“It is hardly desirable amongst theton,” her sisterresponded. “I was most fortunate that I was spared that burden.”
Mattie reached up and smoothed back her hair. “My red hair is not a burden. It is the same color as Mother’s hair.”
“It makes you stand out, and not in a good way,” Emma declared.
Mattie pursed her lips as she tried to control the anger that was whirling inside of her. When she was younger, she had been self-conscious about her hair color, but now that she was older, she was grateful that she shared that trait with her mother.
Emma dropped down on the settee in a huff. “I do believe you would make a good match with a widower,” she said. “And to do so, you don’t need to debut. I am sure that Father could arrange such a thing for you.”
Mattie blinked, taken aback by the callous thing her sister had just said to her without a hint of remorse. “You cannot be in earnest.”
As her sister was about to respond, a knock came at the door, interrupting their conversation.
Not bothering to wait for Mrs. Watson, Mattie walked over to the door and opened it. A tall, lanky man stood there, holding black gowns in his arms.
“Miss Bawden?” the man asked.
She nodded. “That is me,” she replied.
He extended the gowns to her. “The dressmaker asked me to drop these three gowns off for you,” he revealed. “She said she would have the rest of the dresses you commissioned in a week or so.”
Mattie accepted the gowns, draping them over her arm. “Thank you,” she replied before closing the door.
A groan came from behind her. “Do I truly have to wear a black gown?” Emma protested. “It will make melook so drab.”
Turning around, Mattie responded, “Yes, you have to wear the gown. We are in mourning for our aunt and uncle.”
Emma held her hand out wide. “The things I do for my family,” she declared. “At least I can go to the village soon.”
“By the way, Lord Winston will be accompanying us,” Mattie shared, extending Emma a gown.
Her sister’s eyes grew wide. “Lord Winston?” she asked. “When did you speak to him?”
“I spoke to him briefly when I was on my walk,” Mattie responded, keeping her response vague. She didn’t want to divulge that she had been alone with Winston in the woodlands.
“Perhaps I shall go on a walk with you tomorrow,” Emma said. “I hadn’t realized Lord Winston was such an early riser.”
The thought of Emma going on a walk with her was laughable. Her sister was not one for nature, waking up early or walking, for that matter. Frankly, everything about a morning walk went against her sister’s core beliefs
Rather than respond to Emma’s ridiculous remark, Mattie suggested, “Why don’t you change before Lord Winston arrives?”
“I think I shall,” Emma said eagerly.
After Emma hurried up the stairs, Mattie followed at a much more sedate pace. She entered her sister’s bedchamber and saw Franny sitting on her bed, staring vacantly at the wall.
“Franny,” Mattie said gently, “the dressmaker dropped off our mourning gowns. Would you like me to help you change?”
Franny met her gaze and nodded. “I would like that,” she responded in a weak voice.
Mattie stepped forward and helped Franny into her gown. Once dressed, her cousin resumed her seat on the bed, looking lost in thought.
Hoping to break Franny out of her pensive mood, she shared, “We are going to the village today. Would you care to join us?”
Franny opened her mouth to reply, but Emma interrupted. “You don’t want to go with us, do you?” she asked. “It will be boring for you.”
Mattie shot her sister a frustrated look. “Franny is welcome to come with us.”
“But the carriage will be crowded if she comes, especially since Lord Winston is accompanying us,” Emma pointed out.
