by Noël Cades
The thought of appearing in the same gown at every ball and assembly was unthinkable to Kitty and Jemima. "What if the gown became stained or damaged?" Kitty asked.
"We took great care to ensure that they were not," Miss Berystede told her. "For such gowns were very difficult to launder. We were able to adjust their effect with different engageantes, as I have mentioned, or a fichu. I do recall that we avoided lighter shades, for richer colours and patterns wore better over time."
The maid came in with a card. It was from Lord Elstone, who requested the pleasure of their company at dinner the following evening. The whole household was invited to his property in Marylebone, where renovations were nearly complete.
"I am excited to see it, for the way my father described it before made it sound practically a ruin. Cobwebs and spiders and damp. I am so very glad he did not expect us to stay there," Kitty said.
“I wonder whom else he may invite?” Jemima asked.
Kitty did not think there would be many people, for Lord Elstone was disinclined to large gatherings. “My uncle Horace perhaps, who is quite elderly. Beyond that I cannot say. It will be interesting to see how it is all decorated, nonetheless, for my father has frequently consulted us as to colour schemes and styles of furniture. He endlessly discussed the merits of Chinese and French paper-hangings with Miss Pargeter, but whether he eventually determined on birds or flowers or country scenes, we must wait until tomorrow night to discover.”
Chapter 27
"I trust Spain went well? And all is settled regarding your domestic affairs?" George Gresham greeted Marcus in their club.
"The Spanish matter at least is so far resolved. Such that it ever can be," Marcus said.
"Domestic matters less so, then?" George was determined to extract the latest developments from Marcus regarding his ward and his marriage plans. He knew all too well how little forthcoming his friend could be.
Marcus searched for a way to preserve his dignity. That he should have failed to secure the affection of his own ward was galling. "My plans in that regard may have undergone some alteration," he eventually confessed.
George expressed surprise. "I recall you spoke of some misunderstanding at our last encounter. I assumed such a thing would be resolved by now."
"It is not resolved, rather the contrary. It transpires that my ward has a preference for some other, unnamed suitor." Marcus attempted to speak lightly, as though such a thing was a matter of little concern to him.
He did not fool George Gresham. George had been well aware of how captivated his friend had been by the girl. "Well, whosoever he may be, I cannot think it was any of the set surrounding her the last time you were here. For the gossipmongers talked of nothing but the Earl and Lady Julia in the weeks following your respective departures."
This was an opportunity to explain the rather delicate situation surrounding Jemima’s new identity. "Upon that point - my ward arrives in town as Miss Carlow. Lady Julia - her cousin - is long since returned to Ireland, wed to her Irish lord."
George finally understood the bizarre notice of the fictitious marriage printed in the Times. Marcus had been in Spain when it was published, so George had not been able to mention it to him. He had assumed then that it was some prank. Now he guessed, with greater accuracy, that it was a deliberate stratagem. "Devilish clever, if you can pull it off," he said. "I’ll happily play my part. She’ll need to look different from before, I suppose. What’ll that be, a boil or a blackened tooth?"
Such a disfigurement on the face of the girl he adored made Marcus recoil internally. "Don’t be a damned fool."
George was amused rather than offended. "I fear an arrow has finally penetrated the fortress of your heart!"
His flippancy was an attempt to lighten the mood, but it only increased Marcus’s ire. "I would appreciate it if you could refrain from resorting to the language of a lurid novelette."
George forbore to remark on his friend’s acquaintance with such literature. "Come now, Southwell, we are old friends. If I can be of some service to you in securing your suit, I would be only too glad to assist."
"One might have thought that a title and such an estate as Southwell were ample attractions for matrimony," Marcus said.
This caused his friend to laugh. "I am afraid that the fairer sex requires rather softer stuff than that. Whether a duchess or a dairymaid, they all wish to be wooed from the heart, not the head. I would swear the girl - Miss Carlow, as she turns out to be - was quite enraptured with you a few months ago. How you can have managed to lose her regard in the interim, I cannot say. A few baubles and billets doux, and one would have expected a speedy path to St George’s," he said, referring to the church near Hanover Square, currently fashionable for society weddings.
