by Ella Edon
“I have an announcement that is bound to be controversial. I am here to announce my intention to marry. I intend to marry Miss Garance Monteux herself, if she will have me.”
Garance mounted the dais. “And,” he went on. “Pending the permission of my mother and her parents, we would like to be wed as soon as possible. As difficult as this all is, I want to call on Pierre and Claire Monteux, of Paris France, and Lady Margaret Anderson-Reese, to approach and state their support or their objections to my petition.”
Margaret began to move toward the Monteux couple, and together the three of them mounted the dais. Jonathan was on one knee before the French couple. “Would you grant your permission for me to marry your daughter?”
Pierre stepped forward. “We will accept your request to marry our only daughter, Garance Marie Monteux, if she is amenable to it. Yes,” he said, his face beaming with pride and the strain of speaking in English.
“Thank you, sir,” said Jonathan. He then turned to his own mother. “Mother, will you grant me permission to marry this exquisite woman?”
“Jonathan, you certainly have a flair for the dramatic, but I will grant you your request. I should add that I doubt anything I say would dissuade you from your ‘romantic’ notions. It seems you have created an atmosphere here in this ball to support your wild freedom, your unconventional choice of a wife, but I do believe Miss Garance Monteux is a good match for your romantic airs.”
“Thank you, Mother,” said Jonathan as he turned to Garance, who closed her eyes and clutched onto Jonathan’s arm as she began to swoon. Jonathan, in his nervousness, did not appreciate the import of this gesture, but Margaret, who was watching Garance closely, watched as she began to swoon, and caught her lest she fall off the dais.
“My dear Miss Monteux,” she said. “I have accepted you into the family. I am honored to call you daughter. You need no longer fear anything from me, for I will forever consider you a part of my family.”
Garance, still faint and pale from her moment of emotion, looked at Margaret and smiled. “And I shall be honored to call you mother, as well.”
“I am very glad!” said Margaret. Suddenly, she looked confused. “Now where the devil has Cecily got to?”
The rest of the evening was a blur of congratulations and shock, awe, happiness, and astonishment. The banquet that was served shortly afterward, included some of the finest delicacies of French cuisine, and nobody in the group, other than the three French guests, had ever tasted anything quite so delicious.
The meal began with “Coquilles St. Jacques,” which were scallops served on a shell, followed by “Coq au Vin,” a very delicious dish made of chicken marinated in wine sauce and many fine herbs, and the most delicious trays of tiny pastries called ‘petits fours’ that delighted the guests. Simon Northridge made a speech in honor of Jonathan, while Miss Cordelia de Montmorency drank more and more, getting louder and louder.
“I say, Simon North Pole. You are speaking a little tiny bit too quickly for my little brain to understand. Could you please slow down?” said the pie-eyed beauty. Simon smiled and nodded in her direction as the rest of the honored guests clucked in disapproval at her antics.
Cecily returned, looking somewhat disheveled, on the arm of the charming D’Arcy Dancer. The two of them crept into the room, trying their best to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Peter saw her, and approached. “Cecily, my dear,” he said. “I was most worried. Where have you been?”
“Oh Peter,” she said, in mock alarm. “Forgive me, but I was showing a friend of Jonathan’s the garden.”
“But it is quite dark outside. How could you show him anything?”
“You’d be surprised how much one can see in the dark,” she said.
Peter looked confused, but his questions were interrupted by the poor inebriated girl, Cordelia, whom he was called upon to help into an anteroom so she could sober up. Sadly, she snatched a bottle as she exited and continued drinking while Simon tried to calm her. In truth, Peter was eager to get back, hoping he would get Cecily’s permission to propose to her despite her protestations. Nevertheless, he wanted to avoid scandal, even from the abundantly stupid beauty known as Cordelia de Montmorency.
As Cordelia sank deeper and deeper into her cups, Peter decided to leave her lying on the chaise lounge in the parlor in the care of Simon Northridge. He re-entered the dining room and took his seat between Jonathan and Cecily. “Shall I say anything about our intentions, Cecily?” asked Peter.
“Darling, I am terribly fond of you, but I cannot, in good conscience, follow in the unconventional steps of my brother.” As she spoke, she smiled at D’Arcy who, unbeknownst to Peter, had his foot pressed against Cecily’s shoe, in a gesture of uncommon boldness. Cecily listened to Peter, whilst enjoying this slight, but unmistakable gesture of fondness.
“I am a man of honor, Cecily, and I think you are right, for my parents are not here. I shall speak to them at the end of the school year, and then I shall speak to your mother and your brother to ask for your hand. I have your word that you will agree to this do I?”
“Well, Peter,” said Cecily hesitantly. “Let’s not rush this, shall we?”
