by Ella Edon
Garance laughed again. “I think we have these events in France as well, but I have never been a part of the gentry. Do you think I would disrupt the efforts of these young people?”
It was Jonathan’s turn to laugh now. “I think it might, but that is not my concern. My concern is to have you there, so I might publicly declare my affection for you.”
Garance blushed and moved closer to Jonathan. “That is a very nice thing to say.”
The hackney stopped, and both of them looked out the window in confusion, only realizing, as they did, that they had stopped in front of Covent Garden.
“It seems we have frittered away our time alone,” she said. And then, she looked deep into Jonathan’s eyes. “Jonathan,” she said in a low voice. “Would you like to meet me after the performance? Frighten those old men with their bouquets? For I am beginning to loathe flowers, and even more so the men who bring them. Rescue me and take me to my room. I will allow you into my sitting room, and we can be alone again. Will you do this?”
“Of course!” he said, although he knew he should go home and uncover some way to save his family. Somehow, this offer superseded all other things in his life. Perhaps, he thought, this invitation was too much. Perhaps it would ostracize him from his own community.
He stepped out of the carriage and helped Garance step out as well. As he saw her walk toward the entrance of the concert hall, he contemplated his actions, and if she, the woman with whom he was fast falling in love, would be his ruin.
Chapter Ten
On the Way
It was a rainy Monday evening in late January as Jonathan arrived at Garance’s apartments in St. Martin-in-the-Fields in the family carriage, sporting an umbrella. Jonathan stopped in front of Garance’s early, and he had taken great care to dress as finely as he was able, given his limited resources.
For the past several days, he had been doing his best to work out just how much peril the family was in, and every day seemed more worrisome. He had met with a number of people who told him his father had been an inveterate gambler, and that his choice of game was something called Pharaoh.
Pharaoh was the most popular betting gaming in England, and so it was not particularly surprising that his father, who was known to be a gambler, would take an interest in it. The papers were filled with stories of grand noblemen who had lost their fortunes to this game much like his father, and Jonathan had begun to lose hope that he could ever recoup these losses.
But tonight, despite his family’s problems, Jonathan had the idea that this ball was to be his opportunity to provide a grand entrance to society to Mlle. Garance Monteux. Tonight, was to be for Garance, and quite possibly his last chance at happiness, given the inevitability of his need to marry a wealthy fool.
He descended from the carriage and brushed the raindrops off his clothing under the portico of the residence. Despite his use of an umbrella, rain had dripped on him, and the wind had messed his hair. Looking at his faint reflection in the window of the door, he counted himself lucky to look so good. He knocked on the door, which was swiftly answered by a butler.
“Good evening. I am Jonathan Anderson-Reese, Earl of Yarborough. I am seeking Mademoiselle Garance Monteux. Might she be in?”
“And whom shall I say is calling?” said the slightly disheveled butler.
“I just told you,” said a confused Jonathan. He had seen this butler once or twice as he deposited Garance here, and assumed the man would know who he was, particularly after he had announced his full title. “I am, Jonathan Anderson-Reese, Earl of Yarborough.”
Of course, this was not entirely true, as he had not yet officially acceded to the title, but he was surely in line, and it sounded better than private citizen Jonathan Anderson-Reese, and heir apparent to the Earldom of Yarborough. Regardless, the doltish response was unwelcome, and it put Jonathan off his game.
“Of course, Your Grace,” said the butler.
“My Lord,” he corrected him.
“Ah no, Your Grace, I am not a lord,” said the butler.
“No, but I am.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Please, sir, address me as ‘My Lord.’”
“Yes, Your Lord.”
Jonathan shook his head in confusion. Either this fellow was hired last week from a Cheapside pub or he had lost his mind. Either way, there would be no teaching moments for this clod.
“Is Mademoiselle Monteux at home?”
“Ah, no, sir.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said no, your Lordship.”
“Well, may I enquire as to her whereabouts?”
“She is above stairs, preparing to attend a ball with an earl.”
“So, she is at home.”
No, your Lordship, she is here. Her home is in France.”
“Please announce my presence, sir.”
“Absolutely. And whom shall I say is calling?”
“My name is Jonathan Anderson-Reese, the Earl of Yarborough.”
“I see. One moment, Your Lord.”
Garance appeared without being called. She was a vision of loveliness, wearing a goldenrod-colored ball gown with beautifully puffed sleeves, with a patterned shawl and delicate gold slippers of a shimmering gold lamé, with a slight heel. Her dress had a rather risqué décolleté, revealing her shoulders and her cleavage in a very attractive manner. Her hair was upswept at the back, draping a series of stunning black ringlets all around her head, each one adorned with pearls. Her hair was parted in the middle and carefully held in place with a diamond encrusted tiara made of pure gold. She wore teardrop mother-of-pearl earrings, and the daintily applied rouge on her cheeks was a breathtaking vision over her alabaster skin. She wore several dainty rings of gold and diamonds.
