“I’m so glad you could come,” Pernilla continued. Her hand strayed to a stubborn coffee stain just over her hip. Mother’s face sagged as she took in Pernilla’s gown of gunpowder gray silk, striped with white and blue. Her overpowdered hair left a trail behind her that settled like smoke on the carpet. She sailed across the room like a man-of-war, showing the brocaded tips of her shoes and layers of lace-trimmed, starched petticoats. “Lucille, my dear Lucille, how wonderful to see you!” exclaimed Pernilla Ogilvie. A crystal chandelier hung over a gleaming mahogany table, around which were clustered a half-dozen Chippendale chairs. Windows were covered with shimmering damask curtains. The maid showed us into a drawing room as large as the entire first floor of the coffee shop. William Cook Junior and Miss Matilda Cook are here for tea with Mrs. The door opened and an Ogilvie maid stared at the backside of my grumbling mother. She turned around and swatted the hem of my skirt. “When I was young, my family had a lovely carriage, and we always rode to tea. Mother bent down suddenly to brush off the bottom of her gown. I looked at her closely, unaccustomed to the gentle tone of her voice. “You might turn out to be a beauty after all,” she said. She licked her thumb and wiped a smudge of dirt off my cheek. Knowing your grandfather, he’ll be giving away the silver on the street corner when we return.” Mother tugged at my bodice to straighten it. If this was how the upper class felt all the time, no wonder they were all so cross. The stays bit into my stomach and my shift was already sweat-soaked. I had to breathe in short puffs as we waited at the front door of the Ogilvie mansion. It must be guarded with great discretion and good-nature, otherwise it will create you many enemies. Wit is the most dangerous talent you can possess.
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