“Yes,” he said, sipping his claret. “Let us await the passage of the appropriate time. I think Jonathan plans to wed his lady love tonight, by the sounds of it.”
“Silly goose!” said Cecily, looking at D’Arcy.
As the guests finished their meals and gave their congratulations to the happy couple, Jonathan and Garance held hands for the first time in public, to the general approval of those in attendance. When the last of the guests, including the Monteux family left, and those who were staying at the house were up in their rooms, Jonathan looked at Garance.
“I have prepared a room for you, of course. I hope you know you needn’t stay at an inn tonight.”
“Thank you, Jonathan,” said Garance, as they passed into the parlor. There, to their surprise, Miss Cordelia de Montmorency was still lying, her arms around a bottle of wine, like a woman cradling her child. Simon Northridge looked stricken as he sat beside her, hopelessly. She was clearly not only asleep, but quite drunk. Jonathan, seeing this embarrassing sight, rang for Ponsonby.
Ponsonby was on the spot moments after the bell had been rung. “You rang, My Lord?” he said, looking at the happy couple.
“Yes, Ponsonby. We have something of a situation here. Miss Monteux is to be shown to her room which I believe you have prepared, but we have an unexpected guest in Miss Cordelia de Montmorency.”
“I was unaware she would be staying the night, My Lord,” said Ponsonby, looking at the recumbent figure of the beautiful, but drunken girl.
“I believe you and she are in the same boat. Could you please get one of the - or perhaps two of the - maids to help her to one of the guest rooms?”
“Beg your pardon, My Lord, but there are no available guest rooms.”
“Ah! Then we have something of an issue, I suspect,” said Jonathan. “Do you have a room in the servants’ quarters?”
“Well, yes, of course, but My Lord, she is a lady.”
“That’s no lady,” said Jonathan, laughing. “Please have her taken to one of the rooms in the servants’ quarters. Have one of the maids help her. We will see to this in the morning. I am too happy to concern myself with this nonsense.”
“Very good, My Lord, and may I add my congratulations to you, My Lord?”
“You may, Ponsonby, and you may accept my congratulations for a job excessively well-done.”
“Why thank you, My Lord. I am forever in your debt.” With that, Ponsonby directed two of the stronger maids to help Miss Cordelia de Montmorency to the servant’s quarters.
Jonathan turned to Garance. “I want to marry as soon as we can. Is that possible?”
“It is possible, and preferable,” said Garance, moving to him, and caressing his chin. “I cannot wait a moment longer than is absolutely necessary.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven<
br />
Wedding Preparations
February went out like a brilliant wonder of nature, and March came in like a lion, as the old saying goes. April was going to be the month of the wedding. All through March, there were all kinds of tailors and seamstresses hard at work on the many gowns, the many waistcoats and trousers, cummerbunds, and blouses needed to make up the wedding party.
Cecily, for her part, was the maid of honor, and she worked diligently to help Garance prepare everything she had not the knowledge to prepare herself. At the same time, she also worked diligently to dissuade Peter from proposing, finding herself more than usually attracted to D’Arcy Dancer.
By the second of April, everything was ready, and the happy couple were seated in their separate chambers, dressed in their bridal regalia, waiting for the ceremony to begin. It was Saturday morning, and the sun rose with a glow promising to be a lovely day.
Garance had awoken at dawn on the morning of her wedding in the large guest bedroom, surrounded by all her possessions, feeling like a stranger in a strange land. Everything about this wedding was English, except her dress, which was a beautiful Parisian gown in silver, and she knew she would look lovely. But it all felt sort of like a dream to her.
She did not see her husband-to-be on the morning of the wedding, as was the custom of the English. Jonathan told her it was bad luck and they agreed that, although neither of them thought this was actually true, they didn’t want to tempt fate. So, she sat alone in her room until there was a knock on the door.
She flew to open it, hoping to see Jonathan, and, although she was far from disappointed to see her parents, she could not help wishing it had been Jonathan.
“Good morning,” she said in French. “I am entirely ready for my new life.”
“I am very glad for you, Garance, and I wanted to be certain you would be prepared for any of the strange English customs. Have you seen your fiancé today?”
“Oh, no!” she said. “These crazy Englishmen say it is bad luck and they seem to be very superstitious about these things.”
“These English are crazy!” said Claire. “But they seem to love you very much.”
“Especially Jonathan’s sister, Cecily!” said Garance.
At that moment, Cecily herself knocked on her door. Camille, Garance’s long-suffering maid, opened it and admitted Cecily, who was over the moon with excitement.
“Oh Garance! Today is such a beautiful day, and everything is going perfectly! The bishop is here, looking very noble, and almost all the guests are here. Even D’Arcy Dancer is here! May I help you put on your veil and your shoes?”
“But I have Camille for that purpose,” said Garance, laughing.
