He smiled. "That is the better answer."
Restoration is less romantic in practice than in speeches: it smells of limewash, it produces dust in places no dust has any right to enter, it requires invoices, scaffolding, arguments about timber, arguments about gold leaf, arguments about whether cherubs ought to be cleaned or left with a dignified patina.Phoebe discovered she preferred patina when cleaning cost seventeen pounds; Jonathan argued for proper restoration; Phoebe argued for solvency. They compromised so often that Lady Enderby declared them practically married already.In due course, they were formally engaged.Mr. Pike gave his blessing with tears in his eyes, and then asked whether Jonathan intended to remove Phoebe from Ashcombe Wells."No, sir," Jonathan said. "I hope to remain near enough to be useful, provided Miss Hartwell does not object to marrying a man often covered in plaster dust."Phoebe said she had managed worse substances during subscription suppers.The wedding was set for late summer, after the Assembly Rooms reopened. Phoebe insisted upon this order."I cannot marry in the midst of scaffolding," she said.Jonathan looked amused. "Many marriages have less support."She struck his sleeve lightly with a folded program.By July, the roof was sound, the ceiling repaired, the gallery strengthened, and the painted clouds restored where water had stained them. The golden stars shone again—not garishly, but with the soft gleam of something rescued rather than replaced.The reopening ball became the greatest event Ashcombe Wells had ever known. Every lodging house was full. The high street windows were dressed with blue ribbons. The bakery produced little iced cakes shaped like stars. Mrs. Bell created a headdress called "The Phoebe," which involved feathers, ribbon, and more height than Phoebe felt any sensible woman required.On the evening itself, the Assembly Rooms blazed with light. Carriages filled the square; music floated through the open doors. The ballroom, once shored and silent, now shimmered beneath chandeliers. Fresh garlands framed the gallery. The floor gleamed. The air smelled of beeswax, flowers, silk, and anticipation.Phoebe stood at the entrance beside her uncle, receiving guests. She wore a gown of soft blue silk remade from one of her mother's, with pearl combs in her hair. She had not intended to look beautiful; she had intended to look respectable, efficient, and calm. Judging by Jonathan's face when he entered, she had failed in at least one respect.He bowed before her. "Miss Hartwell.""Mr. Meer.""You look—""Take care. Lady Enderby is listening."Lady Enderby, standing three feet away, said, "I am old, not deaf."They Were Supposed to Be Arguing Over Plaster and Ledgers — They Ended Up Falling in Love
They Were Supposed to Be Arguing Over Plaster and Ledgers — They Ended Up Falling in Love
Chapter 18
Theme:
Font Size:
24px