by Anya Wylde
“Whatever do you mean?” Penelope asked.
Madame twirled her around, “I like your spirited nature, your way of speaking your mind, but men looking for wives do not. They think they want an insipid girl who appears obedient and docile, the very opposite of their mothers. What they don’t realise is that those very same insipid creatures turn out to be harridans who will transform into their mothers the moment the vows are read. The man will slowly pine away in regret, wishing he had chosen the fiery redhead instead because at least she would have warmed his bed. I am digressing ... My point is that you, my dear, will become the insipid wallflower for the next one month. So shy that not a word escapes your lips in the presence of men, and so sweet that all you do is smile idiotically at everyone. The women will love you, since your stupidity will make them feel superior, while the men will pity you and want to lock you in a room to protect you from this cruel world. Your shyness will please them, making them believe that you will be willing to follow their every whim and fancy without question.”
“But that’s terrible. I will be lying to all of London society, and I refuse to follow a man’s every foolish whim and fancy. Why, when my cousin tried to force me to give him my piece of pie, I threw him in the river ... and before you ask, I was eighteen and he was twenty four.”
“Like I said, I admire your ability to … err … throw grown men into rivers. I hope it was mid-winter. But, my dear girl, do you want to remain a spinster and don a cap, or do you want to get married?”
“I want to marry,” Penelope replied, her hand clutching Madame’s arms.
“Why?”
“You know why. For my family, to improve their situation … and mine.”
“Enough to lie to the ton?”
Penelope missed a step and lurched forward bumping into to Madame’s large stomach.
“Can you lie to the ton?” Madame asked again.
She sighed and finally nodded.
“Very good. Now I will teach you how to be the perfect wallflower. All you have to do is nod and smile and utter not a word. I can take care of your physical appearance and make sure that you are noticed. Can you keep silent for one night?”
“I can,” she replied confidently.
“Hmm, we will see. For now let us focus on your dancing and entrance. I will come and teach you for two hours every afternoon until the season is over or until you trap a man, whichever comes first.”
Penelope spent the rest of the day training to be a wallflower. She listened to all that Madame had to say while pondering over a few strange facts that had come to light. Madame had the longest lashes she had ever seen, and if one looked carefully, the rest of features were also striking. Penelope wondered why Madame, who had an excellent eye for aesthetics, would intentionally distort her features with the help of rouge and powder. But most of all, she wondered why Madame needed to disguise her muscular figure by wearing a heavily padded false stomach.
***
It was late evening before she entered the room and had a chance to look through the things Madame had brought for her.
She stared at the beautifully wrapped boxes and packages tied up with ribbons and burst into tears.
“Now now, Miss Pea. Is this something to cry over? So many pretty things. You should be happy,” Mary said, coming to pat Penelope on the back.
“I am happy.”
“You don’t look it.”
“I don’t know why I am crying. I never used to cry,” Penelope sniffed.
“I think you are just tired, Miss Pea. The journey and the highwayman, all those lessons with Madame, and on top of that you have been spending all day tending to the dowager.”
“I suppose,” she replied uncertainly.
“Or it could be the ball …”
Penelope started wailing.
Mary hurriedly picked the shiniest box in the pile and dangled it in front of Penelope. Penelope stopped crying.
“The boxes are beautiful, Miss Pea,” Mary said, stroking the golden lid.
Penelope blew her nose and picked up a package.
“You can have that one, Mary,” she replied, untying the knots on a parcel wrapped in yards of pink tissue.
“I couldn’t, Miss. Don’t you start giving away your things before you had a chance to use them. If I see you handing boxes and ribbons to the servants, I will bring it all back.”
“But I want you to have the box.”
“I know you truly do, but sometimes you need to cherish things for yourself. This is your season, Miss Pea, and it will never come again. You should enjoy it down to your very toes.”
“I can’t wear the boxes, Mary, and I have plenty of them.”
“I will take the box, but only after the season is over.”
“Then you will have to take two,” she replied smiling.
