Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  The dowager hurried over to the duke and shoved him out of the door and into the hallway.

  “I will explain things. Why don’t you carry on, Madame. I apologise for the interruption,” the dowager said calmly following her son.

  Penelope hid her face in her hands and moaned. Why, oh why were things going so badly wrong?

  “Don’t worry about it, my dear,” Madame Bellafraunde soothed, her eyes twinkling with suppressed humour.

  Penelope snorted into her hands. Madame couldn’t possibly conceive what Penelope was feeling at the moment. Madame hadn’t been caught wearing only a corset, lavender bloomers and a laddered stocking. And the bloomers hadn’t even been her best ones.

  Lady Anne wrapped a shawl around Penelope and led her to the sofa. A cup of tea was quickly administered with a generous dose of brandy. Once Penelope stopped trembling in shame and regained some of her colour, Madame Bellafraunde sprang out of her chair and clapped her hands.

  The four maids that had accompanied her formed a line.

  “Go and join them, Miss Fairweather. We have no time to lose. Up you go. You can soak the pillow with tears tonight, but for now we need to get back to work.”

  Penelope shrugged off the shawl and giving a weak smile joined the maids. She couldn’t bear the pitying looks of the other women any longer. The best cure for her was action, and she was thankful to Madame for brushing over the incident as if it was of no importance. For the second time since her arrival Madame had somehow smoothed over the situation. She did not know if it was deliberate. Nevertheless, she was thankful.

  “Now, Lady Anne, this is what I propose. Today we will concentrate on Miss Fairweather’s wardrobe. You are a lucky girl,” Madame said turning to look at Penelope, “that you do not need to go to the Burlington Arcade or the Pantheon. It would take you a week or more visiting the dressmaker, milliner, fan maker, reticule maker, tailor, shoe shop, and the shawl seller to get your wardrobe assembled. Instead you have me, who will dress you from top to toe, procuring only the best available in all of Paris and London. My assistants will do the hard work, while all I require of you is to stand still, obey me and look pretty. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, Madame,” Penelope said, for a moment feeling like she was being prepped for war.

  “May, get a sharp knife ready. Lady Anne, have a bath filled with hot water brought here. Station a footman outside the door and let no one enter. Rose, run and bring in all the boxes and materials from the carriage.”

  The two young maids in identical black uniforms bobbed their heads and rushed out to do her bidding.

  Lady Anne hesitated, “Bathe here?”

  “Where else, girl? This room is big enough, the fire roaring and warm. It would take too long to heat any other room and we don’t have time. Now run along … Hurry.”

  Lady Anne mimicked the maids and after a quick curtsy ran out.

  “Ah, your grace, we are ready to begin the transformation,” Madame remarked, as soon as the dowager entered the room.

  Penelope couldn’t tell if the dowager had been successful in explaining the situation to the duke. Had she mentioned the shooting debacle?

  The dowager’s face was impassive. All she offered was a soft, reserved smile as she replied, “That’s wonderful. Do you require any assistance from me?”

  “Perhaps you can help us tomorrow when I work on her manners and fan work? Today leave the girl in my hands,” Madame Bellafraunde said with a militant look in her eye.

  Penelope gulped as the dowager departed. She warily eyed the sharp knife the maid had procured. How, she wondered, was Madame going to make use of the knife in an attempt to make her look beautiful?

  Cut off her head perhaps and be done with it?

  “I am going to use the knife and this creamy bar of soap to clean the hair off your hands and legs. I learnt the method when I travelled to the east in search of beauty secrets. English women have not embraced it yet, but I am trying to bring in a new fashion. Every few days ask one of the maids to help you do this. Now be careful and make sure you choose someone who knows what they are doing. One slip and you could cut a precious vein and bleed to death, or a single nick and you could infect your arm, and then the physician may have to cut your entire limb off to save your life. I know of a few young girls, God bless their souls, who gave up their lives for the sake of fashion. But we want you alive, so stop shaking, no movement, and don’t worry, my girl here will help me. I promise you will be fine.”

