“The lady is a reader, then? And pray, what ghastly novels do you consider to be the finest our great authors have to offer?”
“Very few, for I never read novels if I can possibly help it. Every trial I give them comes back with disappointing results. I will acknowledge that I have found Miss Austen’s works are an exception to the general rule.”
“What? No Monk or Children of the Abbey to occupy your leisure hours? That is singular in a lady of your age and disposition.”
“You are quite rude to pass judgment on my disposition when you have known me for only a few hours, Your Grace.” I added the title at the end because I was a little ashamed of how freely I had spoken my annoyance.
The Duke was more serious and less cynical in his reply than I expected. “You speak so directly to my face. Perhaps there is a little something in what you say.” And with that, the waltz ended. The Duke led me from the floor, and before I could do anything, he placed my hand directly into that of Gilbert Cosgrove, who was standing to the side watching, and left with barely a bow in acknowledgement. I was so put out I could have hit him, for he deliberately placed me back into the position he had rescued me from minutes before.
Of course I was required to give Gilbert a dance afterwards, and of course it would be the last dance before supper was announced. I had to endure his company until I was able to escape into the ballroom again and find solace in more pleasant partners. But my composure was put to a dreadful test, for the horrid Duke spent the rest of the ball staring after me in the most pointed fashion, and it made me feel quite uncomfortable to know that his glare was directed at my every move. It was a relief to take leave of the Duncans and return with Papa to our quiet home.
And now I really must go to bed, for I feel as though my feet will drop off at any moment. I hope you have reached Paris in safety, and that you are enjoying a more pleasant scene than mine is at present.
Love,
Isabella
P.S. I have asked Papa, and he has given me permission to order a gown from Paris after all! Please write when you can and tell me what I may expect from the modiste regarding fabrics and patterns.
18 March, 1845
Hotel d’Accord, Paris
Dear Isabella,
Your account of the Duncan ball is truly galling. Only a man supremely full of his own importance could speak to a young lady in such a manner as the Duke spoke to you. And yes, I do indeed remember the Cosgroves from my last visit to you. From your story, it seems Gilbert has hardly changed a bit. While I am not surprised at his appreciation of your company (for you are a beautiful and intelligent young woman, after all), I am in complete agreement with your desire to see as little of him as possible. Tell me, is Eliza Hollingdon still sighing over his supposed perfections, or has she at last come to her senses? He may be considered handsome by many in the neighborhood, but his features are rather in the common way in London, and he is not half so striking as your Duke sounds. Your gown sounds utterly divine, and I look forward to seeing it when we eventually return to Kent.
As you see from my direction, we are all safely arrived in Paris and ensconced in a very fine way at one of the city’s hotels. (You know that S. could never settle for anything less.) Papa has been quite busy with his colleagues in the Linguistics Society of Paris since we arrived and has already given several fine speeches at the symposium. I have attended most of them and am quite proud of his reception amongst his fellow scholars. This is the first trip he has made outside of England to promote his findings on the ancient structure of the western tongues, and I believe he was concerned that his reception would be a bit flat.
Step-mamma, Fanny, and Hettie have ignored the symposium entirely, as I knew they would. The only appearances they have made in connection with the Society have been to dinners and parties given by various local members. The rest of their time has been spent in paying calls on the Society ladies, and in shopping for new wardrobes in the first Parisian style. The latter activity I cannot bring myself to condemn, for I am quite as bad as the rest of them when it comes to visiting the modiste. The choices, Bella, are far beyond even what I expected. Silks, brocades, velvets, lace, linen, and muslin of the finest varieties seem to be available in every color imaginable. And the patterns are all exceedingly modern and elegant; you have only to send me the particulars for your new gown and I will have it ordered for you. To forward the purpose, I am enclosing several drawings in the hopes that you will better be able to select the style in which you would like your gown made up. (My particular favorite is the third one on the sheet.)