The parcel was finally opened and Penelope pulled out a shiny beige cloth. After much inspection, they found a note stuck to the bottom of the tissue.
Chemise
“It’s silk,” Mary said in awe.
“To wear in bed … People wear silk in bed?” Penelope replied, letting the soft material slip through her fingers.
“More chemises in this box, Miss. Ten of them ... Whatever will you need that many for? Peach, dusky pink, lilac, and this one has rosebuds embroidered on the hem.”
“The pink has French lace. Shall I try one on? Everyone is at dinner, and since I can’t join them because of Sir Henry, we have a few hours to ourselves.”
“I think you should. They are awfully pretty.”
“What if I spill something on them? How will I ever sleep in this? I am sure it’s worth more than my nicest morning gown.”
“Oh, go on, Miss Pea. You need to practice living like rich folk. Not that your family is poor, but the duke must have a castle in the country with dungeons and thousands of treasure trunks.”
“Mary, have you been listening to those travellers again?”
“No, Miss, it was the housekeeper. She reads aloud sometimes and I was listening to this wonderful tale of pirates and wenches. Perhaps I should not say any more.”
“Don’t stop now. The book sounds fascinating. Could you sneak it up here?”
“Lor, Miss, go on with you. I would never do such a thing. It’s not for ladies,” Mary said primly, helping Penelope out of her dress.
“All the good stuff is not for ladies,” Penelope grumbled, her voice muffled as Mary pulled the chemise over her head.
She ran to the mirror and stared at her reflection.
“It is ...,” Penelope whispered.
“Yes,” Mary breathed.
“Indecent.”
“Beautiful.”
“Mary, this makes me look almost naked. The colour is the same tint as my skin. I look …” Penelope trailed off. The silk skimmed over her curves, moulding and flattering every part of her. Her legs looked longer and her waist wispy. Her hair, swept to the side in a simple braid, gleamed in the candle light. She looked fragile, delicate ... and sensual. Her lips parted as if in invitation and her eyes grew languid.
“Mary, how will I know …” she asked, her eyes locked on her reflection.
“Know what?”
“How will I know if I am in love?” she whispered blushing.
“When you are in love, Miss Pea, your toes will curl,” Mary replied comfortably.
“My toes will curl?” Penelope squeaked.
“Yes, Miss.”
Penelope eyed her maid in horror, “I like my toes straight, Mary. I am mighty fond of my toes!”
Mary looked down at Penelope holding on to her toes and collapsed in laughter. What, she wondered, would happen to poor Miss Pea at the ball tomorrow?
Chapter 15
The next day dawned bright and clear, at complete odds with Penelope’s mood.
“Miss Fairweather, you have barely touched your eggs, and last night your dinner tray was returned uneaten. Is everything alright?” Lady Radclyff enquired.
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The duke scowled, burying his nose deeper into the newspaper.
“Yes, Lady Radclyff. I mean, I am fine, thank you,” Penelope replied not very convincingly.
“Is it the ball?” the dowager asked.
The kindness in the dowager’s eyes undid her. She replied honestly, “I am sorry, is it so obvious? I am just worried. When Madame was teaching me, I was too tired to think. Now all I can do is worry about the ball. I am not ready yet to face the ton. I wish Madame was coming—”
“No one is going to the ball,” the duke snapped.
“What?” shrieked Lady Radclyff, “But why ever not?”
“Mamma has been ill. I cannot have her surrounded by scores of people with no room to breathe. She needs to rest. And I cannot send the two of you unchaperoned. You will have to forget about balls until mother gets better.”
“Nonsense, I am perfectly fine, Charles.” The dowager sighed seeing her son’s resolute expression. “Fine, I will not go ….”
“Mother,” Lady Radclyff exclaimed.
“Hear me out, Anne. I will stay home and rest if you, Charles, will escort the girls to the ball and keep an eye on them all through the evening.”
“But …” the duke spluttered.
