However, I am most distressed by the news you have sent from Paris. I cannot begin to understand what could have happened to make your Parisian friends treat you with such contempt and coldness. You are right, I think, to assure yourself that it is not about your refusal of Baron Wilhelm; I share your opinion on the matter entirely. I shall go a step beyond, however, and suggest that this seems very like something Fanny might concoct to cause trouble. What her reasons could be I cannot guess, for you have been away so long that even she should have forgotten her ill-humor by now. Regardless, we cannot know anything for certain without first knowing exactly what it is you are supposed to have done to deserve such uncivil conduct. If I may provide you with any assistance, please tell me at once. I shall see if I can discover any rumors that may have circulated here, but I believe I would have already been told if there were, for I have met several families already who you met whilst in town last winter, and not a word has been said about it. Do not despair, and tell me at once if you discover anything more to your mystery.
Love,
Isabella
6 August, 1845
24 Rue de Verre, Paris
Dear Isabella,
Lydia Galloway has not managed to contact me in the week since Lady Jacques’ ball, and I fear I have more unpleasant news to relate. Please forgive me if I blot the page, for even now it pains me to think of what I am about to tell you, and I feel the hot prickling that surely indicates the imminent arrival of tears.
Rupert wrote to me once last week to inform me that he had been released from his obligations early and would arrive in Paris on Wednesday. I was to expect him here shortly thereafter. But he did not come. Nor did he come any day during the whole course of the week. I was in a state of nervous anticipation every morning and again during tea, but each time my wish to see him was not gratified… until today. Oh, how I wish I could forget it, pretend that it never happened!
We were engaged to take tea with Lady Rousseau today, a circumstance which I looked forward to with relief. She and Lady Warner are the only two of all the ladies I know who have not altered their behavior toward me. I have not seen Lady W. at all since I returned, for she has been much engaged with tending her daughter and new grandson. This was my first meeting with Lady R. as well, as she was visiting a cousin in Cologne until Monday. I was so looking forward to seeing her again, and to enjoying a quiet tea without having to endure cold looks and Fanny’s triumphant smiles.
Imagine my shock when I entered Lady R.’s salon to find Rupert, my own dear Rupert, seated there in conversation with her. My heart leapt and the weight of my worries seemed to melt at the sight of him. Our entrance was not immediately noted, and it seemed an age before the footman announced our presence.
“Madame Stafford, what a pleasure to see you. And Eleanor, my dear, how I have missed you since you went away!” Lady R. said most kindly as she rose to greet us. I put as much gratitude as I could into my voice and smile as I returned her greeting; her friendliness was most welcome after a fortnight of incivility. From her I turned at last toward Rupert. I wanted very much to be near him, but I remembered at the last moment that our engagement was not formal and that my stepfamily did not yet know of our situation.
“Baron von Schönfeld,” I said with a curtsey, “I am delighted to see you again so soon.”
“Miss Stafford,” Rupert replied quietly and bowed, his posture somewhat stiff. He must not have known who would be attending tea that afternoon, for he seemed a bit confused to see me. My smile slipped slightly; this was most unusual. I watched as he greeted my stepmother and stepsisters with similar formality and wondered why he felt the need to behave so in front of them. I glanced at Lady R. and caught a look of disapproval flash briefly across her face.
We sat down and Lady R. began to pour out the tea. Fanny had moved quickly to gain the only seat close to Rupert’s chair, leaving me to settle directly across from him. It seemed that Rupert was uncertain how to behave before my stepfamily, so I determined to try and help him become more comfortable with the situation.
“May I inquire after your uncle, sir? I hope he was in good health before you left Vienna.”
“Thank you, my uncle is quite well.” Silence followed this short reply.
“And my father and Lord Warner? Were they also well?”
“Yes, I had the pleasure of dining with them the night before my journey.” Again, silence. Seated as I was, I saw the wicked little smile that Fanny exchanged with Hettie across the table. An uncomfortable warmth rose into my cheeks. I stared at Rupert and tried to catch his eye, but he was looking determinedly at Lady R. and Step-mamma, who were carrying on their own conversation. A sudden fear swept over me. What if his behavior had something to do with my mysterious fall from grace with Parisian society? Surely it could not be that. Even I did not know the cause, and I had been in town longer than Rupert.
It was clear he was not going to look at me, so I turned my attention to Lady R., who obligingly included me in her conversation. “Eleanor, my dear, you must tell me all of your news. You must have some wonderful stories to share of your adventures in Vienna.”
“Indeed, ma’am, my time was most pleasantly spent indeed.” Even as I spoke the words, I realized the awkwardness of the situation. I glanced at Rupert and saw that he had colored slightly, and it shamed me to observe it. Was he embarrassed by me? Everything was so confusing and strange.
