A Season of the Heart. Dorothy Clark

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her mother on the settee. “It’s this coatdress, with the high neck, moderate cape and tight sleeves.” She indicated the dress she was considering. “See how the narrow belt above the long full skirt shows off the model’s small waist.”

      Her mother glanced at the magazine she held out, then leaned forward and placed a black feather in a pile with other black ones. “It’s a lovely dress, dear. But it’s made of silk.”

      “Yes, but you know how I hate to be cold.” She gave her mother a hopeful glance. “Could you make me this dress in velvet? It would be so lovely and warm.”

      “Well...” Her mother laid the remaining handful of feathers in her lap, took the magazine into her hands and tilted it so the candle on the stand beside her illuminated the picture. “Yes. This design is simple but elegant. It can be made of velvet.”

      “Wonderful!” She rose and hurried back to the stand by the fire. “And with velvet in the shop, you can start—” She stopped, frowned. “What color is the velvet?”

      “It’s a beautiful shade of plum.”

      “Oh, Mother—plum? With my fair skin?” She put on a pout.

      “That will not be a problem.” Her mother went back to sorting feathers. “I have a length of dark green velvet left from the cape we made for Rebecca Cargrave. I can use that for the high collar and add a wide band of it around the hem of the shoulder cape. It will look lovely against your skin and make your eyes seem bluer.”

      “Plum with dark green trim...” Her lips curved in a smile. “That’s a wonderful idea, Mother. I’ll need the dress—”

      “Before your beaux arrive—I know. Polly and Hanna are both engaged with other orders, but you’ve no need to be concerned. I’ll make it myself. I shall start cutting the pattern promptly.” Her mother looked up and smiled. “As soon as I finish attaching the trimming to the blue merino gown I made you for the holiday.”

      “Oh, Mother...truly?” She laughed and moved a little closer to the fire. “I should have known you would think of my need for a new gown.”

      “Indeed.” Her father raised his head from his reading. “You must look your very best when your gentlemen friends come to call. Have you made your decision as to which one’s hand you will accept?”

      “Not yet.” Daniel’s grinning face flashed before her. She frowned and pushed at the curls dangling at her temples. “It’s difficult to know what is the wisest thing for me to do as each man has his own recommendations. That’s why I’ve come home to decide. I need your counsel, Father. And yours, too, Mother.”

      “My choice is Mr. Lodge.” Her mother placed the last white feather on its pile, then folded the piece of fabric they rested on over them to make a neat package. “You did say he is the wealthier of the two, did you not?”

      “Yes. But—”

      “Don’t be hasty with your advice, Frieda.”

      “Whatever do you mean, Conrad?” Her mother glanced at her father, then finished folding the fabric over the pile of black feathers and started wrapping the brown ones. “You’ve always said Ellen should marry a man of means and prestige.”

      “I have indeed. And I stand by that opinion. I meant only that you are, perhaps, judging these men too quickly.”

      “Well, I don’t see how that can be.” Her mother’s voice held a hint of irritation. “Ellen has told us that both Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert are men of wealth and prestige. And that there are no personal considerations involved. Therefore, I choose Mr. Lodge as the wealthiest.”

      “He is the wealthiest at the moment, my dear. But Ellen is wise to consider the future.”

      “Thank you, Father.” Her heart warmed at her father’s smile. His approval was seldom given.

      “I don’t understand. Ellen can’t know the future, Conrad. No one can. It’s chancy at best.” Her mother frowned, stacked the small packages of feathers into a pile and secured it with a ribbon.

      “Very true, my dear—in most cases. But Mr. Cuthbert is a politician of some renown.” Her father laid down his book, looked up at her and again smiled. “If, as Mr. Cuthbert has implied to Ellen, his appointment to the position of secretary of state, by his friend the governor, is approved by the Senate, he will be a man of great influence in the entire state.” His smile widened. “That opens the path to greater wealth as there will be those who wish to curry his favor. And, of course, should this come to pass, there would also be the possibility of a national political future for him. And great prestige for members of his family.”

      “Oh, my! I hadn’t thought—” Her mother gazed up at her, a speculative look in her eyes that morphed into one of admiration. “Why, Ellen...you could attend dinner parties and soirees with our governor and...and perhaps, someday, with the president! Oh, daughter—” her mother rose, rushed to her side and wrapped her in an enthusiastic hug “—you have exceeded our plans and expectations. I’m so very proud of you!”

      * * *

      Ellen strolled around her bedroom, reflections of the flames from the fireplace dancing on the flowing silk of her dressing gown. Which man should she choose? Her father had given her a great deal to think about. She hadn’t considered that a highly placed politician would be in a position to make wealth from those who curried his favor for one reason or another.

      A twinge of unease rippled through her. Was that lawful? To sell your political influence? Oh, of course it was. Her father wouldn’t have been so approving if it were not. And anyway, what did it matter? If she chose to marry Mr. Cuthbert, his actions would have nothing to do with her.

      The uneasiness rippled through her again. She pushed it aside, stepped out of her slippers and removed her dressing gown. The softness of the mattress and warmth of the covers enfolded her. She stretched out her legs, searching with her toes for the towel-wrapped, heated soapstone the housekeeper would have placed at the foot of the bed. Ah, there it was! She placed her feet against the warmth, snuggled into a comfortable position on the down-filled mattress and yawned.

      She had been favoring Mr. Lodge as her future husband. He was much younger and better looking than the stout, balding Mr. Cuthbert. And Mr. Lodge’s dark hair and beard were a handsome contrast to her blond curls and fair skin. And he was the wealthier of the two. Still, the prestige of being a prominent politician’s wife was not to be overlooked....

      She tucked the quilt more closely beneath her chin and smiled. Imagine dining with the governor! Her mother and father would be so proud of her. And if what her father had said was true—and it surely was—Mr. Cuthbert might soon be wealthier than even Mr. Lodge. He would surely be more powerful. And there was another reason to give preference to Mr. Cuthbert. His age. He was a widower with grown children older than she. He would not demand an heir, as would Mr. Lodge. Yes, she would have to reconsider.

       What of love?

      Her face tightened. She turned onto her side and stared at the flames devouring the wood on the hearth. Willa had no right to challenge her decision to follow her parents’ advice and marry for comfort and prestige. Her friend was only jealous. Willa would be forever stuck in this small village, serving the people as their pastor’s wife, while she would be living a life of ease and social prominence in Buffalo—or attending parties with the governor and other СКАЧАТЬ