Chapter 12
Twelve
Isabel wished they could stop by the keeper of the hounds on the way to Pittsfield for tea.
She wanted to see Sir Galahad for herself so she could include an update when she wrote Jane that evening.
However, the damp ground would leave the hem of her dress less than pristine for meeting Mrs. Dalrymple and they were likely to be late.
If there was time after the tea, she would ask to stop then.
The butler showed Isabel and Mamma into the same parlor where she and David had taken tea with Mr. Dalrymple only two weeks ago.
The man stood as stiffly as he had then, only this time he was standing beside his mother.
Mrs. Dalrymple greeted them dressed in colors brighter than one might expect for a woman with a grown son, her jewelry was more fitting for a ballroom than an afternoon visit.
The combination of pale reds and vibrant greens put Isabel’s mind to work figuring out what paint colors she would use if she were to take Mrs. Dalrymple’s portrait.
A blue underpainting might help, as the vibrant colors caused the woman’s skin to appear sallow.
Mr. Dalrymple made the introductions and attempted an escape from the room. His mother called him back. “Victor, we can hardly discuss this fair if you are not present.”
He paused in the doorway. “I thought you would like to get to know one another first.”
Mrs. Dalrymple pointed to a chair. “There will be time for that later. Right now we must solve the scope of this harvest festival—”
“Fair, not festival,” corrected Mr. Dalrymple as he crossed the room to his mother’s side.
“Whatever you call it, your description was not nearly grand enough. I am sure you were mistaken in the details.” Mrs. Dalrymple looked pointedly at Isabel and Mamma.
Mamma leaned forward ever so slightly, looking more animated than she had in weeks.
Mamma truly loved the fair. “I’m sure your son told you that the harvest fair has a three-decade history.
It is a way for everyone in the surrounding villages, farms, and estates to celebrate our bounty.
It has never been much of a grand affair as it relies mostly on our meager skills to coordinate, oversee, and clean up. ”
“Lady Katherine, do you not have servants for that?” Mrs. Dalrymple looked as if someone had stepped in dog dirt.
“This is our gift to our friends, neighbors, and the tenants who rely on us as much as we rely on them. As part of the celebration, we require as little as possible from those in our employ. Although to be honest, some of them do not trust us to do the work.”
“Especially our cooks,” added Isabel with a laugh.
Mrs. Dalrymple frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. How are they to respect you if they don’t see your fortunes on display?”
“That didn’t work out well for France,” muttered Isabel, earning a sharp glance from Mamma.
Mr. Dalrymple coughed. The corner of his mouth tipped up.
Heat flooded Isabel’s cheeks. She had not meant to speak her thought.
“I did not quite hear you, Miss Godderidge. You must speak up.” Mrs. Dalrymple turned to her son, who coughed a second time. “Victor, you must call for tea. Is there a draft in here?”
“No. I don’t believe there is a draft. Lady Katherine, Miss Godderidge, do you feel a draft? I was not sure if today was in need of a fire.”
Mamma answered, “Not at all. I find this side of the room very comfortable, but if Mrs. Dalrymple is in need, then you must see to her.”
“I am perfectly comfortable, I was only worried about Victor’s sudden cough.” Indeed, Mrs. Dalrymple looked concerned.
Victor stood up. “I assure you, Mother, it was nothing. Shall I leave you alone now?”
“Not at all. We are not yet at the reasoning for such a simple affair as you have described. I believe Miss Godderidge had something to say on the matter.”
All eyes turned to Isabel. If she was to oversee the event as David had charged her, this was her moment.
“Everything we do for the fair is to fulfill its purpose, which is to celebrate the harvest and all the hands that made it happen. The more elaborate an event, the more that can go wrong. The more time one must spend worrying about the possibility of rain or the damage from an errant pig. Also, if it is too elaborate, those who live in humble circumstances will feel uneasy about their dress or manner. My friends, the Lightwoods, and I never wear our newest or finest dresses to the Harvest Ball, which is open to all, including the children.”
“Then my son was not exaggerating?” If a greased pig had run over Mrs. Dalrymple, she could not have looked more shocked.
“I don’t know what your son told you, but if it included three-legged races, archery contests, and apple puddings, then he did not exaggerate,” said Mamma.