Apart from the fashions, there is not much difference between this social scene and that of London. Indeed, I am quite surprised to find how very similar they are, except with regard to the nationalities of the families with which we mix regularly. In London we rarely saw anyone who was not English like ourselves; here in Paris we regularly dine with people from the most important nations of the Continent. This circumstance is heightened by the fact that many of our acquaintances here are also arrived specifically for the symposium of the Linguistics Society. My French, German, and Italian are in almost constant demand, and Papa is pleased with my rapid progress. I appreciate the looks of approval that I receive from the gentlemen when they discover that I am able to converse with them in their own tongue, and it sets me apart from Fanny and Hettie, for they have never managed to acquire more than a rudimentary knowledge of French despite Papa’s insistence that they learn more. (Fanny was only allowed to have a Season this year because she has finally shown some progress with her studies. I cannot help but wish she had continued in her previous pattern of laziness, for she is a most unpleasant companion.)
Thank you for your patient handling of the rumors about Fanny and Lord Clement. I knew you would manage brilliantly. Fanny seems to have forgotten her tendresse in the excitement of new gowns and fans, although she is careful to send withering looks my way whenever possible. She is impossible; already she has attempted several flirtations with the young men that we are forever meeting in company. Thus far I have not been much more impressed with the men here than I was with the men in England. To be sure, there are many worthy and amiable gentlemen in both Paris and London, but for my part, I have not met one who could interest me enough to consider matrimony. Apparently the feeling is mutual, for I receive no attentions beyond those which are polite and friendly. Perhaps with more time I will change my opinion, but for now it is decidedly set.
Papa is looking about for a proper house to which we may remove if we decide to remain in Paris after the symposium is over. He has talked with several of his acquaintances of journeying to Vienna to visit the Royal Library. I should so love to go with him if he does; I long to see the city that Herr Mozart called home.
My music lessons continue in spite of our removal to the Continent. One of our new acquaintances, Lady Rousseau, was most helpful in directing me to a proper tutor, and I am finding the change of instruction to be most beneficial. One can never judge the usefulness of a fresh opinion until one has experienced it firsthand. Madame Dubois is far more accomplished than Mr. Lubbock, and her methods are quite interesting. But I will not bore you with the details; suffice it to say that I am very pleased with my progress and look forward to displaying my new knowledge on my return.
Please send me your color and pattern choices so that I may have your gown made up quickly. I would hate to find that Papa wishes to remove to Vienna before the modiste has had time to finish it. Give my love to your father and keep plenty for yourself.
Love,
Eleanor
18 March, 1845
Copley Manor, Kent
Dear Eleanor,
I must set this down before I am overrun by my own annoyance. You will not fault me for such feelings when you know the cause. Really, I feel as though I could stamp in frustration, even though I have been home this hour past. Only once I have relieved my mind will I be able to go to bed.
We dined with th
e Grahams this evening, as usual. Surprisingly, the Duke of Stirling attended with Lord and Lady Duncan. Worse still, Gilbert Cosgrove came with his father. If Mr. Cosgrove were not a preeminent expert on magnetism, I doubt very much that Lord Graham would bother to keep up the acquaintance. Mrs. Cosgrove comes from rather low connections, and the children have taken after their mother rather than their father. Indeed, I find it astonishing how little of Mr. Cosgrove’s sense and manners Gilbert has inherited. I know Aunt Sylvia has often blamed this on Mrs. Cosgrove’s inattentive attitude toward her children’s education, but we both know how ill-qualified Aunt S. is to speak on such subjects. Mrs. Cosgrove may be inattentive, but I am inclined to think it is as much the fault of Mr. Cosgrove as it is his wife. He has dedicated so much time to his research that he has neglected to educate his son in the proper behavior of a gentleman. It is his own business how he chooses to preside over his household, of course, but I cannot help thinking it most unfortunate that the neighborhood should be required to suffer the consequences of his negligence.
