Lace and Tea In The Afternoon

It was one of those beautiful, yet instantly forgettable days.
The girls were wearing white lace and chiffon, running barefoot on the freshly mowed grass. The boys were playing a ridiculous game of cricket, each one of them displaying no talent at all. Of course, they pretended to excel, like with everything else.
The lord and lady of the house had gone for a long ride through their many fields. He had briefly remarked that he wanted to check on the constructions of the new foundry in the next town, whilst she wanted to buy some new ribbons for the girls. The lady liked to make these kinds of purchases herself, instead of sending the tasteless new maid. She missed her old maids, maids that knew her inside out, but after the latest hushed-up scandal, the man of the house, the pater familias had let them all go. Scared old man. The lady suspected that he had bedded all of them and was afraid that with the wave of revelations that was hitting their part of the county, they might speak out about his indiscretions.
It was a picture of quiet beauty, of still serenity. If someone would have frozen this or that moment during the course of the afternoon, it might have looked like an Impressionist painting.
No one felt the impending sense of dread.
The girls made flower garlands for their long, free-flowing hair and the boys played tag, occasionally glancing over to the girls and giggling at their girlishness.
The adults had tea and discussed anything but politics and what was going on in the land. They too could not see beyond their own fields, beyond the life they knew.
A storm would hit and devastate them soon enough. The higher powers knew that. So they let blissful ignorance gently cast its spell over this calm, delicate summer's day.