Chatelaine in a Jane Austen Novel

Let's pretend.  Pretend this morning we are chatelaine in a Jane Austen novel.  (Don't you love that word sounds so Victorian, and kind of haughty, actually.)   While our domestics are inside baking the bread and scrubbing the floors, and after we have prepared our meal plan for the guests this evening (so the servants can do the marketing and cooking for said meal, of course) we decide to put on our sun bonnet and cut some flowers

 for the..............library, let's say.  A big, luscious, country bouquet that our city guests will surely appreciate for its casual, summery loveliness.

We are vexed when we see that the kitchen hound has chewed the handle on our beautiful, hand-tooled leather flower trug.  We say to ourselves that we simply
must talk to the cook about this matter, but

we are soon lost in the beauty of the blooms:  the pale pink and white of the
crinum and cleome, with the jaunty, abundant  coneflower, and

the bold color in the zinnia and black-eyed susans,   the dainty yarrow and veronicas.   Ahhhhhhh.

We take a sniff of their spicey scent.

We are thinking to ourselves that we have created the perfect combination of flora for just the right effect to impress our guests.

We stand back to appreciate the bouquet with a self-satisfied air.

Then its off to the kitchen for proper conditioning and arranging

And a word to the cook about that leather-chewing hound.............