Mrs. Clack beamed, her eyes widening, her mile spreading to show an almost impossible number of teeth. She had no children of her own, and had become attached to Annabelle in particular, since she was the only daughter out of three children. Anna’s mother had never been the kind of woman to leave it all to the servants, but she had always allowed Mrs. Clack a bit of space and time with her daughter, because Mrs. Clack had been told at a young age that it would be unlikely for her to conceive, and that had proven true.
“I thought you might want to wear this,” Mrs. Clack said, turning and marching to the armoire. She opened the heavy oak doors and reached inside. The gown she collected was gorgeous, a light blue color that shimmered as it turned in the light. The neck was a low cut scoop, and the sleeves were ruffled and fell to the wrist. Down the front of the gown were pale white bows.
“It’s my favorite, you know that,” Annabeth said with a soft smile.
“And mine too,” the old woman said. “Let’s get you ready, shall we?”
Anna dressed in small clothes first, and then let Mrs. Clack help her wiggle into a corset. She sat on the edge of her bed, keeping her back stiff and straight while the old woman sat behind her, and pulled the wide ribbon at the back, tightening the corset and forcing it to give Anna a pleasing hourglass shape.
Once the corset was tied, Mrs. Clack pulled stockings onto Anna’s legs, since the young woman was unable to bend that far to do it herself. Afterwards Anna stood up and they worked to pull the gown on over her head. The skirt didn’t flair as much as other gowns in Anna’s collection did, and Annabelle was glad for that, it made it easier to walk.
Dressing took some time, a little over an hour when all was said. Then Anna sat at a small desk, and Mrs. Clack stood behind her, and they began work on her hair.
“What a sight,” a voice said from the doorway, and Anna turned her head as much as Mrs. Clack would allow to see her mother there. She was the opposite of Mrs. Clack in every way. Heavier and taller, with dark brown hair the color of the bark of an oak tree. She was beautiful, with eyes the same honey brown as her daughter.
“Thank you, mother,” Annabelle said with a smile. Her mother came into the room properly, and stood next to Mrs. Clack.
“Would you care to finish?” Mrs. Clack asked.
Mrs. Catesby nodded and took the older woman’s place. She took her daughter's hair up in two hands, and with practiced movements twisted and piled it. Once her hair had been piled up in a cascade upon her head, Mrs. Clack brought Annabelle a couple of head-dresses to choose from. The girl thought for a moment, and then settled on a small band with two flowers upon it, side by side. Mrs. Clack placed it upon Anna’s head. Then Anna’s mother helped her put on her shoes, ankle length heeled boots the color of pitch. They all went to a mirror near the door to look.
“Beautiful,” Mrs. Clack said. “I fear you may have too many men to choose from tonight.”
The women all giggled, and then Annabelle turned to hug them in turn. “I love you both.”
“And we love you,” her mother replied. “Do you have time for tea with us?”
“I believe so,” Annabelle said, and the three women went downstairs together. Mrs. Clack went off to fetch the tea while Anna and her mother sat in the drawing room.
“Tell me about father,” Anna said.
“About your father? Don’t you know him?” her mother asked with a laugh.
“I know him now. I don’t know who he was when he was younger. If he ever was younger.”
“Of course he was younger!” Anna’s mother insisted. “You want to know about when he proposed to me?”
“I do.”
“Well, it’s a bit different than your proposal may end up,” the older woman said. “I knew your father for quite some time. His mother worked for mine. Your father’s father was not a successful man, not as successful as your father. He didn’t work as hard, you see. So while I didn’t grow up the way you and your brother’s have, I wasn’t wanting either. Your father would not have been a good suitor for me, and indeed he was not. I knew him, and I thought he was dashing, but I could not be his wife, so I fell in love with another.”
“You loved another man?” Anna asked, her mouth opening in shock.
“Oh yes,” Anna’s mother said, nodding her head softly. “His name was Hector. He was a kind man, three years older than I. His family sold horses, and they had grown it into quite a business, and the horses they bred were known far and wide. He loved me as well, though we met when I was too young to marry.”
“What happened to him? He is not my father.”
Anna’s mother nodded, and a small smile curled upon her lips, but it was one that was bittersweet and sad looking. “He died.”