“You were already planning to attend Lady Hartworth’s ball. This simply means that you will have to forgo a trip to the gaming room. It’s not too much to ask.”
“I am unwed,” Lady Radclyff added batting her lashes at her brother. “I need to attend to find a husband. Besides, when have you not kept watch over me?” She added under her breath to Penelope, “He scares my prospective grooms away.”
The duke shot his sister an annoyed look, “Fine, I shall take the girls.”
“Wonderful, the other thing I need you to do–”
“Mother, you already agreed that if I escort the girls, you will stay home.”
“Yes, but that was for tonight’s ball. I was planning to take Miss Fairweather and Anne shopping tomorrow.”
“You are not going anywhere.”
“I realise that, which is why I was going to say that you take them to the shops. Anne will be disappointed if she doesn’t get to go, and it is your rule that doesn’t allow her to visit the shops with just her maid in tow.”
“Charles will never agree to take me, Mother. He never has time for his little sister. He is too important to waste his time on such trifles,” Lady Radclyff said pouting.
“I never said I will not take you, Annie.”
Lady Radclyff grinned, winking at her mother.
***
That evening Penelope was bumping along in the duke’s excellent carriage led by six handsome grey stallions. She was on the way to the ball. And she was frightened yet again. Her palms were sticky with sweat. Her left garter was pinching her thigh, and the cream corset was making it hard for her to breath. She wanted to stick her head out of the window and pant like an overweight French poodle. If she did, then her intricately braided hair, piled on top of her head and secured with jewelled combs, would unravel. Besides, she did not think the duke or Lady Radclyff sitting opposite her would approve of such conduct.
“You look beautiful,” Lady Radclyff soothed.
Penelope was not soothed.
Madame had arrived that evening to personally attend to Penelope’s toilette. She had worked a miracle. The cream satin dress overlaid with delicate rose-gold gossamer net was modestly cut and it floated about her like a dream. On her feet she wore deep pink slippers made from a superbly soft cloth, and in the centre of her slippers tiny ruby-like gems were clustered together to form roses. No more embellishments were added, not even a single strand of pearls. Her neck was left bare and ringlets framed her face. Her lashes darkened with soot made her brown eyes sparkle, and her lips mercilessly scrubbed with sugar looked pink and moist.
“Miss Fairweather, remember Madame’s words and be a wallflower. Everything will be alright,” Lady Radclyff comforted. After a moment, she added, “I think you should breathe. You are not breathing.”
“Yes, I am alright. I will be a wallflower, the very best wallflower. In fact, I will be a wall, not even a flower—”
Penelope was cut short when the carriage jerked to a halt, sending her lurching off the slippery leathery seat. She ended up sprawled on the carriage floor. Any remnants of confidence that had remained in her fled. She sat on the floor gripping the carriage seat and dug her nails in. Lady Radclyff had to prise apart her fingers and drag her out in the open air.
The duke ignored her while Lady Radclyff murmured some comforting, indistinguishable words.
Penelope made it to the entrance after trying to bolt only twice.
Lady Radclyff held her arm in a vice-like grip as their names were announced.
This was it. They had finally entered the dreaded Lady Hartworth’s ball.
The ball was in full swing. Earls, viscounts, counts, marquises, and various other aristocrats, along with their better halves and their numerous sons and daughters, thronged together in a great crowd. Turbans, peacock feathers, boas, bosoms, silk, brocade, and wigs were mashed together like a colourful bowl of fruit salad that had slightly wilted due to the unbearable heat.
White painted faces swam in front of Penelope and the dance floor was barely visible through the mass of bodies. She was relieved. Lady Radclyff was right. Any misstep on her part would not be noticed in such a crowd.
Almost immediately upon their entrance a tall, distinguished looking man with a young couple arrived to greet the duke.
“Miss Fairweather, my mother’s ward.” The duke turned to Penelope and said, “And this is the Duke of Arden, Lord Hamilton and Lady Hamilton.”
