Stretton by Henry Kingsley

The wedding-day rose frosty and bright. There had been a little sheet of snow in the night, which had laid a shawl of lace over the dark, purple velvet of Longmynd, made the clear summit of Caradoc shine like a silver crystal, and, apparently, had affected Aunt Eleanor's temper.

I would not invade the sanctity of a maiden lady's bedroom further than by saying that if Aunt Eleanor's bed did not stand against the wall, she certainly had got out of it the wrong side; for the first thing she said to her own face in the looking-glass was, "A parcel of fools!"