Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale

by Britain Kalai Soderquist

  It is clear the Duke knows a great deal about biological science. My guess that he uses his roses in his experiments was correct. From his conversations with Papa, I gather that he spends much of his time trying to create new methods for increasing the productivity of plants. However, it seems he prefers to limit his experiments to include only ingredients that are naturally occurring. He was most adamant on this point when Papa suggested that he try some of the newly discovered artificial chemical compounds in his work.

  “No, I have reason to think that they would not serve my purpose.”

  “But with the opening of the College of Chemistry, surely it will not be long before such things are done throughout the country,” Papa replied. “Indeed, my own laboratory is small and would be inadequate for such a venture, but the new laboratories will provide ample resources. A man of your reputation will have no difficulty in securing entrance to the college.”

  The Duke’s mouth twisted slightly into a grim smile. “No doubt, but I do not believe that the future of biological crop enhancement is to be found in artificial chemicals. Perhaps something might be done with such things to control insects and the like, but my own research leads me to believe that natural remedies are a better choice.” He paused for a moment, gazing out over the roses in the direction of the fields that spread across the land below. “I have more reason than some to know this to be the truth,” he added, almost in an undertone before turning the subject.

  Could this be an allusion to his past troubles? I fear my information is still too scanty to be able to properly understand such a hint. But his manner was so very serious and his expression so brooding and contemplative and even sorrowful that I cannot keep from going over this instance in my mind repeatedly.

  Please assure Uncle Charles and Aunt Sylvia that Papa is growing stronger every day. I told Papa of their concern, and he sends them his thanks and compliments. I add mine and send my love to all of you along with his.

  Love,

  Isabella

  12 May, 1845

  24 Rue de Verre, Paris

  Dear Isabella,

  It has been more than a week since I last wrote to you, and what a lot I have to tell! You will see from my direction that I am still in Paris, but that will change by this evening. Papa and I are leaving this afternoon for Vienna! And we are going without Step-mamma, Hettie, and Fanny! It has come about in the strangest manner possible, and I shall have to start from the beginning or you shall not follow the odd events that have led to this complete reversal of Step-mamma’s wishes.

  You remember that I wrote about Baron Wilhelm’s sudden increase in his visits to us here? Well, my suspicions about his having formed an attachment were correct, but not completely. In fact, the guesses you made in your last few letters were far more astute than I gave them credit for at the time. As incredible as it seems, it appears that the Baron’s attentions were all intended for me. (You will no doubt laugh that I have been taken so completely by surprise, for in spite of your caution I believe I have been willfully blind.)

  Last week was Lady Compte’s spring ball (not nearly as fine as Lady Rousseau’s a few weeks ago), and we were all in attendance. As it is now well into spring, I wore a lovely gown of very pale green and white, with fresh pink roses in my hair for a bit of color. The ball was well-attended. Baron Wilhelm and the Duponte family dined with us beforehand, and we all arrived together. I have been playing for more than the usual number of Fanny’s impromptu dances, and was therefore pleased to have an opportunity to dance myself.

  The first country dances passed with nothing remarkable to note, and the first waltz of the evening arrived to find Baron Wilhelm requesting the honor of my hand. (It is not unusual for him to request a waltz with me; he is, I believe, better pleased with my skill than many of the other ladies. These German men are rather particular regarding their waltzes.) I accepted, and we enjoyed a pleasant dance together. Our conversation was polite and friendly, as usual, and we parted in good spirits.

  I did not think anything of it at the time until the second waltz of the evening when the Baron again sought my hand. Even then it did not immediately strike me as odd, although he had never before asked to stand up with me for two waltzes in a row. (At most we would waltz once before supper and once after.) We went on as before, speaking of the opera we had attended earlier in the week, and I returned my attention to other partners until the waltz before supper, when once more I found my hand solicited by Baron Wilhelm. Only then did I begin to realize how very unusual his behavior was. His manner was still attentive and civil, as always, but I was quite distracted in my replies to his commonplaces because I was wondering what he could mean by his behavior.

  When the waltz ended we went in to supper, and it seemed obvious that he had claimed my hand so that he could also partner me during the meal. Needless to say, I paid close attention to his behavior toward me, but I did not detect a hint of added eagerness or interest beyond what I am generally accustomed to from him, and I began to suspect myself of imagining things.

  The company returned to the ballroom and it was only then, in the moments before the musicians took up their instruments, that he finally betrayed a hint of change in his demeanor. We had strolled up the long side of the room and joined my family again. Our discussion (I do not recall the subject) came to a pause, and then the Baron said quite suddenly, “Miss Stafford, I regret that I must withdraw from the ball for a time. I promised Lord Rousseau that I would meet him for cards after supper. However, I would be most honored if you would consider reserving the last waltz of the evening for me. I shall not be gone long, but I should like to be secure of one more opportunity of dancing with you before we part for the evening.”

  I was so astonished, I could only nod and make a small noise of assent. The Baron did not seem to notice; he took my hand and bowed over it, kissing my fingers (which he had never done before), then bowed to Papa and Step-mamma as he retired. I stood there for several moments, too stunned to move. Fanny’s suspicious gaze is what finally brought me back to a sense of where I was, but I do not think the rest of my family noticed.

