A London Season

A London Season Read Free Page B

Book: A London Season Read Free
Author: Anthea Bell
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plaintively. “You do not know what it is to be a Mother, Edmund!”
    Calling to mind the small army of staff, headed by the stalwart, familiar figures of Nurse Barker and Miss Merriwether the governess, who so efficiently ran the Yoxford nursery and schoolroom, Sir Edmund was unimpressed by his sister ’ s pathetic appeal, nor did he attempt to deny the obvious. “No, I don ’ t!” said he, smiling. “Almost a shame! For when I see how well motherhood becomes you , I appreciate its advantages! I conclude it has a positively rejuvenating effect — I swear you look a year younger than when I last set eyes on you, Bella, and that was over a twelvemonth ago!”
    Lady Yoxford did indeed present a pretty picture, elegantly disposed upon a sofa and clad in a gown of blush-pink barege ornamented with rouleaux of a deeper rose hue around the hem, its sleeves fashionably puffed and wide at the shoulder. Her prettily rounded chin nestled becomingly into a falling tucker. At thirty-seven, just two years older than her brother, she could boast of a complexion whose delicacy was hardly faded, while the shining deep gold of her hair was undimmed: the grey and white of her drawing room in Yoxford House set off her rose and gold beauty to perfection. Hers was an amiable character, and only the prospect of being required to stir herself to unusual activity on someone else ’ s behalf could fret her for long. So she was easily enough cajoled by her brother ’ s compliments into momentarily forgetting the tiresome matter of Persephone ’ s impending arrival, and broke into a trill of laughter.
    “Flattery will not serve you, Edmund!” she said, with mock severity.
    “I ’ m not flattering!” he protested. “You look charmingly, my dear.”
    “So she does!” exclaimed a cheerful voice, as Lady Yoxford ’ s husband entered the room. “Ay, so she does! Well, how d ’ you do, Edmund?”
    “Very well, George,” said Sir Edmund, turning to shake hands warmly with the Viscount, a sturdy, easy-going man whom he held in great affection. “And how do you go on? No need to tell me how Isabella is! I can see that for myself, as I have been telling her.”
    “And pretty well for you I know your voice!” said his lordship, chuckling. “Hallo, said I to myself, coming in through the hall — by Jove, who ’ s this fellow making up to my wife, and in my own house too? Imagine my surprise on finding it was you! We hardly expected you these two days yet. Made good speed, eh?”
    “Yes, a remarkably easy passage to Dover,” said Sir Edmund. “And how ’ s the family?”
    “Tolerably well, tolerably well!” said the proud father, smiling, as he turned to glance at the pictorial record of his offspring. “You know, you ’ re right, Edmund: Isabella don ’ t look a day older than when that was painted!”
    The picture above the mantelpiece was a group painted by Mr. Charles Leslie two years earlier, representing the Viscount and Viscountess, their elder sons, the Honourable Charles and the Honourable Henry Hargrave, then young Edward and the twins Thomas and James seated at their parents ’ feet, while the baby Maria, pet of the whole family and then just one year old, was clasped in her mother ’ s arms. Parted from his wife during the latter period of the French wars (in which, like his brother-in-law Edmund, he had served with some distinction), George Hargrave had succeeded to his father ’ s title at about the same time as the Corsican Ogre was finally defeated. His absence from England with the Army accounted for the gap in age between his second and third sons, but on coming home for good, Lord Yoxford had been very ready to make up for lost time, and the longed-for daughter, after so many boys, had at last crowned his and Isabella ’ s efforts.
    He now said cheerfully, “So we ’ re to have another addition to the family, eh? I collect young Persephone is coming!”
    Thus recalled to her sense of grievance, Lady

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