When Jonathan caught sight of her, he was taken aback, having just had a futile and frustrating interaction with the doorman, who seemed to have taken leave of his senses.
“Oh Garance, you are more beautiful than any person I have ever seen. I want to keep you all to myself.”
“Tut, tut, My Lord,” she said, smiling coquettishly. “Tonight is my coming-out party. Is this not the expression you English use?”
“Why yes, something like that,” said Jonathan, smiling. “But regardless of what the term is, you look positively radiant, Mademoiselle Monteux!”
“Shall we go?” asked Garance.
“By all means!” he said turning to the driver. “I say old chap, spur us on to the ball!”
It was to be at the large estate of his friend Peter Nunn, who had been frequenting his sister’s ‘at home days’ of late.
The estate was called Westerley Park in Hampstead, a twenty-minute carriage ride through London, northward to the wide-open spaces past Parliament Hill. As they rode, Jonathan had the opportunity to speak frankly to Garance. However, he found that he was unable to find an opening because she was so beautiful that he could not think of anything else.
“You truly look magnificent. I can honestly tell you, my dear, that I have never seen a vision so lovely in all my days.”
“I am very flattered, Jonathan,” said Garance, as she leaned over to kiss him. This sort of affection was new to Jonathan, who had grown up in the staid and buttoned-up world of Georgian England. He found himself increasingly tongue-tied, but Garance knew how to read his emotions and so she spoke on his behalf. “I was thinking about your predicament,” she said. “And I believe I know a way to help you.”
“Oh, my darling,” he said. “I was hoping that tonight would be for revelry, not planning.”
“Did you not mention that your father lost his fortune through gambling?”
“To my eternal shame, yes, that is true,” said Jonathan.
“Well this may surprise you, Jonathan, but I know a little about gambling,” she said. “The most important thing about it is focus. Can you focus?”
“Of course,” he said, feeling slightly wounded. “I am all ears, despite the frightful subject.”
“No, no, I mean are you able to focus your attention on a gambling game while other things are happening?”
“Other things?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I was thinking about providing a distraction for others.”
“An interesting idea,” he said, considering this novel idea. “But this is far more complicated than you can know. My father lost his fortune to a game of what essentially amounts to chance, a game called Pharaoh.”
“Pharaoh, yes, I know this game, and it is a game of chance. Of course, there is some skill and focus required. It is a game in which one must constantly be vigilant. As no doubt you know, I am the queen of distraction, or so they tell me. Night after night, I perform for gentlemen who lose their heads over my voice and my appearance.”
Jonathan was about to speak, but she put her hand to his mouth so he kissed her dainty hand.
“No! Pay attention, Jonathan! This is a fact, and I am not ashamed of it. I am able to distract, and I am very aware of my powers. I want to use these powers to help you. Do you want to hear my plan?”
“Well of course I do,” he said. “But I have a plan of my own, Garance. You know, of course, I have been thinking about ways to get the estate and its fortune back. We have some farmland that can be sold, and quite a few outlying buildings that have not been-”
“Stop this foolishness, Jonathan! There is a way I know about, and I believe you do not. I am bourgeois and you are a nobleman. My people are gamblers and cads, and so this is a world I am familiar with. The bourgeois class is very impressed by nobility, and this is a distraction for many. However, they tend to see you as a mark.”
“A mark?”
“Yes. A mark is someone who can be taken advantage of. A wealthy fool, if you will.”
“Well my father was such a mark, I daresay.”
“Possibly. But that is no longer relevant. What is relevant is this: I see a way for us to work together to win back the fortune your father frittered away.”
“I am listening,” he said.
“Here is the thing. Allow me to provide the distraction. I will dress in a beautiful and alluring gown, and I will attend a Pharaoh hall with you, and sing. As you know, I have the ability to mesmerize people.”
“I know that only too well.”
“And so, my proposal is that you play the game, and concentrate on the details, while I distract the dealer and the other players. That way, you can win, through concentration and careful attention to the cards.”
“I understand your kindness and your intentions, my dear,” said Jonathan. “But this is far more complicated than you can possibly imagine.”
“Is it?” she replied, slightly put off.
“Yes, my dear. It is. These are the sorts of things that men do. Ladies are simply not equipped to handle these sorts of complicated matters.”
“I see,” said Garance. “And so, you believe that people like your father, who squandered thousands of guineas on a card game, is more well-equipped to deal with this than I, a self-made woman who has met the crown-heads of Europe, who has mesmerized leaders of almost all the European countries, and who has had an audience with the Prince Regent -”
“Garance,” said Jonathan solemnly. “I am aware that you are a very ingenious woman, but gambling is an obsession here in England, and singing is hardly so complicated.”
