Number 37 Scroope Terrace, off the Trumpington Road, was a house where 'Waste Not Want Not' was the motto. Louisa Morton counted the fish-knives on Thursdays and the silver plate on Saturdays and kept in her bedroom a box labeled 'String too short to tie'. Though the Professor had a substantial private income in addition to his salary, she had been heard to upbraid the cook for the unbridled expenditure of three farthings on an ounce of parsley.
Her only real moments of happiness occur in ballet class. When she is offered employment in a ballet company that is set to travel to South America, her father forbids it. At first, she is resigned to obey him. A chance meeting with a little boy changes her mind, and she runs away to join the ballet.
But her father and the man who wants to marry her aren't far behind.
Absolutely perfect vacation reading. Not deep, not profound, just lots of swoony romance, rotten relations, Marcus Aurelius, ballet*, and off-screen sex.
Oh, and a lady-jumping-out-of-a-cake scene.
It was so much fun that I refused to put it down—I was so intent on finishing that Josh and I had to leave for Kalamazoo an hour later than planned. It was worth it. (To me, anyway. Josh did a bit of pacing.)
*Totally enjoyed all of those bits, and I'm not even huge into ballet. It made me want to go and watch some, though. (And, no, I'm not talking about re-watching Suspiria.) I'll have to look into it—it's been years since I've gone.