Carola Dunn by Mayhemand Miranda

hospitality.
    “Why, Mr. Bassett,” she said, “I have had no chance to talk to you. If you are not engaged elsewhere, do pray stay to dinner.”
    Blushing, he accepted. Someone else came up to speak to her, and he turned to Peter.
    “Lucky dog!” he said. “You told me Lady Wiston is eccentric, but not that she is so kind, nor that she has a companion just as kind, and pretty to boot.”
    “You said you are not in the petticoat line,” Peter pointed out indignantly.
    “No more I am. In general, I’d rather face a battery of French guns than a room full of ladies, so maybe it’s just as well it’ll be years before I’m able to support a wife. But Miss Carmichael made me feel at home. And what a character that Daylight Danny is!”
    “He’s quite a fellow, isn’t he?” said Peter, mollified. “If you could but see him with ‘his Mary’ as he calls his wife. The top of her head scarce reaches his armpit yet her word is law.”
    Bassett laughed. “So I gathered. He had orders to consult Miss Carmichael about the health of his sister-in-law, who suffers from some female complaint he was too embarrassed to describe. She set the poor chap quite at his ease, said she’d talk to him privately later.” He glanced around the room, now thin of company. “I expect that’s where she’s gone. Oh well, thanks to Lady Wiston’s invitation I shall see her at dinner.”
    There was absolutely nothing in this speech for Peter to take exception to. Clearly the man admired Miss Carmichael as much as she admired him, but it was none of Peter’s business. He’d just drop a word in Aunt Artemis’s ear, a mention of Bassett’s inability to support a wife. It would never do for his aunt to attempt to promote a match in that quarter.
    * * * *
    Miranda donned her best gown for dinner, in honour of Lieutenant Bassett’s splendid uniform. Amidst Lady Wiston’s unfashionable guests—not to mention her still threadbare nephew! –the poor fellow had felt horridly conspicuous in his gold braid, a peacock among sparrows. Daylight Danny’s all too audible comment about a “flash cove” did not help. Danny had explained to her that the phrase signified “a buck what’s dressed up all dandified like.”
    Mr. Bassett had shyly apologized to Miranda for his faux pas . She assured him her ladyship could only take his smartness as a compliment. Presenting Danny to him, she encouraged the young officer to talk about his voyages and he soon felt quite comfortable.
    She had not been able to resist quizzing Mr. Daviot about his friend’s magnificence, though she would never have said a word had not his own shabbiness been well on the way to relief.
    Her evening dress was as fine as Lady Wiston could persuade her to accept. The white sarcenet slip had amber silk roses set on around the hem; the shorter frock of amber net was caught up at the side with a posy of white roses, and another rose adorned the brief bodice. It went perfectly with Miranda’s sole ornament, a necklace of amber beads, a gift from her father which he had never pawned only because she kept it well hidden from him.
    Altogether she felt very fine, much too fine for a hired companion. She thought of leaving off the necklace, but without it the neckline looked far too low and even less suitable for a companion.
    Lady Wiston did not think so. “Charming, dear,” she said with approval when she and Miranda met at the top of the stairs. She too was dressed to the nines. In forest green silk festooned with white lace, a collar of pearls, and white curls topped with a green toque, she looked rather like an evergreen tree bedecked with snow.
    A pang of guilt struck Miranda. “I fear Mr. Daviot, in his aged attire, will be sadly piqued.”
    “Fiddlesticks! We have donned our finery in honour of his friend, have we not? It will be very pleasant to have a naval gentleman at table, I vow. Quite like the old days. I am very glad Peter has made Mr. Bassett’s acquaintance.