  For my own peace of mind as much as for Sir George (who claimed my hand for the next dance), I strove to put the matter from my mind. This worked rather well and was aided not a little bit by Baron Wilhelm’s absence from the ballroom. That is to say, it worked rather well until the very end of the ball when he returned and did indeed stand up with me once more for a fourth waltz. If those in attendance had failed to notice us earlier in the evening, they could no longer pretend to do so.

  The Baron attended us to our carriage and assisted me with my shawl, for which there was not the slightest need. I turned to thank him and found my hand quite captured in his. “I owe you my most humble gratitude, Miss Stafford. You have made my evening most enjoyable. I very much look forward to our next meeting.” He said all this as he led me to the door behind the rest of the family. Another bow, another kiss of the hand, and I was released. It was a relief to enter the carriage and return home so that I could think quietly about what had happened and escape from the feeling that I was hearing whispers among the gathered company. Fanny was still eyeing me suspiciously, and I was suddenly very grateful that she had never managed to learn German.

  The next day I was certain we would see Baron Wilhelm at the house, and I spent the better part of the morning preparing myself to observe his behavior and receive whatever attentions he chose to bestow with modest reserve. But I need not have bothered, for he did not come. He did not visit the next day either, and I was again scolding myself for making so much fuss out of nothing when Papa called me into the small parlor he has made into his study.

  I shall summarize, for the morning is wearing on. Papa wished to speak to me about a letter Baron Wilhelm had written, requesting Papa’s permission to pay his respects to me. Papa was quite surprised, of course, for there truly has been no indication that I was the one the Baron meant to distinguish. For more than a
month we have all been included in his visits and invitations, and in company he has not seemed to seek me out any more than during the first weeks of our acquaintance. (You will recall that I mentioned this over the last several times I have written to you.) Papa is truly the most wonderful of parents, for rather than replying to the Baron upon receiving the letter, he came to me first and asked in the kindest manner if I had expected the communication to be made.

  You may imagine my shock; I am not in love with Baron Wilhelm, even though I think him a charming gentleman. His addresses do me great honor, and I am very sensible of the great advantage such a marriage would be. But I should have to live in Munich, and I could not leave Papa for anything less than true love. I would not have a man as good-natured as Baron Wilhelm marry a woman who does not fully return his affections.

  In spite of our lengthy discussions on the topic, you may rightly ask if I am fully in command of my senses to be turning down such an advantageous match. I must confess I did wonder if I was making the right decision. Such a marriage would allow me to leave my stepfamily behind forever, and that is not without its merits. But Baron Wilhelm has not conducted his courtship in a manner that has secured my affections. He has taken no trouble to let me know of his regard beforehand. Even his odd behavior at Lady Compte’s ball could only be considered a beginning, not at all what I would expect of a long-standing courtship. I was left to learn of his feelings by a letter that was not even written to me. How can I be sure that his regard is truly for me? He knows nothing more of me than what he sees in polite company. Does he know that I am sometimes too outspoken when I am upset? Does he know that I ride a gentleman’s horse at home in Kent, or that you and I ride astride whenever I visit at Copley Manor? Does he know that I like to help the cooks in the kitchen at times, and that I am not above preparing part of the evening meal when it strikes my fancy? I do not believe he truly knows me as a person, and I fear he would be disappointed in his choice of bride upon the discovery of such things. For you know I could never give up my employments without a very good reason, and an advantageous match to a man I do not love is not a good enough reason.

  Papa has accepted these reasons and is a bit relieved, I think. It did come as quite a shock for him to remember that I have long been of marriageable age, and that there will indeed come a day when he will have to part with me. We both seem glad to put that event off for the time being. He has written to the Baron and informed him of the situation. Baron Wilhelm was extremely gracious in his reply, although he has stopped coming to the house to visit.

  And now I come to the reason why we are departing for Vienna. It seems that the Baron was indeed the nobleman Hettie believed to be in love with her. She is most distressed at the thought that his calls were meant as attentions to me rather than her. Fanny has most vehemently taken her sister’s side, and has proclaimed me a jilt, flirt, minx, and husband-stealer, among other things. Step-mamma is angry with me for refusing the Baron’s proposal as well as for taking his attentions from Hettie. I am inclined to think that she would not have minded the latter so much if I had at least accepted the former.

  Even with all the fuss, Papa might not have actually felt the need to leave had he not walked in on Step-mamma scolding me in a most disrespectful manner two days ago. I will not go into details (for Papa’s sake), but suffice it to say that he is most angry with her. Quite simply, 24 Rue de Verre has become too hot to hold me. Papa declared over dinner last night that he had accepted Lord Warner’s invitation for the two of us, and that we were to leave as soon as we could be packed and ready. It was quite unexpected, even by me. Step-mamma feels very cruelly used, as she was quick to tell us, and has added this trip to her list of grievances. If she did not hate me before, she certainly does now. (I must add that I do not think Papa has actually received a reply to his letter to Lord Warner, as this has all happened so quickly. He is certainly counting on their former invitation. If he should prove wrong, I suppose we will simply take lodgings in the city. Still, the pretense was necessary to keep S. from trying to stop us from going.)

