Penelope

by Anya Wylde

  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 Radclyff 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 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 Radclyff 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 Radclyff 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 Radclyff said.

  “Hmm, this French blue?”

  “Perfect,” the dowager said.

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

  Lady Radclyff 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, her 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.

  “The duke is payin
g me a pretty penny,” she replied

  “I don’t think that’s the only reason,” Penelope said, picking up the tea cup.

  Madame glanced at her in surprise, “Is that your intuition talking or your intelligence? I suspect the latter … Now, to answer your question, I am helping you for three reasons. Firstly, the duke is truly paying me a handsome sum to order you about. Secondly, I feel sorry for girls like you that have to marry to improve their situation. A spinster leads a dreadful life being constantly dependent on the goodwill of others. And lastly, turning you into a lady is a challenge. I was intrigued.”

  Penelope nodded and dashed a hand across her tired watering eyes.

  “Don’t cry, it will make your eyes red and you cannot afford to look more terrible. Slather your face in some of the rose essence I gave you before you come down.”

  Penelope choked out a laugh and forced herself out of the warm, cozy bed. She felt better after splashing water on her face. And now that the shock had worn off and she knew what to expect, the day ahead didn’t seem so bad.

  ***

  The Blue Room had been altered. The furniture had been pushed to one side to make an empty space in the middle. Penelope could now admire the thick powder blue carpet with its swirly cream design in its entire glory. A giant pianoforte had been brought in from the music room on Madame’s demand, and it now sat in a corner dwarfing the fireplace.

  “Dancing is an art, an art that allows a woman to subtly attract a man’s attention to her figure. It is not important who you dance with but who is watching you dance. A tiny movement of the hip and a delicate sway of the body can create fantasies in a man’s mind, while keeping the woman’s respectability intact,” Madame Bellafraunde said, rising from a chair in the corner.

  Penelope awkwardly bent her knee to curtsy and Madame scowled.

  “Dancing is for elegant creatures who have mastered the basics. Change of plans, my dears,” Madame said turning to her maids, “we need to teach the girl the basics. We shall begin with the entrance. Leave the room, Miss Fairweather.”

  “Leave?” she squeaked.

  “Yes, yes, leave. Go on out, out over the other side of the door ... That’s it. Now, as soon as your name is announced at a ball, every eye in the room will turn towards you and you must make good use of those moments. You will step into the room with your head held high, your hand delicately clasping the gentleman’s arm, or if you are in company of only women, then keep your fan closed and hold your skirt with one hand, while the other should be gently holding your reticule ... Don’t mangle the bag, girl ... Here, this is how to do it.”

  Penelope faithfully copied Madame.

  “Keep your mind blank and pretend that you are a princess and everyone standing before you is wearing pink bloomers.”

  Penelope giggled, “I would probably laugh if I thought that.”

  “Your stomach will be full of butterflies. Laughter will be the furthest thing from your mind. Even if you do laugh, then it will make you appear confident.”

  Madame spent the next two hours teaching her how to gracefully walk into ballrooms, dinners and tea parties. She was even taught the correct method of ascending and descending from a carriage in the most ladylike manner.

  “It is almost seven. We will take a break for tea. After that, we will work on your curtsy. It is complicated and your knees will hurt from all the bending, but the result,” she said kissing the tips of her fingers, “will be exquisite. You will charm the ton with your entrance, and the moment you curtsy you will be labelled a refined lady. Thereafter, all you have to do is keep your mouth shut and we will have you wed before you know it.”

  It was past nine o’ clock before Penelope was excused for breakfast. She swallowed her slice of buttered toast and gulped down the hot chocolate. Thereafter, she was back in the Blue Room for her next lesson, the one she had been looking forward to all morning— dancing.

  Penelope entered the room and found Madame surrounded by a number of fans. Some were shot in silk, while others were patterned, painted, carved from ivory, or plucked from assorted birds and glued together.

  Her heart sank in disappointment and Madame smiled. “This is for another time, Miss Fairweather. I haven’t forgotten my promise to teach you dancing after breakfast. I am assuming by the eager look on your face that you are good at it?”

  “I like dancing. As for how good I am, only you can judge. I have only danced in small village gatherings before.”

  “How is your ankle fairing?”

  “It is much better. A slight twinge now and then, but I will be alright. I can dance.”

  “Positions,” Madame barked and two maids ran to the centre of the room and stood facing each other. Penelope went and joined them facing a third maid.”

  “You know what this is?”

  “Cotillion, the dance of debutants.” Penelope replied.

