Edwin followed her skirts up the stairs with his eyes. As laughter floated down, he turned to Lawrence and Lydia and bowed. "I believe I will excuse myself to prepare for a busy evening. You should probably brace yourself for the onslaught as well. I will be in the main parlor when you need me." He turned and headed up the stairs with his daughter and son-in-law trailing him.
As he washed and his valet prepared him for the evening, his mind echoed with the laughter of young girls so long ago he wondered he could still hear it. The white muslin skirts with ruffles, ribbons and silk stockings dancing down the paths of his mother's garden and Edwin, standing at the window of his father's study, watching a young girl, standing at the brink of womanhood, enticing plump breasts, rosy cheeks, shining dark and curling hair, her dark heavily lashed eyes beneath winged brows with a firm and dimpled chin to match the dimples in cheeks, by her laughing mouth, her elbows and hands. His mouth watered again as it had so many decades past and he felt the familiar ache and . . . . His valet stood before him with his weskit. He turned and headed for the privacy screen and relieved his tension. He waited a little after adjusting his breeches and then returned to finish dressing.
**********
Ammie sat at the dresser as her assigned maid, Ann, brushed her silvering hair and smoothed it into a simple knot with tendrils hanging down. She smiled as the maid tried to prevent the curls from bouncing. Her hair had ever been so. She tapped the rice powder from a puff before applying it to her nose and hurriedly shook a few drops of the old rose perfume she wore on her handkerchief. Ann removed her wrapper and settled her black dinner dress over her. She fastened her jet mourning beads at her neck and tucked her locket on a black velvet ribbon between her breasts placing a filmy black fichu to cover the expanse of chest fashion dictated be open to view. She stepped into her black satin slippers and the dowager Duchess of Kenswick stood before her. The House of Barrington and old Marquess would feel no shame in her appearance. She turned as a crushed black velvet shawl was draped over her arms, a black lace fan and jet beaded reticule placed in her hands, and began her way down the hallway to the main parlor.
When a footman opened the door, she took stock of the placement of the casket and the chairs. Satisfied with what she saw, she moved further into the room to sit in the row furtherest from the evidence that her old friend was gone. Ammie was surprised by the pain that hit her with this knowledge, even knowing that his death had
As he washed and his valet prepared him for the evening, his mind echoed with the laughter of young girls so long ago he wondered he could still hear it. The white muslin skirts with ruffles, ribbons and silk stockings dancing down the paths of his mother's garden and Edwin, standing at the window of his father's study, watching a young girl, standing at the brink of womanhood, enticing plump breasts, rosy cheeks, shining dark and curling hair, her dark heavily lashed eyes beneath winged brows with a firm and dimpled chin to match the dimples in cheeks, by her laughing mouth, her elbows and hands. His mouth watered again as it had so many decades past and he felt the familiar ache and . . . . His valet stood before him with his weskit. He turned and headed for the privacy screen and relieved his tension. He waited a little after adjusting his breeches and then returned to finish dressing.
**********
Ammie sat at the dresser as her assigned maid, Ann, brushed her silvering hair and smoothed it into a simple knot with tendrils hanging down. She smiled as the maid tried to prevent the curls from bouncing. Her hair had ever been so. She tapped the rice powder from a puff before applying it to her nose and hurriedly shook a few drops of the old rose perfume she wore on her handkerchief. Ann removed her wrapper and settled her black dinner dress over her. She fastened her jet mourning beads at her neck and tucked her locket on a black velvet ribbon between her breasts placing a filmy black fichu to cover the expanse of chest fashion dictated be open to view. She stepped into her black satin slippers and the dowager Duchess of Kenswick stood before her. The House of Barrington and old Marquess would feel no shame in her appearance. She turned as a crushed black velvet shawl was draped over her arms, a black lace fan and jet beaded reticule placed in her hands, and began her way down the hallway to the main parlor.
When a footman opened the door, she took stock of the placement of the casket and the chairs. Satisfied with what she saw, she moved further into the room to sit in the row furtherest from the evidence that her old friend was gone. Ammie was surprised by the pain that hit her with this knowledge, even knowing that his death had