  Penelope froze in fright. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed over and over until the entire ordeal was over. Oddly, Madame only stayed long enough to see that her arms were cleaned of hair. When it came to her legs, Madame left the room.

  Next she was dumped into a bath and scrubbed, oiled and perfumed by the maids. Even her hair was sprayed with concoctions from different vials. She felt raw, stripped and naked. But at least she smelled wonderful.

  “Stand by the fire and drink this coffee. I need your hair to dry as fast as possible. I have asked for your maid to join us. She needs to learn how to do your hair and skin,” Madame said, entering the room once Penelope had donned a robe.

  “Skin?”

  “Have you seen your complexion? I have seen corpses with better colour in their cheeks and with not a freckle dusting their noses. Listen to me very carefully. In fact, write it down,” Madame Bellafraunde said, snatching the half full cup of coffee away from Penelope.

  “Here is a pen and ah … thank you, Mary, is it? You are Miss Fairweather’s maid? Listen to everything I have to say, Mary, and do not forget a single thing. You will become the finest lady’s maid in your little village under my training. At the moment you are atrocious. Where was I…? Skin … Gowland’s Lotion, and here it says on the bottle, ‘Eruptive humours fly before its powers, pimples and freckles die within the hour’. Hmmph, I don’t know about that, but it does fade away spots if you use it faithfully for a few months and avoid the sun. Here, Mary, keep it for your mistress.”

  Penelope stared at the little glass pot in Mary’s hand. She wanted to touch it and sniff its contents, but Madame Bellafraunde was already waving another pot in front of her nose; this time a blue bottle.

  “Milk of Roses will cure your face of this very distracting blotchy redness. Use it at bedtime. Now this,” Madame said, lovingly taking out a crystal bottle, “is called Bloom of Ninon, a wonderful tonic that will help you with worms, leaches, louse—”

  “Worms? I don’t have any worms or leaches … or louse!”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t say you did right now, but you could. Besides, it’s wonderful for softening your rough callouses, keeping your face plump and your bosom firm. Take a few drops every morning with a glass of water.”

  Mary helped Penelope into a long flowing robe and led her to the sofa. She started rubbing Gowland’s Lotion into her skin followed by the Milk of Roses.

  “This here,” Madame said, pulling a vial out of an open wooden crate, “is for your hair. It is a mixture of oils that I created a few years ago. It prevents balding and in your case will tame your locks. Your hair is passable. A few washes with my ‘Hair Swoon’ and you will shine and sparkle in candle light.”

  “Hair Swoon?”

  “The scent is so delicious it is rumoured that Countess Randalf actually swooned when she first had a whiff ….”

  “I will follow your advice faithfully, Madame. Thank you,” Penelope said, getting ready to bid her goodbye.

  “I haven’t finished. We have just started,” Madame exclaimed, opening a giant carton filled to the brim with odds and ends.

  Penelope slumped back on the couch shaking her head in despair. What, she wondered, had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter 11

  Penelope sat ogling the dainty cakes on the table while the maids were busy working on her face and hair.

  Meanwhile, Madame Bellafraunde pulled out lotions for her body, soap for everyday use, soap for the ball nights, soap for cleaning
hair, oils for her body, hair and face, paste for her teeth, white imperial talc, blooming rose essence for staining her lips and cheeks, soot for her lashes and eyebrows, drops to make her eyes seductive and luminous, tonics for health, tonics for beauty, a contraption to pluck her brows, and perfumes to layer and wear at different hours of the day.

  Finally, Madame sat back on the couch and rang for some fresh tea and coffee.

  “It is lunch time. I suggest we take a small break, no more than fifteen minutes, and then I want everyone back in their positions.”

  The maids fled and Penelope watched them leave unhappily. She was still stuck in the same room, and she didn’t think she would get even a moment of freedom until dinner time.

  Lady Anne joined them just as the lunch tray was brought in.

  “You look wonderful,” Lady Anne exclaimed, staring at Penelope.

