Winter Is Past. Ruth Morren Axtell

Althea turned. “Oh—” She hadn’t noticed the dress draped across her bed. “My, who put this here?” She moved to the bed and picked up the garment. It was a beautiful evening gown of jade-green gauze over a white silk underskirt. Matching green kid slippers sat on the floor beside the bed. Alongside the dress were laid underclothes, gloves, hair ribbons, even a soft white cashmere shawl. As she picked up the dress, a note fluttered to the ground. Dot immediately bent to retrieve it.

      Althea took it from her and unfolded it.

      Dearest Althy, I heard you were attending a fashionable dinner party. Please accept this dress with my compliments. I have grown much too large for it, and I know it will suit you admiringly. Enjoy it on my behalf, as my dinner party engagements are few and far between at this juncture!

      It was signed Gillian, her sister-in-law. Althea smiled despite herself. How like Tertius’s wife. She looked at the maid. “I must hurry. Let me wash. I can’t wear this garment in my present state.” She walked to the washstand and began sponging off her skin. The maid handed her the fresh underclothes and petticoats.

      “Oh, we must hurry!” It was past eight. She hoped Simon had not missed her. The maid brushed out her hair then dressed it for her. Althea turned toward the door without even glancing in the mirror. Instead she turned to Dot. “How do I look?” she asked quickly, not sure if she wanted to hear the reply. She felt a little naked with her upper arms and throat exposed.

      “You look beautiful.” The maid hesitated. “Haven’t you no jewels, miss?”

      Althea’s gloved hand went to her neck. “Does it look too bare?”

      “It looks very pretty, miss, but isn’t it usual to have a few jewels?”

      Althea nodded. She went over to her dressing table and opened a box. “I’ll wear these,” she said, taking out the only jewelry she possessed, a strand of pearls.

      Dot helped her with the clasp. “They’re just the thing,” she said in approval, giving her one last looking over.

      “My father gave them to me at my coming out.”

      “They’re beautiful.”

      “Well, I had better go down.” She squared her shoulders, feeling as if she were about to face a firing squad.

      She bolstered her courage with scripture, which she recited as she descended the stairs.

      By the time Althea reached the double doors leading to the main salon, her heart felt as if it were pounding in her throat. She gave her hair a pat with both hands, having no idea what it looked like. “‘Not my will, but Thine,’” she murmured under her breath, wanting to run as Elijah had when he fled from Queen Jezebel.

      The first thing that greeted her when she opened the doors was the noise. After weeks in the quiet household, Althea was no longer used to crowds. A buzz of voices greeted her. The light from the chandeliers and wall sconces gave the room a bright glow. Several gentlemen stood about in groups, their dark-colored evening jackets contrasting with the brighter gowns of the ladies. Although her reasoning told her there were not more than fifteen or sixteen people in the room, certainly not more than twenty, her senses felt an assault of noise, heat and light.

      Giles spotted her over the crowd of heads and came toward her. His gaunt, wrinkled face suddenly seemed the friendliest one in the world.

      “Very good, miss, that you’re here. Mr. Aguilar told me to inform him as soon as you arrived.”

      “Thank you, Giles.” Already she felt at a disadvantage, hoping she had not held things up through her tardiness. She ventured a few more steps into the room, wishing there was a quiet corner where she could fade into the background. As her breathing steadied, she noticed one or two gentlemen turn to look at her. She kept walking without meeting anyone’s eyes directly, but smiling in the general direction of everyone. Before she could reach a wall of the room, Simon came up to her.

      “What kept you so long? Dinner’s long overdue!” His tone was a sharp whisper as his dark eyes frowned at her behind their spectacles. Not waiting for her answer, he turned to Giles, giving him the signal to announce the meal.

      The couples began pairing up. Althea had no idea what the gentleman she had assigned herself looked like, so she stood waiting. All she knew about him was that he worked with Simon as a clerk of some sort.

      A young man approached her and gave a discreet cough. “Miss Breton?”

      She gave him a smile. “Yes, Mr.—” Oh, no, she could not recall his name.

      “Charles Covington, at your service,” he said, offering her a black-sleeved arm.

      “Thank you.” She made her way with him to the end of the line as the party proceeded to the dining room. Althea realized Simon had only been waiting for her for the dinner to begin. No wonder he had been annoyed. She could only hope the extra time had given the kitchen staff down below a chance to see to any final preparations. Wondering how things would proceed, knowing she could no longer do anything to assist them, she entered the dining room with the feeling that everything was out of her hands now.

      Had Daisy remembered to stir the sauces and keep them warm until the proper time? Would Mrs. Coates and the kitchen maids remember the correct order of the courses? Peering around the table, Althea tried to discern whether the hot plates had been lit. The table did look beautiful, she had to admit, as Mr. Covington tucked her into her chair. The plate glistened. The crystal sparkled. Fresh flowers added a touch of color against the white damask cloth and china.

      She watched the footmen. Giles stood back, with a nod here and a nod there, directing them in bringing in the first cover. Althea removed her napkin and spread it upon her lap as the footmen ladled out the consommé. Bowing her head, she said a short prayer of thanks. Looking up, she realized that her companion was holding out a covered basket of rolls to her.

      “Oh, thank you,” she said, taking one automatically. The conversation drowned out the other noises while the guests were being served, but once the footmen finished their task, the volume descended as everyone brought his attention to the food before him.

      Now was the moment of truth, thought Althea as she took a spoonful of soup. It tasted like absolutely nothing to her. She put down her spoon and glanced around the table trying to discover the reaction in the others. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the soup. She mentally went down the list Mrs. Coates and she had gone over a dozen times, able now to fit names to faces.

      Simon sat at the head of the table, his face looking relaxed, she noted with relief, as he spoke to his immediate dinner companions. Althea’s gaze drifted to his right, where she had been forced to usurp Lord Stanton-Lewis’s place for that of the Duke of Belmont, the highest ranking of the dinner guests. Her grace, the duke’s wife, sat on Simon’s left.

      On the duke’s right sat Lady Stanton-Lewis. A flash of recognition went through Althea. She now distinctly recognized Lady Stanton-Lewis. Althea had been seventeen and eighteen, respectively, during her two London Seasons. Lady Stanton-Lewis had been only a few years older, recently married and becoming a leader in the fashionable world. The shy, young Althea had envied her wit and beauty in a world where those qualities were highly esteemed.

      Despite the duke between them, Lady Stanton-Lewis and Simon seemed to be having a lively discussion at the head of the table. Something Simon said caused Lady Stanton-Lewis to answer in a laughing retort. The duke and duchess joined in the laughter.

      Althea had no fear that Lady Stanton-Lewis would recognize her that evening. The last time Althea had appeared in London society was eight years ago. She didn’t remember ever having Lady Stanton-Lewis address a word to her; she doubted Lady Stanton-Lewis had known who Althea was back then, unless someone had pointed out her family connections. The two had been worlds apart then—Althea one of the dozens of young ladies on the Marriage Mart—someone’s ward, at that—while Lady Stanton-Lewis was a seasoned young matron. She had made a respectable if not brilliant marriage to a baron. Althea calculated Lady Stanton-Lewis had