There is nothing more lovely than a young lady with russet ribbons on her bonnet as the weather turns cold. Do you have any russet ribbons? I think we got you some last year, but then everyone was wearing that shade of dark blue and I am not sure that we ever used them. I will have to ask Maggie. I do think you need some russet ribbons. And do you have a gown with russet? No, I don’t think you do. But if we added some ribbon to that forest-green one, it would look most splendid, so autumnal. And you do want to look your best. Men like a woman who makes the effort. Even a plain girl is so much prettier if one can tell that she cares.”
Angela leaned forward and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Why don’t you pack for me? You’ve always understood what suits me far better than I know myself. And you can add any ribbons you like.”
“I believe you are trying to get out of the task,” her mother answered with a gentle smile.
“You do know me too well. But I know that even if I do it myself with Maggie, you will simply undo it and redo it anyway. No matter what I pack, it will be what you want that ends up in my trunks.”
Her mother patted her hand. “Just don’t tell your father how many trunks I pack.”
“Won’t he see for himself?”
“Oh, he’s not coming with us. He may show up at the end of the week, but he has things to do in Town.”
Probably a few afternoons at the club with the papers and a good bottle of brandy. Maybe a visit to his tailor to order two more of the same hunting coats he’d purchased last season. “So it will be just you and me? How wonderful. Perhaps we can spend an afternoon walking through the fields together. I used to love that when I was a child, and I hear that Lady Perse’s estate is quite beautiful.”
“I am sure you won’t have time for me. There will be plenty of eligible young men wanting your attention.” Her mother stopped and turned to Angela, her face suddenly serious. “Although I do remember those walks. Do you remember how tired you would be at the end? Always wanting to be carried.”