The Vicar's Wife

4

"The blue?" Hattie held the fabric up before her, scowling. "I think not!"

Tossing it aside, she went to the wardrobe as her maid deftly caught the gown. A cream one sailed out at Danes, then a white as her mistress searched through for the perfect one.

"Which do you think complements me the best, Danes?"

"You look well in most colours, Miss Hattie-"

"I don't want to look well- I must be perfect! It is The Ball, Danes! Everyone who's anyone will be there!"

"Perhaps the plum gown then, with the bows?"

"Garish!"

"Pink taffeta?"

"Juvenile!"

"Muslin then,"

"I wore that only a fortnight ago!"

"Mistress-"

"If you are not going to say anything helpful, Danes-!"

"What is all the fuss about?" Lucille Foster entered the girl's quarters, her expression impatient. "Hattie, child, why are you not dressed? We are nearly set to depart!"

"I cannot find a thing suitable to wear!"

"Danes, select something appropriate-"

"She's had no useful suggestions at all, Mamma!"

"Quiet, girl. Sit down now. I'll call Edwards to begin arranging your hair while Danes finds a dress. Gracious! There is no limit to your fickle nature!"

It had been a trying day for the ladies, as they'd spent it bickering over the colour of invitations and the kind of flower to have at the following luncheon. Lucille had finally won out in her preferences but gave her daughter the choice of flowers to be on the cards.

Still pouting, Hattie sat fidgeting while one maid brushed, combed, and twisted her hair up, the other laying out the plum gown. Her scowl was intense as she eyed the fabric in the mirror.

"Not that one, Danes-!"

"It's fine, Danes. Thank you, Edwards." Lucille Foster got up, ushering Hattie to the middle of the room. Danes began the uncomfortable process of fitting the corset, then overlaid it with the lovely gown.

"Mamma, this gown is-!"

"It's perfect, dear. Look." Turning the girl around, their reflections greeted her. Hattie's protest died in her throat at the vision staring back at her.

"Mamma...?"

"I believe you owe Danes an apology, dear."

Never one to hold long onto a grudge, nor stubbornly cling to an opinion, Miss Foster spun to face her maid. Thrusting her hands out, she caught Dane's.

"I should never doubt your judgment! How well I look!"

"Thank you, miss."

Shaking her head, trying not to laugh aloud, the maid waited until the ladies were gone from the room before giggling. Hattie Foster was a trial to deal with, but in possession of such a joyful, carefree, generous spirit that one could not stay irritated with her for long. Danes had been with the house since Miss Foster a just a child and loved the silly girl dearly. Sighing, she began the task of straightening up the dressing room.

"Have a good night, Miss," she murmured softly.

Her mistress was almost bouncing in the carriage as the Foster's made their way to the grand mansion where the ball was to be held. Excitement turned into movement, for she was nearly beyond control in anticipation. Carriages and coaches of all shapes, sizes and grandeur had arrived ahead of them, the girl's eyes bulging at the luxurious display of wealth. It should have been intimidating, but Hattie Foster was as intrepid as she was naïve. This was shaping up to be the most exciting adventure of her young life.