Page 10 of The Gentlewoman Author

Mrs. Eliot blinked at them. “Yes, of course. Let me show you to your rooms.”

Louisa found the same luxury in her chamber as in the rest of the house. She washed with the water provided in a China basin, was undressed by Nellie, Aunt Mary’s maid, and made her way to her bed where, after a few minutes of indulgent weeping, she fell deeply asleep.

“Darling, I hate to disturb you. You’ve slept only twenty minutes, but I’ve just convinced Agnes to write to her son. We must make our escape while she is occupied, and you will find so much delight here in Bath. It cannot wait.” Aunt Mary’s words were full of an enthusiasm that Louisa had never heard in her aunt. She agreed to be ready in an hour. At the door, Aunt Mary turned to Louisa. “Wear your walking dress and be sure to put something comfortable on your feet.”

Louisa made haste to prepare herself for going out, though she considered it the height of rudeness for Aunt Mary to have wakened her after a long, exhausting journey. Louisa schooled herself into the docile girl she had been created to be and dressed in less than half an hour.

They did not go directly to the Pump Room as Mrs. Eliot suggested. Indeed, Mrs. Eliot did not accompany them at all. In her contemplative mood, Louisa welcomed the near solitude, not wanting the company of a stranger who might force her into conversation.

They made their way to a shop-lined street where milliners, drapers, haberdasheries, bakers, grocers, and shoemakers assembled in an endless parade of merchandise. Despite her melancholy, Louisa found herself cooing over kid gloves, a plumed bergère hat, and a burgundy beaded reticule. Never having experienced such a plethora of options, Louisa’s heart forgot to ache and began beating with tranquility. Using the money her father had allowed her for the visit, she would outfit herself with new gowns and accessories. The excursion to Bath would not be a waste after all.

By the end of the afternoon, she and her aunt walked back to the townhouse, burdened with parcels and a calendar bookmarked with various fittings at the dressmaker’s. Aunt Mary stopped. The abrupt action caused the person behind them to bump into her. No damage was done, but Aunt Mary did not seem to notice the near disastrous collision. She stood before the window of a bookshop. Louisa followed her aunt’s gaze to the display, which featured a novel covered in deep pink canvas. Gold lettering announced its title: A Woman Who Loves. Louisa turned to her aunt to urge them on. The packages were cumbersome. However, a smile teased the corner of Aunt Mary’s mouth, and a certain brilliance shone in her face.

“We may go in, if you like. I’ll take your things so you might peruse the store,” Louisa offered.

Aunt Mary turned abruptly, her eyes shifting to the ground as she secured the packages in her arms with an air of efficiency. “Not at all. We must be on our way.”

Louisa must remember to purchase that book.

The advantages of being reserved are too many to set down; we will only say that it is a guard to a good woman, and a disguise to an ill one. It is of so much use to both, that those ought to use it as an Artifice who refuse to practice it as a Virtue.

The Whole Duty of a Woman, An Infallible Guide to the Fairer Sex, 1737