But I digress from my story, though not by much, for Gilbert’s ungentlemanly conduct features prominently in it. The evening began well, as Lady Graham had also invited a family of cousins from the neighboring village to join us. Had they not come, I would have been required to take Gilbert’s arm into the dining room (normally it would have been one of the Felix boys, but they were engaged elsewhere this evening). As it was, I only had to endure the sound of his voice from across the table as he spoke in elevated tones about the brace of pheasants he had killed this morning. My dinner partner was one of Lady Graham’s cousins, a Mr. Porter. He was polite, but rather too interested in politics for my liking. I did my best, however, to seem interested, for at every break in the conversation Gilbert’s head would turn in my direction and he would attempt to draw me into conversation. I believe my efforts to keep up the pretense were also due to the Duke of Stirling’s paying rather close attention to what I had to say. Indeed, I kept catching him watching me with narrowed eyes, and I found that I did not like to appear discomfited by his brooding gaze. So I smiled and pretended to be enjoying myself until we adjourned to the drawing room.
Once the gentlemen had joined us, Lady Graham addressed the company. “I have a great desire for some music this evening. Agnes, Isabella, you must both indulge me and play. My cousins have not yet had the pleasure of hearing you perform.” Agnes smiled brightly and I nodded, though not with much eagerness. (My playing is nothing to yours, and of course my singing is not at all worthy of hearing; if you had not helped me discover a desire to practice, a request such as this would have rendered me completely flustered. Instead I was able to perform my piece with composure and only one missed note.)
I had accepted Agnes’ offer to play first so that she might have more time to exhibit her better skill, and once I finished, I took her seat on the otherwise unoccupied settee. No sooner had I settled myself, however, than Gilbert Cosgrove rose from his seat and very pointedly joined me, sitting rather closer than was proper. He made the situation even more uncomfortable by leaning over and speaking to me in a rather carrying undertone.
“That was deuced fine playing, Miss Copley. Mildred is learning the same piece at home, but she is nothing to you.” I nodded without smiling at him, hoping my silence would discourage further conversation. Gilbert seemed not to notice. “In general I think music boring, but devil take me if you are not the best musician here tonight.” This was going too far, as even the most uneducated ear could tell that I am an indifferent musician. Lady Duncan was seated nearby and had obviously heard Gilbert’s attempts to be gallant at her daughter’s expense. She glanced at us with a scowl. I also saw Mr. Porter catch his brother’s eye, a twin (though not identical) seated in the chair beside him, and they exchanged brief looks of surprise. It was all I could do to keep my composure and not blush furiously.
Opening my fan in my lap, I replied in a quieter tone than Gilbert had employed. “I beg you will not say such things, Mr. Cosgrove. I wish very much to hear Agnes play.” Before he could speak again, I adjusted my skirts away from him and began waving my fan with my left hand. (This was uncomfortable, for I naturally use my right hand, but the screen it provided was the most separation I could give myself.)
It seemed an eternity before Agnes finished and the tea and coffee were brought in, but at last I was free to leave my seat. I stood quickly and joined Lady Graham at the table, purposefully turning my back to Gilbert in the process. Unfortunately, this did not serve as a firm enough hint at my displeasure, for Gilbert followed close behind me. As my back was turned, I did not notice him until I had accepted my tea from Lady G. and swung around to find a new place to sit. My elbow bumped into Gilbert’s waistcoat, and it was pure luck that kept me from spilling the whole of my cup upon his person.
“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry!” I said, more from habit than any desire to court Gilbert’s forgiveness. He hemmed and attempted more forced gallantry, but I was too rattled by the near miss to pay heed to what he was saying. As quickly as I dared, I moved to a single chair near the fire. My hope was that placing myself facing the rest of the company would prevent Gilbert from being able to single me out in conversation. I sat and tried to calm my flustered nerves by taking a sip of my tea. On looking up from my cup, however, I found myself gazing directly at the Duke, who had not moved from his chair near the window since entering the drawing room. He was staring at me most fixedly, ignoring a book that he held in his hand. When he saw that I had caught him, his mouth twitched into a grimace and he looked away, setting aside the book and rising to join the others at the table.