As my only real news since we had last been together was of either Vienna (and by association my time there with Rupert), or the cold reception I had experienced since my return to Paris, I was reluctant to say much. I soon abandoned my attempts to fathom Rupert’s behavior and instead sipped my tea in silence, my face burning with mingled anger and misery. Lady Rousseau’s looks indicated only sympathy and concern whenever her gaze turned to me, and annoyance with Rupert whenever she looked at him. Rupert himself said almost nothing, but I did catch him looking at me several times with a most unreadable expression on his face. And all the while Fanny smiled her brightest smiles and attempted to draw him into conversation, looking knowingly at me and gloating silently over her vivacity and my silence in Rupert’s presence, while Step-mamma pretended nothing was amiss, and Hettie steadily emptied the plate of macaroons and tea sandwiches.
It is very difficult for me to admit these things, even to one I know so well as you, dear Isabella. The look on his face is burned into my mind. I shall never forget it: so confused, uncertain how to address me, when barely a fortnight ago he would have smiled and taken my hand in the most affectionate manner. So very unlike the look I had last seen on his face when we stood together in the gardens at Schönfeldhaus. His manner was so reserved and his formal bow, his careful avoidance of my gaze, and his almost complete silence toward me throughout the whole of that tea are things that give me pain even now.
He must have been told something about me; there is no other explanation for his complete change in manner after all that has happened between us. I blush to think of the things I wrote in my last letter before leaving Vienna, the hopes I once entertained. How can I ever hope to correct Rupert’s notions of me if I do not even know what I am supposed to have done to sully my own name? Surely, surely it is not because I declined Baron Wilhelm’s offer of marriage. Girls decline engagements quite often without feeling such awful repercussions. My feelings alternate between despair and anger every moment. How could he believe anything slanderous that is reported against me after all the time we have spent together? Should he not know me well enough to judge my innocence himself? Only something truly terrible could have changed his understanding of my character, I know. He is too good, too intelligent, too just to have believed aspersions against me without apparent cause. What am I to do? How shall I uncover the truth and clear myself if no one will speak to me about what I have done?
I am too miserable to write more, but I must continue, for I have resolved that the only thing to do is write Papa and request his immediate return. P
erhaps he will be able to clear up this abominable situation. I will write again if I have anything more to say. Forgive me for not responding to the contents of your last letter in more depth. Your gowns sound divine, I am delighted that you are pleased with Charlotte Davenport and the Eastons, and I am disgusted with Gilbert Cosgrove’s presumption. More than that, I fear, is quite beyond me.
Love,
Eleanor
7 August, 1845
18 Charleston Street, London
Dear Eleanor,
I hope that my news will at least serve as a distraction from your troubles, if not to cheer you up. Indeed, I am not exactly certain whether I should view today’s events in a positive or negative light, but regardless, I think you will agree that they are most interesting.
Today Papa and I attended the ceremony for the opening of the Royal College of Chemistry. It was held in one of the reception halls at the University of Cambridge. Many prestigious people attended the event, and it was quite full. Everyone was dressed in their finer clothes, almost as though for a party. I decided to wear the gown you sent me from Paris (the cheery color seems more at home during the daylight hours), and I received a great many compliments.
Lord Graham went with us, and we met Mr. Davenport and his daughter Charlotte at the hall. Much of the event was rather dull, with speeches given about the great potential of discoveries within the field of chemistry and much congratulating of the subscription members who had provided the necessary funds to open the college. Things were more interesting after the speeches, courtesy of the small reception held in lieu of going home for tea. Once we had partaken of the sandwiches and pastries, Charlotte was kind enough to introduce me to several new people as we walked about the hall.
We were conversing with some of Charlotte’s friends when I caught sight of a familiar form off to my left. I believe my excessive surprise is the only thing that allowed me to keep my countenance, for I was looking at none other than my own William, the Duke of Stirling! He was standing with a group of men that I belatedly noticed contained Papa, Lord Graham, and Mr. Davenport.
William was the youngest man in the group, and among so many distinguished greying heads, the contrast of his height and profile were striking. I have always thought him handsome, and I was acutely aware of it as I watched him from across the room. I could not help marveling at the changes in him since our first meeting. Where before his expression had been disgruntled, now it was pleasant, if a little solemn. He no longer insisted on maintaining a stern silence; he was conversing with the other gentlemen openly, with only a small amount of reserve. He carried himself more confidently as well, less like a bear and more like a man of strength and purpose. I had never seen him looking so well.
I tried to look away before he could notice me staring, but I was not quick enough. He glanced in my direction, and our eyes met. Once the expression in his brown eyes would have been incomprehensible; now I could read it perfectly. He was not surprised (which he could not be, as he was speaking with my own father), but he seemed a little cautious. I caught a hint of another emotion that I thought (or rather hoped) was admiration, but I very likely imagined it. He nodded to me, and I inclined my head in return. I wanted to excuse myself from Charlotte’s friends and walk over to greet him. Fleeting thoughts of apologies or explanations came and went with rapidity. This was not the place for such things, and as I had been the one to cause the breach in our friendship, I was in no position to renew it. The office belonged to him, and I could only wait and pretend to be more interested in discussing new pelisses and the properties of glycine than thinking of the man I still loved.
