Lucrezia Magazine

Peach-tinted light poured down the cream-colored walls of Lady Deloria’s new drawing room, filling the sunlit space with a delightful atmosphere unrivaled by any parlor in the parish of Vicksburg. Lady Deloria had reached a point in her esteemed life where she had neither the time nor the patience for anything less than sheer domestic magnificence. The drawing room was octagonal in shape, with slanted walls that reached a dramatic apex nearly twenty feet above Lady Deloria’s coifed auburn curls, forming a smaller octagon of paned glass on the ceiling. The tinted glass allowed light to stream downwards upon the Diva of the household like a heavenly spotlight in a grand opera house. Rainbow prisms pirouetted along the rims of a set of fine crystal decanters, and a vase of long-stemmed lavender blossoms brushed softly against one another, teased into their wispy dance by a gentle zephyr floating in from a southern-facing window. Nine pale orange apricots were stacked in an inviting pyramid upon an engraved silver tray, and their sweet essence mingled coquettishly with the heady scent of lavender. A pot of fine Indian Ceylon tea stood brewing, and this third aromatic element elevated each inhalation within the room from that of worldly intoxication to that of the Divine breath itself.

Lady Deloria was generally quite pleased with her new drawing room, which was the latest achievement in a series of domestic renovations planned and executed by her Ladyship and her devoted husband, Lord Daniel of Whittiershire. Together, the recently reunited couple had transformed their rustic country property from a cold, inhospitable fortress into a lush, intimate summer home. They had spent months designing the gardenia-lined pathways leading to fern-filled sunken gardens. They had personally supervised the sanding and staining of the rich cedar floorboards spanning the spacious dining room, and — in one of Lady Deloria’s not-so-infrequent strokes of genius — they had decided to expand the dining area into an outdoor lounge overlooking the pine-crested hunting grounds and nearby lake. The finest architects, vintners, estuarians, apothecaries, stonemasons, smithys, sculptors, and stewards in the land had ensured that Lady Deloria and Lord Donald’s latest property would attain a level of style and sumptuousness heretofore unbeknownst to the denizens of Mother England. This goal, like so many others in their blessed lives, had been accomplished swiftly and serenely.

The house was, in short, stunning. It was more than simply a home, in the crude, common sense of the word. It was to be Lady Deloria and Lord Daniel’s crowning domestic achievement, as well as their legacy. They were nearly as proud of their new abode as they were of their three children—who, incidentally, were currently making their respective ways from various points of the earth to rejoin their parents for a month-long summer soiree.

“Mama! Papa!” the dulcet tones of Miss Oleander and Miss Alexis chimed harmoniously from the entranceway. Lady Deloria and Lord Daniel beckoned their daughters inside from their vantage point on the balcony. They had taken every care to ensure that the family reunion would be of a caliber befitting the status of their family—that is to say, outstanding. Lemon teacakes and watercress sandwiches awaited the sisters on a tiered tray, and a bottle of fine champagne was nestled in a bed of ice cubes beside it. The afternoon sunlight warmed the balcony terrace, and a mature citrus tree provided just the right amount of shade. Both mother and father were dressed in their finest garments—Lady Deloria in her raw silk bodice and full skirt with an imported sash from the Orient and white kidskin gloves that buttoned up to the wrist, Lord Daniel in a linen summer suit, his signature pearl cufflinks adding a touch of jenes se quoi. They stood with arms outstretched, beaming with pride as Oleander and Alexis, flushed from their travels, bounded into their waiting arms. One could not have wished for a more picturesque homecoming scene.

“It is ever so good to be home!” cried Oleander, tears streaming down her face. “The French are absolutely dreadful, I could not wait to return to civilization!”
“Oh, do not speak to me of dreadful!” cried Alexis, rolling her eyes impetuously. “The Australians are utter heathens!”
“Girls, girls, there is no need to remind us of England’s superiority,” chortled Lord Daniel.
“Yes, we are more than aware than our homeland is unrivaled in every respect!” added Lady Deloria, taking her husband’s hand in her own.
“Oh, how wonderful to be British!” laughed Oleander, clasping her heart gaily.
Alexis raised a glass of champagne, admiring the bubbles skipping upwards to the curved surface of the glass.
“Here’s to Mother England!”
“To England!”
“And, to Lady Deloria and Lord Daniel’s new home, which is surely the finest gem in England’s Crown.” A dapper young man leaned gallantly in the doorway, a large canvas music bag hanging foppishly over his wiry shoulders.
“Master Bernard! When did you arrive?” Lady Deloria rushed over to embrace her eldest son. “And where is Lady Marietta?”
“She is tutoring young convent girls at a nearby nunnery. Violin lessons, I believe. She will be joining us on the morrow.”
“How marvelous,” sighed Oleander. “The entire family, together at last, for the entire summer.”
“Perfection itself,” agreed Alexis. “It certainly feels as though nothing can possibly go wrong.”

The family raised a second toast in silence, gazing in unison at a wayward butterfly that floated from the direction of the lemon tree, coming to rest momentarily on the tip of the bottle of champagne, before alighting once again and disappearing into the darkening twilight.

***

Morning arrived bearing three dreadful shocks in quick succession. Firstly, Lady Deloria’s handmaiden Georgina had neglected to iron the morning papers, and as a result they were terribly crimpled. Secondly, Miss Oleander’s letters of progress from her Parisian Academie de Mathematiques had arrived in the post, and her results were dismal indeed. Thirdly, and perhaps most distressingly, Lady Marietta had still not returned from the nunnery and Master Bernard was in a mood most foul.

“I don’t understand what could be keeping her!” Bernard fretted and fussed over his morning croissant. “I was under the distinct impression that she would arrive first thing in the morning!” He scowled, shoving away his uneaten breakfast in irritation. “You don’t think something might be…you know, going on…with her and one of the men at the convent?”
“The only men at the convent are priests, you silly man,” exclaimed Alexis. “I should think that your beloved would be safe in their company.”
“Yes, but in her last letter she went on and on about this Irish fellow, Father Bruno,” sighed Bernard. “And then another missive dwelled upon Father Otto, a Moorish missionary from the Afrikas.” He frowned. “I realize I’m being a tad unreasonable, but I can’t help feeling agitated when we’ve been separated for so long!”
“There, there,” soothed Lady Deloria, offering a porcelain cup of steaming tea, tempered with a splash of fresh cream. “I’m certain that Marietta is already progressing homewards. In fact, I imagine she will arrive at any moment.” Lady Deloria took a luxurious sip of her tea, setting her china teacup down in finality. “In the meantime, why don’t you take your sisters to the lake? The day is fine and life is short!”
“To the lake! To the lake!” cried Oleander, suddenly revived from the gloomy effects of her academic progress card.
“Last one there is a rotten éclair!” cried Alexis, scampering towards the pine trees that bordered the private lake.