Marcus could not explain that he was now reaping the bitter harvest of the foolish trick he had sown. Had he not dangled the bogeyman of Sir Hubert Frobisher before his ward, he might well have retained and even deepened her affections.
But what was done was done. Or might it not be too late for baubles? These he could manage, he thought. Whatever Gresham meant by “softer stuff” was not in his line. Love poetry, he supposed, and wooing words. Marcus had never needed such tactics before to win a lady. Indeed, he had never set out to win one, they had typically been the ones to make advances to him.
Finding the tables reversed was uncomfortable. The Earl of Southwell was not entirely sure how he should proceed.
Jemima was dismayed that all her dancing slippers were to be flat, with no heels. Heels might currently be out of fashion, but many women still chose a small rise in the belief that a loftier height was more elegant. Many of Kitty’s shoes had tiny flared heels and Jemima had enjoyed borrowing them.
“Mademoiselle is already of a very fair height,” the modiste commented in consolation. She was one of many French émigrés who had fled to England following the Revolution, and had built successful businesses in the capital.
“And besides,” she continued. “It would not do for a husband to discover his wife shrunk by several inches on entering the marriage chamber.”
Kitty shot a scandalised glance at Jemima. It was not done to talk of such things as the marriage chamber to unmarried women such as themselves. The French were clearly more freely spoken.
The modiste, having taken the measurement for Jemima’s hem, rose up to put the tape around her waist. “There was a princess of Prussia who ordered the head of her serving maid to be shaved, such that she might fashion the girl’s flaxen locks into a wig,” she told them. “With this device she attracted the admiration of a neighbouring prince, who offered for her hand. Only imagine! As she walked into church on her wedding day, she tripped and caught her veil beneath her shoe. The golden hairpiece was dislodged, to reveal locks of a dull brown beneath. The prince - horrified - marched back to his kingdom, never to return!”
Jemima and Kitty, neither of whom had flaxen locks but thinking of Selina Linton-Smythe who did, were outraged for quite the wrong reasons.
“He quite deserved what he got,” Jemima said. “He ought to have married the maid, had he such an unreasonable preference for the colour of a woman’s hair.”
“But that is not the point of the tale,” the modiste said. “It is that a woman may do well to enhance her appearance, but should not disguise it utterly.”
Jemima could not agree with this sentiment either, though she did not say so. Had she managed to disguise herself utterly on her first visit to London, her guardian might never have discovered her deception.
Encouraged by the reception of her stories, the modiste began one that was even more shocking, but was curtailed by Mrs Owen at the phrase “droit de seigneur”. Both Kitty and Jemima burned to know what it meant, but dared not ask.
Mrs Owen’s knowledge of fabric and ideas for style were such that even the modiste was impressed by her gentle suggestions. Jemima was going to have an exquisite wardrobe, even if it was rather more demure than she would have l
iked.
“You are a debutante, my dear,” Mrs Owen said, when Jemima fingered a crimson and gold brocade. “You will find - as I am sure your friend Miss Elstone will tell you - that most of the young women wear white muslins and other such light and simple gowns.”
“I shall have to get married quickly then, for I am sure this red would suit me far better than white,” Jemima said.
“Then I hope you will secure yourself a very wealthy husband,” Mrs Owen remarked, aware of the cost of the fabrics that Jemima was admiring. For a penniless girl she had admirable, though expensive, taste.
It was fortunate that the Earl of Southwell had instructed Mrs Owen to arrange a wardrobe “suitable for a woman marrying into a wealthy and noble family”. This, combined with Jemima’s excited news that she was no longer condemned, as she termed it, to marry Sir Hubert, led to the obvious conclusion for her companion.
Mrs Owen had seen how the Earl regarded Jemima, and it was little surprise that he should have changed his mind regarding his ward’s marriage. Mrs Owen had, of course, no notion that the original bridegroom was nothing but a ruse. She simply supposed that having originally selected one suitable husband, the Earl had since decided that he would do just as well to marry her himself.
