Then, today, I asked.  I asked the nice man behind the desk at Spivey’s if there just might be something that wasn’t out.  “I just took Billy Baldwin Decorates up there yesterday.”  “Really, I didn’t see it.” Back up.  A few minutes later he appeared with the holy grail.  “Oh, it needed a jacket cover; I still had it downstairs.”  Do look for it at the event; it comes with a Blandings bonus.  I’m still on the hunt for a dress.

By the way, Decoration, a 1963 publication work by French & European Publications, Inc., is one of the most engaging and comprehensive books on interiors that I have run across.  I’d love to know if you have it in your library.  It was originally recommended to me by Kansas City designer Kathy Kelly.  I’m incredibly grateful that she shared her knowledge.

A Very Grand Little House was the title of this feature in House and Garden in December of 1985.  “Somewhere in Switzerland,” neither a designer nor owner were identified.

The house was built in the 1960’s, so it is not old.  

It is just so pretty.  You know me, “Hail, Britannia!”  Normally all this Frenchiness doesn’t turn my head.  It is just so pretty.  That dreamy little tabouret above “retains its original broche de Lille upholstery.”  Oh, my.

There are some clearly exceptional things.  I think this chair is the fauteuil wearing its original Beauvais tapestry.  I don’t want to sit in it, I want to sit in front of it, cross-legged so I can get a little closer, and just look at it.  (I’m assuming the owners didn’t have three grade school boys.)

How many chairs must there be in this room? Not that I can criticize someone for having a thing for chairs.

Heavens.  I mean, really.  You could almost miss that console as it blends so perfectly with the 18th-century (natch) Chinese wallpaper.

“Two of eight magnificent candlesticks on a Meissonnier model in a shimmering thick of equally rare English 18th-century air twist glasses.”  The whole place is a little 18th-century history lesson.

Of all of it, what would I be stuffing in my duffel?  (Other than the fauteuil, which would have involved Mr. Blandings creating a disturbance )  “An honor guard of earthenware horses, manufactured in Leeds, England.”

“Made for saddlers’ windows, they stand up to 19 inches high.  This is the largest private collection of these much-sought-after horses.”  Um-hmm.  That would be just the kind of thing I would want.  Sakes.

All images photographed by Oberto Gili, sparkling text by Rosamond Brenier.

Just when you might have thought my Mitford sister obsession was beginning to wane I ran across these.

This is the unsettling thing about going through the vintage magazines, pulling what I like and pitching the rest.

I had a small stack that I had not recycled and while flipping through them one more time I realized that I had missed this layout on Chatsworth which was at the time the home of the eleventh Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. 

 The Duchess, the Hon. Deborah Mitford, is the youngest, and from all accounts the most conventional, of the sisters.

Chatsworth was the Duke’s family home and it fell to Andrew and “Debo” in 1950 when they were thirty.  Wise beyond their years they allowed the house to guide them through the much-needed renovations.

According to the Duchess,”To have tampered with the library, for instance, would have been criminal.”  Agreed.  

While she did not use a decorator or a gardener, “It seems pointless to employ someone to do something I can do myself,” the home did have a full-time indoor staff of forty-two.

With the Duke’s death in 2004, the Duchess moved into a cottage on the estate.  You can see images of her new home, and the re-purposing of some of these furnishings, in a post that Jennifer Dwyer of the Peak of Chic did last year.

Images, Architectural Digest, December, 1979; photography by Derry Moore.  

Yesterday the middle Blandings boy claimed, “My stomach hurts.”  He’s lean and fair with a face full of freckles so when he’s sick you can usually see it in the shadows under his eyes.  He seemed less bouncy than normal, but not a hint of that “look.”  “Are you sure?  Are you really sick?  I have a very busy day.”  Yes.  He was sure.  And dizzy.

  

Called the school, shifted some plans, settled in to a day at home.  “Can I watch TV?”  This is not the deal.  When you stay home sick at the Dream House and your symptoms are questionable there’s no electronics.  Still, it’s impossible to read if your stomach is upset.  “I suppose.”

On the agenda was red beans and rice for dinner.  No reason to modify the plan as I was now going to be home all day to simmer and stir.  My childhood was full of this kind of food.  The kind of food honest but poor folks ate in Oklahoma during the Depression.  (Mostly honest.  There is some speculation that my grandfather was a bootlegger, but no one knows for sure.)  But this recipe called for four pounds of meat.  This was more Blandings’ red beans and rice than my family’s.

I’m pretty sure my grandmother’s recipe called for a ham hock and nothing else.  When I took Mr. Blandings to my dad and stepmother’s for the first time my stepmother made my favorite dish.  As Mr. Blandings stood in the kitchen with a portion of rice and a portion of beans on his plate he turned and whispered to me, “Where’s the meat?”  “Darling, that’s dinner.  Mix it up.  Here’s the Tabasco.”

He blends well wherever he goes.  When he learned cornbread was part of the deal he was completely on board.  Anyway, the next thing I know I hear giggling from the sofa.  Pink Panther.  “You’re not sick.”  “Oh.  I thought I was.  I didn’t want to yack at school.”  “Sweetie, can you think of another way to say that?”  “Barf?”  Not what I was thinking.

I had to run out so Mr. Blandings came home for lunch.  “The beans just need to simmer.  I’ll be right back.”  When I got home he said, “I added beef stock.”  “Why?”  “It needed a little something.”  As a man who largely cooks without a recipe he mostly tastes and tweaks.  “The andouille, cayenne and Tabasco go in last.”  “Oh.  That should help.”  Sometimes he needs to keep his silver spoon to himself.  

The images, above, are Harry Hinson’s East Hampton cottage from Architectural Digest, March, 1978.  It is the perfect “stew” I think.  An excellent mix of classic chairs and case goods stirred up with updated fabrics and accessories that blend perfectly to create a soothing spot.  A timeless interior dated only by the flowers.  Jennifer Dwyer did a great post recently on “Spatter,” the pattern used in the dining area.  You can view it by clicking here.