Fortunately I did not have to wait for long. Within a few minutes the group of gentlemen broke up, and I felt my stomach twist with anticipation as William followed Papa, Lord Graham, and Mr. Davenport when they moved to join our circle. Mr. Davenport and Charlotte made the necessary introductions, and I tried my best to appear friendly and at ease. It was no simple task to wait, anxiously wondering in what manner William would acknowledge me.
At last an opportunity presented itself and William turned and looked at me. “I am pleased to see you again, Miss Copley,” he said, and my heart soared at the sound of his rich voice. “I must admit that I did not expect to see you in town.”
“Indeed, I might make the same remark about you. But I am glad of it, for it would have been a shame to miss the stimulating speeches we heard today.” It was a remark I knew he would appreciate; the speeches had been anything but stimulating. I was being impertinent, but I could not help myself. I wanted him to know that I was happy to see him. William’s chuckle (actually given in public!) was just as thrilling as his voice, deep and rumbling.
“Come now, Isabella, you must have enjoyed the speech on the importance of continued patronage to the college,” Charlotte said, a teasing tone in her voice.
“Oh indeed,” I replied. “One must always acknowledge the excellence of any speech that at its heart amounts to no more than a request for money.” This earned me another rumble from the Duke. We continued to discuss the demerits of the speeches until Mr. Davenport broke in to invite us all to dine with them the next evening. I glanced at William to see if he would accept the offer and felt somewhat gratified to see him looking at me as well.
I have thought about this encounter a great deal since it occurred. I am excessively surprised that William was so willing to renew our easy acquaintance. I had prepared myself for withdrawal or polite civility, but I received far more. The dinner with the Davenports seems a hundred years away! I fear I shall not sleep for wondering and thinking about what to say when I see him again.
10 August
I was going to continue this letter with a recitation of the incredibly busy day I had yesterday, but the news in your letter requires more immediate attention. It is lucky I am not with you in Paris at this moment, for I fear I might do or say something untoward and only make the situation worse. I am most particularly vexed with Rupert for allowing the influence of rumors and unfounded nonsense to alter his behavior toward you. If he truly is as kind and intelligent a man as you have always led me to believe, then I also cannot comprehend the lack of insight that would lead him to suspect any ill report of you to be true. But perhaps I am being unfair to him. You certainly do not seem to blame him entirely, although any anger you may feel would be completely justified in my opinion. He is a member of the Imperial Family in Austria and must have pressures placed upon him that a private gentleman would not be required to bear. Perhaps if he were not so very important he would not have questioned at all. I can easily see that his rank would cause him to worry, if not for himself, then for his family and nation. Still, you are right; he should know your character enough to judge for himself without any exterior help.
Oh Eleanor, if only I could spare you from sharing the feelings that I have only recently experienced. They are most unpleasant, and I wish heartily that you remained unable to empathize with me. One of us at least must have a happy ending to our life story, and I heartily desire it to be you. Surely Rupert will see reason soon, if he is as sensible as you have always claimed. Lady Rousseau believes you are innocent of whatever you are supposed to have done, and her opinion must hold great weight with Rupert. It will all come out well in the end, you shall see. Depend upon it that Lady R. is doing everything in her power to contradict these reports. It is a pity she happened to be away from Paris at the same time you were; she might have been able to do something about these lies before they spread.
In the meantime, you may distract yourself with the details of my story. I think you will find something in it to be sufficiently amused by, though I assure you that in the moment I did not find much to laugh at.
Lady Graham decided not to pay calls this morning, being rather tired from a late-night engagement with some friends. In an effort to avoid being trapped at home and susceptible to a visit from Gilbert Cosgrove (whose cards I have been tearing with impunity all week), I ventured ou
t into the park with one of the maids acting as companion. The morning was fine and warm, and the park was already inhabited by many people enjoying the lovely weather. I strolled about and eventually came to a place where a smaller gravel walk led around some shrubs to run before several beds of lovely flowers. I stepped onto this little path and advanced to admire the flowers, thinking yet again of how I would see William in the evening and wondering which gown I should wear. The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel broke into my thoughts, and I turned to see the looming figure of Gilbert Cosgrove approaching me. I looked around for the maid, but she was some distance away, no doubt giving me what she considered to be respectful privacy. For the first time in ten years I was tempted to use some of the unladylike words I had learned from one of the stable boys at home, but I managed to preserve my dignity.
“Well Isabella, you have played quite a trick to be away from home so much, but I have caught you at last,” Gilbert said. I felt my anger rise instantly at being addressed by my Christian name and in such a familiar manner.
“Good morning, Mr. Cosgrove,” I replied in a cool tone and with a decided emphasis. “Your sister is well, I trust?”
“Hang Mildred; I came here to see you. Don’t you want to know why?”
“Not in the slightest, actually; and I will thank you to be more careful of your language, as you are speaking to a lady in a public park. If you do not wish to be civil, I shall bid you good day.” I curtsied out of habit and moved to walk around him, but his greater size made it easy for him to block my path.
“Come now, Isabella, you cannot put me off forever. Is it because I have not spoken to your father yet? Surely you cannot be so old fashioned as to require his consent before you will give me yours. Can you not see my determination?”
Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale Page 26