That Jemima appeared unaware of his new intentions did not unduly trouble Mrs Owen. Naturally the Earl might feel that there should be a tactful period of delay between the breaking of one engagement and the forming of another. Mrs Owen was quite certain that Jemima had a very warm affection for her guardian, and would not be unhappy once she had become used to the idea. Even if her guardian were a few years older than her, he was an exceptionally handsome and vigorous man, and more importantly he was kind and very well respected by his staff. His wealth and title only contributed to it being an excellent match.
She did not raise these thoughts before Miss Berystede and Miss Pargeter, feeling it was not her place to do so. But she felt satisfied that there would be a happy outcome.
Later, when back at Miss Berystede’s house, Kitty decided to ask Ann Pargeter about the mysterious French phrase. Since Miss Pargeter had coaxed the Lady Julia confession from Kitty, Kitty had found herself increasingly able to confide in her elderly cousin’s companion. Ann Pargeter was sensible, with a sympathetic ear. Despite being unmarried she was not spinsterish, and she did not condescend to Kitty.
She was, however, startled by the question. “Droit de seigneur? Who can have been mentioning such things?”
“It was the modiste,” Jemima told her. “Only Mrs Owen interrupted before she could continue.”
Ann Pargeter suppressed a smile. “I do not doubt that she did.”
“Only tell us what it means,” Kitty begged, “for we cannot live in ignorance. Suppose it is something our future husband may wish us to know.”
“I very greatly doubt that,” Miss Pargeter said. “It is an outdated and frankly scandalous concept, also known as jus primae noctis.”
“But that is Latin!” Jemima said. She translated: “Law of the first night. What can that mean, and why should it be a scandal?”
Ann Pargeter, who had married sisters herself and had always been irritated by the assumption that a woman should remain in complete ignorance of all marital matters until her own wedding night, enlightened them. “It is an ancient custom, dating back to Roman times, whereby a feudal lord might claim a young woman in his vassalage before she was wed to another man.”
“You mean that he would marry her himself?” Kitty asked.
“He would not marry her, but for one night he might claim the rights of a husband.”
It took a few moments for the younger women to absorb this implication, and both were scandalised. “But then she would be ruined!” Kitty said. “Her own fiancé might well disdain her!”
“And well he might. Be thankful that we live in more enlightened times. And now let us speak of this no further. I doubt your father, Miss Elstone, or your guardian, Miss Carlow, would think it a suitable topic of conversation.”
Jemima found herself thinking very much about the jus primae noctis, though she tried to put it from her mind. As his ward, would she fall under the vassalage of the Earl of Southwell? Might he have wished to demand his droit on the eve of her wedding to another man?
Recalling his lips on her neck and his hand on her breast, she thought that she might very well raise little protest if he did demand such a thing.
Chapter 28
The evening at Lord Elstone’s house was a very pleasant affair. Jemima wore her silver-grey gown which was much admired by Kitty and Miss Pargeter, to Mrs Owen’s quiet satisfaction.
The renovations at Marylebone exceeded expectations. The ladies expressed delight over the Chinoiserie in the dining room and the pattern of roses in the drawing room. Lord Elstone attributed the success of the paper-hangings to Miss Pargeter. “For it was due to your excellent advice, my dear lady, that they were chosen.”
The guests had been few, and included no young men for Jemima or Kitty to converse with, but they had enjoyed themselves nonetheless.
Jemima had decided how she would proceed in society. She would spend the first couple of occasions acting as demurely as possible, so that she might convincingly be taken for the inexperienced younger cousin of Lady Julia. After this she planned to dazzle and scintillate, and have as much of London as possible falling at her feet. Or at least two or three young men, in the hope that this would show her guardian that she was a woman who could be desired by a man.
Their first outing in wider society was to Almack’s - the “Lion’s den” - as Kitty termed it. “For everyone will be there, and so you may as well get it all over and done with.”
