She had a lot of trouble getting dressed the next morning. She had no idea what type of dress was meant for a ball and what was meant for casual day to day. She finally chose a small gown that she thought had to be for every day. She dressed and hoped she had chosen correctly. The dress that had gotten her into all the trouble lay safe over the back of the chair that still held the sweater. She used Helen’s brush for her hair, pulling it back and away from her face with barrettes. She only blotted her face with a bit of powder and put a small amount of color on her lips. She’d never worn much makeup in the first place, happy with the way she looked naturally.
She could smell coffee floating through the air, which surprised her, considering how big the place was. She went through the hallway, following her nose to find the kitchen. When she went in, the cook stared at her as if she was completely out of her mind. She smiled weakly.
“H…Hello.”
“Can I help you, lady Helen? Did you not receive the breakfast you wanted this morning?” The older woman looked at her sympathetically.
“Um… no… I just… wanted to see how you were doing. How have you been?”
The cook blinked at her, her face revealing her confusion. “I’m well, madam. I hope that you were able to sleep.”
“Yes, I…I certainly did. I… am famished so I will just… get going now.” She grinned and backed out the way she’d come in.
She berated herself for going into the kitchen without thinking that it would not be where this family would eat. There was a great dining hall across from the vast living room. She pulled open the double doors and slipped through, pulling them closed behind her. Her father was seated at the head of a long table, holding a newspaper in front of him while he ate from a plate of eggs, biscuits and bacon strips.
She eyed the bacon hungrily. It had been a very long time since she’d eaten. She felt like it had been days. She hurried to the seat on his right and sat down. He gazed at her.
“You are still feeling happier?” He asked.
“I am, papa.”
“That’s wonderful. Have you chosen to change your seat then? You will sit next to me now?”
She moved her eyes down the table and saw that a plate had been set in front of a seat further down the table. She looked back at him. “I don’t want to sit far away from you, papa.”
He gestured to one of the girls standing on the other side of the room. She came over to him, holding her hands clasped in front of her.
“Yes, sir?”
“Bring Helen’s plate and utensils down here, Anna. She will sit here from now on.”
Anna grinned wide at Eve. “I’m so glad. Would you like me to take your plate and get your breakfast for you, madam?”
“Yes, please.” Eve nodded. “And may I please have a few extra pieces of bacon?”
Anna’s eyes widened. “More than usual, madam?”
Eve hesitated. It sounded like that might be quite a lot of bacon from the tone of Anna’s voice. She nodded. No matter how much bacon came on her plate, she felt strongly she would eat it.
When Anna left, she turned back to her father. “Papa, do you have a painting of me with the dress that I was wearing last night to the ball?”
Mr. Downing put the paper down and looked at her, lifting a large glass of water and taking a sip. “I don’t believe so, Helen.”
“Will you commission one to be painted for me? I love that dress, and I never ever want to forget it.”
“I would be happy to do that.” He smiled with that warm smile again, and she loved him for it. She could see some resemblance to her own father, though the hundred plus years between them had made many changes to the family appearance. She was amazed she looked so much like her ancestor that it fooled them all into thinking she was her.
But it was time to return home. And she couldn’t do that without the painting.
“How long do you think it will take for the painting to be complete?”
“That depends on the artist, dear. And are you in a hurry? Is this going to be…some kind of gift?” He was teasing her.
She grinned. “Yes, it’s for your birthday. It’s going to be a surprise!”
He laughed. “Not now, it isn’t.”
“That’s okay. It was a surprise when I just told you!”
They laughed together.
The first time she saw the painter her father had chosen, whose name was Eric Anthony, she was enthralled with him. He was not like the men at the ball or even the men in her Jane Austin novels. He seemed so down to earth, almost as though he had come from a more relaxed period in time, like she did. He shied away from pomp and circumstance.