The first thing Bathsheba did was to search for her father to quiz him on any upcoming events in which they might be involved. The search barely took a couple of minutes as Mr. Baxter was in the library, where he spent the majority of his time. He confirmed that the Baxter family did not have anything on their agenda for the 21st of the month, which didn't really surprise Bathsheba. His attention returned to what he had been doing without so much of a raised eyebrow. That was her darling father, who loved her dearly, but who was ever consumed by his latest business endeavours.
As soon as she had reached her bedroom, she'd gone through her wardrobe in search of suitable evening wear, but had found nothing to her liking.
This is ridiculous. Why am I bothered about what I wear? My clothes are decent and Mrs. Pemberton is known to be unimaginative when it comes to fashion. She usually wears something quite unsuitable. She was talking to herself as she re-examined her dresses a third time.
If I am honest, it is because I don't wish to disappoint Mr. Hutton. I like him. There, I've said it.
She put both hands to her cheeks. She could feel that the admission had warmed her face. She wanted to cry because she knew that it would end badly, once again. If she were classified as a spinster today, there was a good reason. The men she was drawn to were almost inevitably, all wrong for her. Years had been lost with trials and errors through no fault of her own. The duds had always come to her.
Well, this will be my last attempt at socialising. It will be agreeable for a change to be escorted to a soirée on the arm of a gentleman.
She'd made a feeble attempt to contact her cousin James hoping to learn more about Mr. Hutton. It was feeble because contacting him had made her feel guilty, like she was going behind someone's back, which she was, of course. James wasn't in London, so she had been able to breathe a sigh of relief. She had committed to going to the concert and that was it. It hardly constituted a declaration or obligation of any sort.
As nothing in her closet pleased her, she made a trip to her dressmaker's to see what she would be able to offer. She had two weeks to produce something.
As everyone knows, the servants are always aware of what is going on in neighbouring households. It was Peggy who casually informed Bathsheba that Mr. Hutton was away on business. She had guessed that her mistress was disappointed that Mr. Hutton hadn't called since their afternoon in the museum. As a result, she quietly patted herself on the back as she saw Bathsheba's mood brighten. She would love for her mistress to find someone with whom to settle down and make a home. She wasn't yet too old to have children, either. Peggy was projecting herself onto her mistress because there would be little chance for a maid to marry now that she was thirty-five and without a prospect in sight.
The morning of the 20th, Mr. Hutton left his calling card with the intention of returning in the afternoon to see Mr. Baxter and his daughter. It was all Bathsheba could do not to giggle upon seeing the card. She was no better than a sixteen-year-old.
Her dress had been delivered the day before and she had tried it on twice; just to make sure it had nothing wrong with it. Her dressmaker had worked wonders in a short time. She had had the advantage of adapting a dress that had been ordered and then declined by another client. It was a smidgen more extravagant than Bathsheba would normally have considered, but only a wee bit. In a way, she was glad that her hand had been forced, because the dressmaker couldn't promise anything else in time.
Because of her age, Bathsheba could now wear dresses of a darker colour. This dress was a deep burgundy silk crepe over a deep burgundy sarsenet. Its body was cut low and square around the bust with the bosom trimmed with a slender roll of crepe intermixed with jet beads. The skirt was not too full. It finished in fairly wide scalloped edges, each scallop with an embroidered burgundy rose. The weight of the embroidery contributed to the attractive way the skirt fell to her feet. The jewellery she would wear with it was of jet to match the dress's trimmings. The aigrette headdress was also trimmed with jet.
Bathsheba had never felt this elegant - or nervous.
Mr. Hutton called in the afternoon as his card had indicated.
Her father came out of his library to make his acquaintance, only to discover that he had already met Alistair Hutton some years previous. They immediately fell to talking about things that had taken place since their last meeting. The conversation then turned to current affairs, leaving Bathsheba waiting patiently to garner Mr. Hutton's attention. In the end, she laughed and went about making sure they both had sherry rather than tea.
When Hutton mentioned the next evening's event, her father finally realised that the man might have come to see his daughter too. He made an excuse and left them for a quarter of an hour or so in the salon.
Bathsheba was wearing a soft blue day dress made of shantung silk which flattered her figure and brought out the colour of her eyes. For Alistair, there was no doubt that she stirred something within him. All the time he had been talking with her father, he had been aware of her on the periphery of his vision. It had been hard to concentrate on everything her father had discussed because he had been imagining how his life would be with her at his side.
As soon as they were alone, he apologised for not having been in contact sooner.