“I am afraid I left out the part about children racing to catch a pig.” Judging from the horrified look on his mother’s face, Mr. Dalrymple added that bit of information with the motive to shock.
A maid entered with a simple tea.
If anything, Mrs. Dalrymple’s expression fell into a deeper sense of horror as they sat waiting for the maid to leave.
Isabel was sure the simple tea would be mocked in London, as would the idea that the fair was not a social event for the gentry.
Obviously, Mr. Dalrymple’s mother held higher expectations of country living.
Mamma, sipping her tea, was the first to comment. “Mr. Dalrymple, I am so glad to see you have become accustomed to our ways. I worried you might think you needed to impress us with a wide display of your cook’s wares.”
“Thank you, Lady Katherine. It was your late husband who tutored me. He has taught me much about country life.” He spoke with a sincere solemnity.
Poor Mrs. Dalrymple looked from her son to Mamma so quickly in succession that Isabel was afraid the woman might wring her own neck.
There must be a way to calm the woman. Isabel took a lemon tart. “Mother, these are the tarts I told you about. I am not sure what secrets Mr. Dalrymple’s cook keeps, but somehow she has added a dash of heaven to these.”
Mrs. Dalrymple actually smiled as she poured Isabel a cup of tea.
The conversation flowed more easily as they ate.
While it was obvious that Mrs. Dalrymple didn’t approve of the scope of the fair, she no longer seemed inclined to turn it into yet another event for those of the ton.
Even Mr. Dalrymple relaxed the stiff stance he’d kept since he failed to retreat the first time.
As the last of the tarts were consumed, Mr. Dalrymple rose and went to the window.
“It has not rained all morning. I wish to get opinions about the area I hope to use for the fair. Lady Katherine, Miss Goodridge, I realize that there is still a fair bit of mud in some places, but would you mind accompanying me? It is unlikely that another day will show much improvement.”
Isabel glanced at her half boots, glad she wore a pair with higher heels with the excuse of the mud.
At the moment, she didn’t care to examine her other motivation for wearing her tallest boots around the man they were calling on.
Especially when she felt a need to side with him against his mother.
“My shoes are sturdy enough to handle a bit of damp. Mamma?”
Lady Katherine shook her head. “I am afraid I didn’t come prepared to take a turn about your lands.”
Unsurprisingly, Victor’s mother demurred as well. She was not one for getting dirty. Victor supposed his mother’s aversion to dirt had much to do with her childhood spent as a candlemaker’s daughter. Though she never claimed her upbringing as his father had.
“Make sure you take a footman and a maid with you.” Mother’s condescending tone was almost unbearable. Even if she was correct. There would be little point in having her come to chaperone if he were to go off alone with Miss Godderidge.
Victor led the way from the parlor. “I think it will be easiest to start in the ballroom and run the day in backward order.”
Miss Godderidge followed only a half step behind him through the corridor.
Her boots clicked on the marble tiles. Since the hem of her dress hovered almost a full inch above the floor, Victor concluded that her choice of footwear was not what the modiste had measured to.
Proving his theory that she tried to stand taller than him whenever possible. Insufferable woman.
The footman held open the ballroom door, and the maid hurried to open the curtains. Miss Godderidge crossed to the center of the room and spun slowly, looking up at the gilded ceiling. “I had forgotten how lovely this room was.”
“You have been here before?”
“A few times, the Hills often hosted a Christmas Ball as this is the largest ballroom in the county.” She continued studying the room.
“I had not heard of a Christmas Ball tradition.” This could explain why his neighbors had not held one.
“I came only once. I was but fifteen. It was the last one. So it has been years since one was held. After Mr. Hill’s death…” Her voice trailed off.
The house had been vacant for over three years when Victor had first rented it.
It hadn’t taken him long to decide to purchase the property, intending to improve it and move on.
Improvements had been made, but this year was not the year to sell and likely not the next.
“I am glad to see the room come to some use. Without an entourage of friends, I have not seen the point of hosting an event.”
“You make it seem like you have no friends, yet Lord Barlow visited you. You cannot be as friendless as you came.”
“He is still about. I am surprised we have not seen him yet today.”