  I could not care less for their opinion, Bella, honestly I could not. I am going to Vienna with Papa and leaving behind the people who have been making my life miserable for far too long. I fear I will burst with joy before we can set off. And to add to my delight, we are to travel part of the way by the railway system! I have never journeyed in such a fashion before (we always take our carriage to London, even though the Southeastern line runs near our village), but I have heard that it is noisy and dirty and incredibly fast. I am terribly excited. My trunks are packed with the cards affixed, and I have only to wait for Papa to return from concluding some business before we depart. I shall send you my new direction as soon as I arrive in Austria.

  I was about to close my letter, but Martha interrupted me by bringing an unexpected parcel from Lydia Galloway that I believe you would find interesting. She has kept her promise and sent me some Venetian glass in the most curious shape. I shall copy her note to me here so that you may read the story for yourself. Papa has just come home and he will be ready to leave soon.

  All my love,

  Eleanor

  P.S. I quite forgot to respond to your most recent letter in my haste to share my news. I wish I knew more about chemical science, but alas, the subject is one I have always found difficult to understand. Still, the Duke’s behavior is puzzling. I think your guess is likely accurate. Why else would he make such a comment in the middle of a discussion on the benefits and drawbacks of using artificial or natural chemicals? It is a pity no one will tell you anything. But perhaps you will learn something more, by and by. Living in close quarters with others makes secret keeping difficult, to say the least.

  Eleanor,

  As you see, I have kept my promise. I found these in a little shop that was tucked away in a back corner of one of the many tiny winding streets here in Venice. You are most likely wondering the same thing I am: a pair of slippers made entirely of glass? How can that be possible? Will they even be wearable? I wish I could say I had tried them on, but alas, they were too small for my feet. But I believe you will have no trouble with them. The shopkeeper (an old wizened wisp of a lady) had several pairs, but these with the silver swirls in the glass were the ones I thought you would like best. They seem quite sturdy, for the old lady put them on to demonstrate and they held her weight with no trouble. I hope you like them and that they arrive in one piece. One can never tell with glass, you know.

  Lydia

  11 May, 1845

  Castle Stirling, Scotland

  Dear Eleanor,

  In the days since I last wrote to you I have had more excitement than I thought to expect after Helen’s departure, if you can call injury and fright excitement. Do not be alarmed for my health; it is only a twisted ankle. And the manner in which I received it is all my own folly. But this is not a fair way to proceed with such news. Let me relate the tale from the beginning.

  Helen left us on Wednesday last week, and for two days afterward it rained most steadily. Papa and I spent the time reading by the fire in the upstairs sitting room or browsing the shelves in the library while discussing the considerable number of volumes it contained. The Duke was present for meals and in the drawing room, as usual, but otherwise we did not see him.

  “Experimenting up in his laboratory, I expect,” Papa said when I accidentally wondered aloud over the situation. “I would be up there myself, but I do not like you being left to yourself so much.”

  “But Papa, you know I do not mind it. And we never bother over such things at home.”

  “Yes my dear, I know that has been our usual practice. But this illness of mine,” he ran his hand thoughtfully over his hair, which was more silver than it had been, “it has given me reason to reflect on my actions over the last several years, and I fear the review has not been as heartening as I should like.”

  I set my book in my lap and reached over to place a hand on Papa’s arm. “You are a
good father, and you always have been. You have given me nothing but love and kindness throughout my whole life. Other girls often cannot say the same.”

  “But I have not been involved in your life,” Papa protested, placing his hand on top of mine and squeezing it gently but firmly. “I should have been there for you more when your mother died. But I chose to bury myself in my work. While you had a constant companion in your governesses, I was able to justify spending so much time in my laboratory with my experiments. But now I see that I was wrong.” I watched the look of anxiety play across Papa’s features and did not know how to respond. My poor, scatterbrained father; it was true that he had not been very involved in my life as a child, but no more than I had assumed any father was. I had never felt neglected; on the contrary, I had rather enjoyed being left to my own devices at times. And yet he felt he had abandoned me, and I could see that it pained him.

  “Papa, you must not trouble yourself; indeed, you are mistaken if you think I ever felt you did not care for me. I have many fond memories from my childhood. How can you think that you have been anything less than an attentive father when I recall so many instances of your care?”

  Papa laughed, but it sounded slightly hollow to me. “Perhaps you are right. But I know that I have failed you in one respect. You are grown now and yet I have not provided you with an opportunity to find a suitable husband. I see my folly there, although it took a letter from Charles for me to realize it was so.”

  “Uncle Charles?” I said, confused. “What has Uncle Charles to do with anything?”

  “Nothing specific, but his most recent letter spoke of your cousins and how he has suspicions that Eleanor might be forming an attachment to someone. He asked me for advice, and I realized that he knew far more on the subject than I did, because I had never once given a thought to what I would do about my own daughter’s prospects.” (You may imagine that I was most curious about which gentleman your father suspected you of being attached to, but it did not seem the proper moment to ask for details.)