  “We will now commence on your etiquette at the dinner table,” Madame said, ignoring Lady Anne.

  Penelope eyed Lady Anne in silent appeal. In turn, Lady Anne shrugged helplessly.

  Penelope groaned inwardly and picked up her spoon.

  “Not so fast, girl. Dainty sips, delicate bites. Here, hold the spoon like this. Lift and move away from the bowl … not towards yourself … don’t feed the blasted table!”

  Penelope endeavoured, but her tired mind was filled to the brim. Exhausted, she slumped in her seat and was given a long lecture on the importance of correct posture. Lady Anne eyed her sympathetically, but didn’t dare interrupt Madame Bellafraunde.

  The dowager entered to check on the victim. She took one look at Penelope’s drawn face and understood the situation.

  “Madame Bellafraunde, perhaps we should quickly move on to Miss Fairweather’s attire. Your seamstresses need to get to work on her trousseau immediately. We can address the rest of her faults tomorrow?” the dowager said.

  “I agree with you, your grace. Her rough complexion and horrifying nails … Never mind. I will get the girls to bring up the box of materials. I will have to carry the jewellery out myself ….”

  Penelope closed her eyes in relief as soon as Madame left the room.

  “Here, quickly eat up. Don’t bother with manners. Leave that for the ballroom. We don’t have time to waste … Eat … Eat,” Lady Anne said, pulling out a fresh batch of biscuits wrapped in brown paper.

  The dowager quickly produced a cup of tea, now a little tepid, but Penelope inhaled it like a starved creature.

  “Do you want me to ask Madame Bellafraunde to return tomorrow instead?”

  Penelope swallowed the last drop of tea and said, “No, I need her assistance, and I am truly grateful for all that you are doing for me. I am just afraid that in spite of all of this work, I will end up making a mess of things.”

  Penelope placed the tea cup back on the tray and leaned back in her seat. When she glanced up, it was to find the dowager eyeing her strangely.

  “My dear,” the dowager said, “you are very brave. When I first realised that Madame was Lo … was a man, I swooned. It took me a year to build up enough courage to allow her to dress me.”

  “I agree, it’s admirable how you wiped off the initial shock of discovering Madame’s identity, faced Charles in a state of undress, and then carried on striving to achieve your goal. You haven’t complained once, and all for the sake of your family,” Lady Anne added.

  Penelope smiled uncertainly and stared at her hands. She didn’t know what to say.

  “You should smile more often. Your face lights up and the hint of mischief shining through is endearing,” the dowager said encouragingly. After a moment she asked, “Is it your family’s situation that is driving you or something else? I only ask because in Gertrude’s last letter she said that she wasn’t depending on your success. And if they don’t have all their hopes pinned on you, then why are you so worried, my dear …”

  A disturbance at the door distracted the dowager and Penelope heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Perhaps you would like to stay and look at the design plates and materials, your grace? Another gown for you and Lady Anne perhaps?” Madame Bellafraunde said, striding into the room carrying a giant box. Her four maids trailed in behind her carrying various parcels, hatboxes and cloth bags, while two footmen came in carrying a giant wooden container between them.

  “I would love to look at the design plates. I think both my daughter and I can do with a couple of more gowns, Madame.”

  Madame Bellafraunde brightened and produced the plates promptly. The ladies poured over the latest cuts and styles while delicately sipping grape schnapps from long stemmed glasses.

  “I saw a delightful Primrose dinner dress in Mirror of Fashion and a pretty woven white muslin in Lady’s Magazine this month. Shall I fetch it?” Penelope asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. People of your status cannot wear what can be commonly found in every household that can sew,” Madame snapped.

  “My status?”

  “Hmmph, you will have a status by the end of the season, girl, so start practising. If you believe you are better than everyone, then others too will treat you with the same sort of deference. You will be with the dowager and the duke. You cannot embarrass them by acting no better than a scullery maid.”

  Penelope frowned. How could one pretend to be better than one was?