Gilbert continued his absurd attentions throughout the rest of the evening, causing Lady Graham’s cousins to avoid speaking with me directly. They seemed to be under the impression that Gilbert and I had an understanding. I was mortified beyond expression, and could not even act in my own defense. The company was far too small to allow for a true set-down, for after tea Lord Graham convinced Papa, Sir Ian, and Mr. Cosgrove to adjourn with him to the library. (The Duke, maddeningly, declined to join them.) Even the little I did manage was not as satisfying as I had hoped it would be, and I regret now that I even bothered.
You must not think too harshly of me, Eleanor, but I gave into temptation just a little. When I realized that Gilbert was set on following my every move about the room, I decided that action of some sort was required. I had already drunk my usual amount of tea (Gilbert joining me at the table for every replenishment of my cup), but I rose once more and crossed the room. Gilbert obligingly followed, continuing the flow of his narrative on the excellence of the races at Newmarket. I nodded and feigned interest while I poured myself a fresh cup, then moved to return to the circle around the fire.
Knowing his lack of proper etiquette, I could rely on Gilbert to take his own seat before I gained mine. As we approached our seats, I hesitated just enough to allow him to draw ahead of me and sit down. He was just turning to face me as I pretended to catch the toe of my slipper on the Oriental rug. I pitched forward and the momentum sent my full cup of tea flying directly into his face.
A collective gasp went up from the ladies, followed by a great deal of fussing. I pretended to be apologetic, and it seemed I had managed to convince everyone that it was truly an accident… until I glanced up and caught sight of the Duke. He was staring at me again with such a smirk on his face that I knew instantly he had seen through my ruse. My face burned red, but I raised an eyebrow at him in what I hoped was a haughty expression of indifference and returned to my seat.
At last Papa and the other gentlemen returned, and the party broke up for the evening. I was not completely free, however, for in the hall I had more to endure. It so happened that the Duke, Gilbert, and I were all standing close to one another when the servant approached with my shawl. The gallant thing would have been for the Duke to step forward and save me from the indignity of having Gilbert place it about me, but the hateful man did not so muc
h as look my way! It was a relief to step into the carriage and leave them both behind.
“Well, my dear, that was a most enjoyable evening, was it not?” Papa asked amiably as the carriage rolled down the drive. I did my best to smile and answer in a positive tone, but inside I was fuming. Never have I been so embarrassed in my entire life! In general I do not much care what opinion people have of me, but to be thought to be connected with the odious Gilbert is more than I can bear. And the Duke, who was content to sit there and allow the other gentlemen to form such an opinion without acting to contradict it himself! It would not have been proper for any of the ladies to openly comment on such a thing, especially as Gilbert and I are most certainly not courting, and the polite withdrawal of the Porters’ interest prevented me from finding an opening in which to deftly assert my utter contempt for Gilbert. But the Duke, as the only other gentleman in the room with whom I was acquainted, could have spared me a good deal of embarrassment if he had put himself forward and conversed with me instead of staring at me between page turns.
My annoyance has not abated as much as I had hoped, but I must attempt to sleep. If anything of more interest occurs during the rest of the week, I shall add it to this letter. Certainly if I find an opportunity of putting either Gilbert or the Duke in their proper place, I shall inform you of it. With any luck, I shall be able to finish it in better spirits than it began.
20 March
The Bartletts gave a card party this evening. I took little pleasure from the engagement, for the Cosgroves made up part of the party and I found myself forced to spend a full hour at the same table with Gilbert, Mildred, and Eliza Hollingdon. Gilbert talked to me incessantly of his day’s sport while I nodded politely and tried to turn the subject. Eliza ignored her cards, hanging on Gilbert’s every word, and Mildred played her hand in the most spiritless manner imaginable.
Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale Page 3