Penelope curtsied elegantly. Something tickled at the back of her mind. She had heard the name before, but where? It came to her all of a sudden and she said, “I remember reading about you, your grace, in The Reflections. My father gets a copy every month. I am so sorry. I heard about your sister’s unfortunate end. She was murdered, was she not? And by—”
A sharp pinch on her arm from Lady Radclyff had her stop abruptly.
The Duke of Blackthorne was glaring at her. The Duke of Arden was eyeing her with interest, while Lord and Lady Hamilton were looking a tad scandalised.
Lady Radclyff hurriedly muttered excuses and dragged Penelope across the room towards a discreet corner in the ballroom. She scared off a canoodling couple behind the grey silk curtains and took their place.
“Miss Fairweather,” Lady Radclyff said with forced calm, “you cannot, absolutely cannot, discuss matters of murdered sisters, brothers, aunts … with a duke, no less …Oh, dash it. Just stay clear of the topic of death, birth and anything that comes between. In fact, you were supposed to keep silent. What happened?”
“I was nervous, I didn’t think. I am sorry. I will stay silent,” Penelope replied shamefaced.
“Well, the Duke of Arden is a decent fellow. He is a great friend of the family so he will overlook this little slip on your part, but we cannot depend on anyone else to be as kind. Promise me, Miss Fairweather, no more babbling.”
“I won’t say a word,” she swore.
They emerged from behind the curtains to find the Duke of Blackthorne waiting for them.
Lady Radclyff sighed and whispered to Penelope, “My brother stands guard over me like a sphinx or a fiery dragon. Only men with courage are allowed to make way to my side, and unfortunately England is full of chicken-hearted nitwits.”
“I am sure he would encourage a worthy suitor,” Penelope whispered back
“He doesn’t think any such creatures exist.”
Their conversation came to a momentary standstill when a lanky dandy seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of the duke. One minute he wasn’t there and the next he was. He was dressed in green velvet from top to bottom, and his shoes were a bright cerulean blue. His teeth were the largest and whitest Penelope had ever seen. She blinked, blinded by the sight.
Lady Radclyff si
ghed, “Isn’t he beautiful?”
Penelope rather thought the man looked like a stretched leprechaun, but who was she to quibble. If Lady Radclyff said he was beautiful, then that was what he was.
While the duke was thus engaged with the elongated leprechaun, two other young men sidled past the duke and gestured timidly to Lady Radclyff.
Lady Radclyff brightened at the sight of these men. She flicked her fan open and with her right hand held it in front of her face.
Penelope frowned. If she remembered Madame’s lessons on the language of fans correctly, then Lady Radclyff was secretly asking the two men to follow her.
After a quick glance at the duke, who was still busy conversing with the green dandy, Lady Radclyff firmly clasped Penelope’s hand and led her towards the refreshment table. Once hidden among the crowd and away from the duke’s line of sight, the two gentlemen arrived to join them.
“Lord Poyning,” Lady Radclyff said curtsying.
Penelope noted the blush on her face.
The other gentleman was ignored. Lady Radclyff had eyes for only one man.
A discreet cough from Penelope had Lady Radclyff recalling herself and she quickly introduced Penelope.
“Lord Poyning and Lord Rivers. And this is Miss Fairweather.”
Lord Edward Poyning was a tall handsome man with silver blonde hair, thin lips and big blue innocent eyes. He smiled charmingly and immediately engaged Penelope in conversation.
That is, he tried to engage her in small talk while Penelope tried to be a shy, retiring wallflower.
Lord Anthony Rivers, standing quietly to one side, did not need to make an effort to be a wallflower. He was the very epitome of one. His quiet nature, a little above average appearance, dark hair and dark eyes made one often forget that he was in the room. He hardly ever spoke, except in short clipped sentences, and many found him a dreadful bore.
“Miss Fairweather is painfully shy and your efforts are quite wasted. She doesn’t say a word until the third meeting,” Lady Radclyff said peevishly to Lord Poyning, who was nattering away to Penelope.