For this event, Jemima wore the most modest of her new gowns. Of snow white muslin, its simplicity did not disguise its exquisite quality and tailoring to those with a discerning eye. She wore new, flat-soled slippers and her hair was arranged in a pretty but simple style.
The Earl of Southwell was to escort their party that evening. Mrs Owen entered the room while the maid was finishing Jemima’s hair. “Your guardian is downstairs. He gave me this to give you,” she said, holding out a small box.
Jemima opened it and her eyes widened with surprise and delight. It contained a slim string of pearls, glowing softly in the candlelight. “How beautiful they are!” She fastened them around her neck, admiring the effect in the looking glass.
Jemima had little idea of the price of jewellery, but Mrs Owen did, and she saw that the pearls were very fine. She smiled inwardly, recognising them as the gift of a man to his future bride.
“They become you very well, my dear. Now let us descend, for gentlemen do not like to be kept waiting.”
Jemima kept her head a little bowed, as if from shyness, as they entered the busy assembly rooms. It was just as she remembered on that fateful night, when she had first discovered the true identity of her mysterious dancing partner. She cast a glance at her guardian and wondered if he had been at Almack’s later on that occasion, and if he had searched for her.
The circle of young men who were frequent admirers of Kitty were first to approach, and Miss Berystede was swift to introduce Jemima as “Miss Carlow, newly arrived in town.” At the anticipated surprise and puzzlement on the faces of Mr Sangster and the Viscount, Miss Berystede mentioned the family relationship. “Miss Carlow is the cousin of Lady Julia Carlingford, now Lady Dalrymple, with whom I believe you became acquainted some months ago.”
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Carlow. I might have taken your for your cousin, the likeness is so strong,” Mr Sangster said. He was studying Jemima keenly in a way that made her uneasy.
“I have been told there is a close resemblance. But I fear my eyesight is so poor that I cannot tell,” Miss Berystede said. “It is by the tone of voice that I recognise many people these days.”
“By Jove, you might even be her twin!” the Viscount said. “I confess myself delighted to meet any relati
on of the charming Lady Julia.”
Jemima, barely managing to avoid the temptation to adopt an Irish brogue to further disguise herself, kept her voice a little quieter than usual. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance also, sir.”
Kitty nudged Jemima and whispered “my lord” in a tone that was deliberately not quite low enough to pass undetected.
“My lord,” Jemima quickly corrected. She knew well enough that Robert Bonville was Viscount Moresby and should be addressed as my lord, but feigning ignorance was a useful ruse.
The Viscount laughed, and Jemima found herself formally introduced to both him and Mr Sangster, as well as the third man who turned out to be Mr Nicholas Cannondale.
With a few blushes and one or two deliberate missteps on the dance floor when she danced with Mr Sangster, Jemima quickly had all three men convinced she was quite a separate, younger and less experienced person than Lady Julia.
Amongst themselves, the three men declared Miss Carlow to be even more of a beauty than Lady Julia, if such a thing were possible. “They are strikingly alike, though Miss Carlow has a darker shade of hair than I recall, and is not quite so tall as her cousin,” Mr Sangster said, to which the Viscount heartily agreed.
“I fear I cannot pass judgement, never having met the former lady,” Mr Cannondale said. “Two of them would surely be a veritable surfeit of loveliness.”
And so Miss Carlow was readily accepted as both a welcome and new addition to society.
Less happy on this occasion was the Earl of Southwell. He was forced to watch his ward be flirted with and courted by every damned rake in the kingdom. Silver-tongued Sangster, the sporting bore of a Viscount, the sentimental Mr Cannondale who fancied himself a poet, of all godforsaken follies!
Much as Marcus loathed them all, he could not deny that all three men were eminently suitable husbands for his ward. Mr Sangster had a private fortune and was considered comfortably wealthy. Viscount Moresby had a title and family estate. Mr Cannondale was the only nephew of a very elderly and very rich aunt, of whom his expectations were so secure that he felt free to flit about the place composing romantic verses. Marcus supposed this was the “soft stuff” that George Gresham had spoken of, but he shrank from penning lines to compare Jemima to a rose or a swan.