“Of course, but it is a tradition for the maid of honor to help with this task. I would never entrust it to a maid. My apologies, Camille,” she added.
“I know these customs, and I am happy to give way to you,” said Camille. “I suppose my job is done and I may as well leave, with your parents, to the ceremony.”
“Yes, Camille, you should. You have no duties whatsoever today. You may simply go, as one of my esteemed guests, and join the festivities.”
Cecily helped Garance fasten her veil and slip on her beautiful red velvet slippers. “I feel like Cendrillon!” she said.
“Who is that?”
“She is the young woman in the fairy tale who marries the prince,” said Garance. “It is a beautiful story with a happy ending.”
“Well then,” said Cecily. “I’m sure you are Cendrillon, for all will be for the best in this wonderful new life we will share. Have you given some thought to where you shall live?”
“I assumed we would be living here, and traveling for my concerts. I invited Mr. Salomon, my agent, and so we shall decide these things in the days to come. I shall certainly not be singing until after the ‘lune de miel.’”
“What is a loon damyal?” asked Cecily.
“It literally means moon of honey,” Garance replied. “It is the custom of young married couples to go away, to discover one another in a foreign land. We spoke of visiting Provence.”
“That is a delightful idea!” said Cecily. “And I think it should be done by every English couple.”
“Is it not the custom here?
“In England, we have a custom called a bridal tour, in which we present ourselves to relatives and important people. It is tradition to bring the family with you.”
“I see,” said Garance, her face falling. “I had no idea. You mean I shall have an entourage of the whole Anderson-Reese family, and mine as well?”
“I believe Jonathan will do what he promised you he would do, and that means he will not have any of us on your ‘loon damyal’,” said Cecily. “You must know him well enough to know that!”
This calmed Garance considerably, as she was in fact certain Jonathan would do as he promised. “I believe I am ready for the ceremony,” said Garance. “Let me look at myself in the mirror before we go.”
When she saw herself, she was pleased. Her dress, different enough from the English tradition, was about the most flattering dress she could imagine. “Do you think it is too revealing?” she asked Cecily, who stood behind her, admiring her beauty.
“Garance, I think you are one of the most charming and beautiful women I have ever known and while I suppose it shows a lot of cleavage, and perhaps even a certain amount of breast, there is nothing you need to be ashamed of. Jonathan will be consumed by desire when he sees you and that, after all, is what marriages are for: to finally allow you to make love to the man of your dreams.”
Garance frowned slightly, remembering the evening of passion the two of them had enjoyed only a few months before. She was not ashamed, of course, because she truly loved him and would never had traded that evening for all the weddings in the world, but she was a little chagrined that she was not able to share this with Cecily.
“Yes, I suppose that is right. Can you see my… how do you say, mamelon?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” said Cecily.
“These things,” said Garance, indicating her nipple.
“Oh,” said Cecily. “I confess I didn’t consider that. However, this is your wedding day, and you may show whatever you want. In fact, if I am permitted, I think I should tell you that I have never seen a bride look more beautiful and more alluring in all my life.”
Garance blushed. “Should I do something to cover them? I never noticed that is was so visible,” said Garance, slightly panicked.
“Darling,” said Cecily. “You are French, and the French have been risqué for generations. So, if you have a mamelon showing, it simply means you are French, and the English prudes be damned!”
“If you are certain, then I shall proceed.”
“Just do not show your shoulder, by the gods!” said Cecily in mock shock.
“Why not?” said Garance.
“I jest of course!” said Cecily.
Garance laughed. “Shall we go?”
“Garance! It is only eight o’clock. You have four more hours. You should have something to eat before you get married.
“Oh, mon dieu! I couldn’t eat a thing.”
“Well, I need to have a little something,” said Cecily. “I shall go and have breakfast with my family and collect you afterward.”
“I will see you closer to noon,” said a nervous Garance.
Jonathan was dressed by nine and descended the staircase to have breakfast with his mother and sister, who were also dressed early. Looking out the window to the lawns below, Jonathan smiled at the arrangement of the festivities. He had asked his three friends, Simon, Peter, and D’Arcy to be his groomsmen, and although Simon and Peter were both readying themselves for finals, they were often in attendance, and were a great help. D’Arcy though, who seemed to have nothing more to do that to be at the manor, was very helpful.
Jonathan was sitting in the breakfast room, eating a piece of toast and dipping it in his tea. Surrounding him w
ere his mother, his sister, and his groomsman, D’Arcy Dancer, who was staring with great interest at Cecily, who was staring back, equally interested.
“This is the finest day of my life,” said Jonathan, sipping his morning tea and chewing on a piece of soggy toast.
“It certainly is,” said Margaret, smiling at her son.
“I am very much looking forward to this day too,” said Cecily. “For I have an announcement I should like to make at the reception afterward.”