  “Measure your words before you speak. Keep them waiting, as if even conversing with you is a privilege. Hold your head high and walk into a room knowing that every eye is on you, and it shall remain on you because the delicate turn of your ankle, the fine blue veins on your wrist, the flush in your cheeks, and the soft swell of your bosom is more alluring than any other woman present in that room. Understood?” Madame barked.

  Penelope flushed and stared at her wrist as if she had never seen it before. As for walking into a room knowing every eye would be on her … the thought itself turned her knees to jelly.

  “Silk amber with a slight puff and long sleeves is what I suggest for her first ball. It will go well with her brown hair and eyes. A bit of clancy lace in cream peeking below her skirts, amber silk slippers, and no jewellery.”

  “The cut?” the dowager asked.

  “Do not worry, your grace. It will be modest, her bosom adequately covered. Men like to imagine and think vulgar thoughts, but present them with boldness and they run scared.”

  “Very well, I leave the decision up to you. The other dresses?”

  “Emerald green, peach down, white satin, Paris green and coquelicot,” Madame suggested, pulling out the materials from the wooden container.

  “Not the coquelicot, too bold … Not bold, but it may clash with her creamy brown skin,” Lady Anne said.

  “Hmm, this French blue?”

  “Perfect,” the dowager said.

  “I suggest a celestial blue for Lady Anne and this burgundy for you, your grace.”

  Lady Anne spent a blissful time rummaging around in the wooden box while the dowager poured over the style plates.

  “Trimmings should be simple. Rosebuds, lace, ribbons and pearls. Each dress will have just one trim. I want to keep it subtle and let her own beauty shine through. I want the ton to see her, not the clothes,” Madame said thoughtfully.

  “That’s generous of you,” the dowager remarked.

  “I have enough ladies willing to dance the edge of propriety with my clothes. I can play with styles while dressing them. They need to take advantage of fashion being well past their first bloom. For them I create clothes that distract the eyes from sagging, wrinkled features. Miss Fairweather needs none of that excess.”

  Penelope looked up from the frothy lace in her hands. That had almost sounded like a compliment. Madame, who dressed princesses, dowagers and countesses; who had seen the most beautiful women, couldn’t possibly consider her passable. Could she?

  ***

  Hours later in her room, Penelope finally collapsed on the bed. Her dinner sat on the tray turning cold. She felt too tired to eat, h
er mind swimming with all of the things that had been bought for her in a few short hours. Her new wardrobe consisted of kid gloves, silk stockings, velvet slippers, riding dresses, morning gowns, bewitching ball gowns, hats, parasols, silk shot fans and a whole lot more.

  Her dressing table was brimming with pots, lotions and scents. It was like a fairy tale. Never in her life had she imagined that she would own so much. The entire thing must have cost the duke a fortune, and instead of being pleased, she was miserable. After all that was being done for her, all the pounds and shillings spent, what if she turned out to be a disappointment?

  Over the course of the day she had lost her fear of Madame and learnt to see the kind heart beneath the rough exterior. But even as she became used to Madame, her heart had continued to sink as more and more things were purchased for her. The money had been paid, the bills signed, and lotions and pots of cream opened and used. She could no longer go back. She would have to attend the season.

  Chapter 12

  What a strange dream, Penelope thought. Madame Bellafraunde stood in her room holding Lady Bathsheba in her arms. She was tickling the goat under the chin and making odd cooing noises.

  Penelope giggled sleepily.

  Madame Bellafraunde’s head swivelled towards the bed. She set the goat down and snapped, “Up, girl, I don’t have all day.”

  Penelope jerked up in bed and rubbed her eyes.

  “It’s really you?”

  “Who else did you expect? It is past five. At your age I used to be up at four. Now hurry up and wear one of your despicable gowns and come downstairs. We have work to do.”

  “Five in the morning?” Penelope squeaked.

  “No, in the evening. Of course it is morning. Now up you get. I have been unable to drag your maid out of bed, so dress yourself. Your cup of tea is getting cold. Drink quickly.”

  “Madame?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why do you care so much?”

  Madame put the goat down and came and sat by Penelope.