  “Very good. Rose, show us your skills and play us a tune on the piano. Now we dance! Very good ... Now change the figure ... Change again ... Flash that petticoat. Very good ... More petticoat … Step, step, step, flash that petticoat … Step, step, dip and twirl … Stop.”

  “Miss Fairweather, I had such hopes. And if I look at your face I see delight and confidence that is generally lacking in your manner, but if I dare glance at your feet, I can scarce control my tears. Have you ever danced the Cotillion?”

  “Yes in the—”

  “Village. I know you said. You are quick with your feet, so this may not prove to be so difficult. Here, watch me.”

  Madame Bellafraunde stepped into the centre of the room and chose the tallest maid to partner with. She waved a hand at Rose, who commenced playing the piano. She then dipped, twirled and glided around the floor. Her feet seemed to barely touch the ground as she flew across the room in time with the music.

  “Madame,” Penelope said, her eyes round in awe. “You are a wonderful dancer. I also think that you would make a very good burglar. You are so light on your feet that you could easily scale walls, tiptoe into bedrooms, and steal all the jewels, and no one would know. ”

  Madame stopped dancing. She hmmphed, but a small pleased smile flitted across her face. “Now you try,” she said in a more genial mood. “Very good. Another hour and we would have succeeded in mastering the first dance.”

  “An hour for one dance?”

  “Strive for perfection. I know we are going a little slow but that can’t be helped. Perhaps we can work all night. I will have to have a word with the dowager.”

  The pleasure of dancing nicely ruined for Penelope, she hopped, skipped and jumped to the merry tunes. Step, step was interspersed with flashes of ankles, wrists and petticoats.

  At eleven the dowager and Lady Radclyff joined them, which livened up the Blue Room. With every new style, Penelope became more confident. She just had to tone down her enthusiasm and try and be more sensual. Her approach softened and she soon learned to sway to the music, letting it run through her body. Her ankle ached, but she didn’t care. For the first time since Madame’s arrival she started enjoying her lessons.

  “Now we come to the Waltz. The dance made for lovers, where you will embrace a man for the first time in full view of the public. If you succeed in doing it right, you can trap any man into marriage if he takes your fancy.”

  “The Waltz, but that’s scandalous,” Penelope gasped.

  “Waltz is all the rage nowadays, and the dowager will get the permission for you from the patronesses of Almack’s. Now stop blushing like a simpleton and stand up. Lady Radclyff, could I trouble you to organise a man for us that knows how to waltz?”

  Lady Radclyff left with a mischievous twinkle in her eye that Penelope noticed with dread. Her misgivings turned out to be correct when the duke entered the room. Lady Radclyff must have shed more tears on her behalf, it seemed. Lady Radclyff, she concluded, was entirely vexing.

  Penelope’s agitation was momentarily forgotten when the dowager excused herself confessing she was ti
red after all the excitement of the afternoon. Her forehead creased with worry as she watched the dowager depart.

  “I am glad you approve, your grace. It has only been a day and I see you have noticed an improvement in my young student here,” Madame observed.

  Penelope’s eyes shot to the duke’s face, startled to catch him staring at her.

  Noticing her regard, he quickly looked away.

  “Her cheeks are flushed becomingly and her eyes brighter and larger. It is a wonder what a few pots of lotions can achieve,” Madame commented drily.

  Penelope turned vermillion and stared at her feet. She wondered at Madame’s compliment. Her dress was old, her stockings ancient, and her slippers prehistoric.

  She was unaware that her old morning gown had aged to a becoming cream, the material softening with years of use and moulding to her figure perfectly. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled from all the dancing. While the sunlight gleaming through the windows made her look delicate, soft and inviting.

  The duke clenched his fist and muttered for the whole bloody thing to begin quickly.

  “Music,” Madame said softly, and the duke stepped up and took Penelope in his arms.

  They began the first few steps and Madame’s husky voice spoke in time with the music,

  “The man leads and the woman follows. Miss Fairweather, a woman in the arms of a man she loves loses her sense of belonging. She forgets the audience, the steps and the music. Instead, a mist descends over her mind clouding her judgement, making her aware of touch, scent and raging emotions. All she can hear is her own heartbeat.”

  Penelope, dancing in the duke’s arms, could not hear a word of what Madame said. Her eyes were locked on the duke, her mind focused on the spot where his hands were touching her waist. His touch almost tickled, and she would have giggled if other complex feelings had not been running through her simultaneously.

  “You did not ask me to lead, your grace?” Madame asked, watching the couple circle the room.

  “You are more ladylike than a lot of women of my acquaintance, Madame,” the duke replied.