The first week of autumn was a rainy one; quite the way of nature when he's ready to display his changing colours for the menial beings that are humans. During this wet spell, Lori, whenever she hid from Mrs. Lambert or avoided piano lessons with Mr. Inhk, spent her time gazing at the cheerful puddles outside, annoyed that her mother hadn't a notion of the magic that lingered in the rain.
"And she wishes-achoo!---to keep me cooped indoors all-day?"
Foster had found the little tike hidden in the attic, enduring a fit of sneezing among the dust and cobwebs. Lori rubbed her reddened button of a nose, her hair bouncing merrily from the action.
"Grown people never have any imagination, Foster, because if they did, they'd know the rain doesn't give children colds. Coughing poogies do..."
And although few children of Harwickshire were acquainted with Lori's enigmatic explanation of coughing poogies, many would readily agree with her testament of fairies dusting the countryside in the middle of the night, painting the trees glorious shades of gold, orange, and brown.
Some people (Raymond Lambert especially), considered autumn a breath of fresh air after the hectic days of summer. With all the work that came with the second season of the year such as visiting the vineyards and winery in Roche, overlooking shipment details, along with the occasional letters from Mrs. Lambert on how he'd indeed spoiled little Lori for anything requiring devoted and consistent effort, (he'd decided against arguing over the matter), Raymond Lambert was happy to take a break from the world of business and return to the cool grounds of Idleworth.
Idleworth Manor went through its autumn redecorating, a seasonal ordeal in which Mrs. Lambert, who prided herself on sprucing her home, swapped summer furnishings for the autumn decor (a task in which she relished for she felt she had some control over what happened in her home). Rumour had it-though the root of such gossip started with Lori-that she fluttered about the house with more energy than usual to overcome her sadness in Miss Brightley's departure for Curds.
"Mama's sad, you know," Lori had opened the conversation with the butler in her out-of-context way. She nodded in his direction while leaning to the left to identify the colour of a pouffe and space divider entering the hall.
"She'll never admit it, but it's true-I'm sure of things like this because I know Mama so well."
Lori had every right to be proud of this bit of information for few nine-year-olds can truly outwit mothers as sharp and creative as Florence DeDellia Lambert! But one can say the same regarding the lady of the house who knew her child's habits as well as she knew the walls of her home and the two spent most days circling each other like a pair of bicycle wheels.
An endless cycle it seems.
Turning away from the bannister where her mother ordered the servants below, Lori glared at the old gentleman.
"Why won't you ask me how I am so sure of this, Foster?"
"Forgive me, Miss Lori. How have you come to know this?"
The little girl gave a giddy bounce (children love the feeling of knowing something we adults do not) before attempting to squeeze her head through the balusters. Foster, with an older person's calm, caught her under the arms and drew her away. She settled into a crouch, losing interest in the balustrade when the labour men entered the hall with the autumn sofa.
"Because she's so fond of Miss Brightley and hopes Wade chooses her."
"I see."
"I already told Ruth and Anne-that foolish girl doesn't know anything, Foster. She says Wade ought to look elsewhere for a wife because if he considers Miss Brightley he'll soon find he committed a faux pas!---the silly girl wishes to flaunt her limited knowledge of French, pah! I can't wait to tell Garin."
She ducked when her mother glanced at the balustrade above.
"Is she still looking this way, Foster?"
"No, Miss Lori."
"Goodie!" and she lay flat on her stomach, planting a dimpled chin in her dainty hands.
"Foolish Anne never knows what she's talking about, Foster. Called Miss Brightley une femme fatale-I'll have to ask Garin what that means... But I'm almost certain it's not pleasant because she made a snobby little face!"
She scowled at a nearby plant before sighing.
"I wonder why Mama doesn't get a nicer girl to wait on me in the mornings. Someone smart like Miss Brightley would do, don't you agree?"
The butler gave her an indulgent smile.
"Naturally, Miss Lori."
"I like all the girls, mind you, but not quite so much as Miss Brightley. She's got lovely long hair and lets me play in it before bed-it rather looks like a river of nighttime now that I think about it. She'd fit right in with the people of Fairy Floss Forest..."
She raised an authoritative finger (a gesture adopted from her mother, the butler noted).
"And she reads beautifully, Foster. Byoo-tee-fullee!"
"Intriguing, Miss Lori."
"You are a darling friend and listener, Foster, which is why I love you so dearly!"
And with the excitement of the firecrackers Wade had set off in the garden some months ago, she threw herself at the old man. Mentally, Foster was quite prepared for her emotional burst of affection (he was seldom unprepared for her most expressive antics-something that comes with years of experience). With a bat of an eye, Lori flew away somewhere, and he noted with satisfaction that he'd have exactly thirty minutes and seventeen seconds to arrange Mr. Lambert's study and address the other servants on redecorating the dining room before extracting her from her hunt of giant brown crickets and squishy wriggling worms.
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Lorienne appears to have a lot to say in this piece! Why, such a perceptive child might alarm most people (although Lori Lambert rarely failed to surprise anyone with her chatter 😔)
No wonder her mother considers her a handful...
(Mr. Lambert, on the other hand, adores his little girl's unusually expressive nature)
Well! Must be off to find out what young Lambert's been up to during his absence. In the meantime,
Don't forget to VOTE! VOTE! VOTE!!
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Bride of Choice
Historical Fiction[Cover Design by Angel S.] Wade Lambert was known throughout the enchanting countryside of Harwickshire by friends and relatives alike to be the perfect epitome of trouble. And his handsome features and air of sophistication did not help matters as...