“Jonathan,” said Garance with authority. “I will not sit here and allow you to give in to your baser, and may I say it, ignorant instincts. You will consider what I said, and you will make a decision that may help you regain your position in society without having to marry Cordelia de Montmorency. Agreed?”
Seeing that she was jealous of a young woman with whom he had absolutely no interest made Jonathan smile. “Very well, Garance,” he said condescendingly. “We shall see.” But then he stopped. He laid aside all his pride and those things that he had always felt were important to maintaining the family name, and he considered that Garance was different. She was better and wiser than any woman he had ever known.
Chapter Eleven
The Ball
Garance was silent for the rest of the journey to Westerley Park. She looked out the window with a look of annoyance and frustration. From time to time, Jonathan looked at her with concern. Was she nervous to be introduced to society? She had mentioned that she had actually met the Prince Regent, that Adonis of the age, the noblest Englishman of them all. He himself had never met His Majesty, despite his grand position in society, and there was a rumor that he would be in attendance. “I say, Garance, are you nervous?”
She laughed, and the tinkling glass laugh filled his heart with joy. “Dear boy,” she said reminding him that she had experienced much more of the world than he, despite the fact that they were the same age. “I should think you would be nervous.”
“Whatever do you mean?” he said.
“Well, you are arriving at a grand ball with what your peers would consider a commoner.” She smiled at him, but he noticed that her brow was furrowed.
“Oh Garance, I cannot imagine you mean that. I am prouder of you than of any companion I have ever brought to a ball.”
“Is that a long list?” she asked.
The truth was, he had never brought a young lady to a ball. It was practice in good society for the young ladies to come with their parents, and the young gentlemen, too. They would meet one another behind the punch bowl or in a corner and exchange their calling cards, and perhaps, for the more daring, a furtive kiss behind a fan.
He knew this, but he had no idea that Garance knew this, coming, as she did, from an alien culture. Nevertheless, it did cross his mind that he was dealing with a person of great intelligence and ingenuity, despite her being a woman. “Of course not!” said Jonathan.
He clasped Garance around the waist, pulling her close to him, in anger and defiance of the opinion he imagined the assembled gentlemen had of her.
“Jonathan!” said Garance, taken aback by his unseemly behavior. “Please! Your manners!”
“I care nothing for manners,” he said defiantly. “I care only for you.”
He kissed her passionately there in the carriage, and she kissed him back, equally passionately.
The carriage pulled up in front of the grand entrance to Westerley Park. The driver leapt from his seat above them and opened the door, providing a small step for Garance to descend. As Jonathan helped her out, he looked at the assembled guests who had not yet entered the premises, and who were all looking at Garance.
He noted the hushed silence that attended her arrival, but was unsure if it was awe or shock. Garance was a singer, and singers, despite their obvious skills, were most often seen as little better than the prostitutes who frequented the theatre alleys. His face reddened, annoyed by what he imagined these people thought of her. He was a man and he was gallant, and he would not abide this sort of rudeness.
Inside the hall, there was a butler and a young man announcing the arrivals. He passed his card and hers to the young man dressed in livery, who read them and raised his eyebrows. He looked confused. “Please announce us!” said Jonathan with authority.
“Shall I do you together, My Lord?” he asked slightly embarrassed.
“Of course!” said Jonathan, refusing to enter into the question of what was correct or incorrect etiquette.
“Very good, My Lord,” said the young man. He turned to the doorway leading to the grand ballroom and banged his mace on the ground, attracting the attention of the assembled multitudes. “Lord Jonathan Anderson-Reese, Earl apparent of Yarborough, and his companion, the Parisian Nightingale, Mademoiselle Garance Monteux!” he said smiling at the sounds of surprise coming from the crowd.
Following the announcement, the majority of the group of attendees turned their backs on the two and resumed their regular routine. “Well,” said Jonathan. “That went well.”
“Yes,” said Garance as she moved toward the refreshment table. Jonathan watched her pro
ceed, noting how beautiful she looked, and also, how many of the young ladies, dressed in their finest, but not nearly as glamorous as Garance, turned to see what she would do.
Garance merely went to the punch bowl, and waited until someone, some gentleman served her. This person was Lord Attersley, the aging patriarch of a notorious family who had been shunned several years past when their son, Alfred, began a career as a privateer following the Napoleonic wars. Alfred had returned several years later, laden with gold that was undoubtedly stolen from the Spanish, thereby causing an international incident, and embarrassing the family.
“Shall I be mother?” said Lord Attersley with a glint in his eye.
