Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale

by Britain Kalai Soderquist

  Only yesterday Mrs. Hollingdon was here with Eliza, and she was not above asking some very pointed questions about your sudden removal from town. I told her as calmly as I could that Uncle Charles had decided that you would benefit from the education of hearing the speeches at the linguistics symposium and had changed your plans accordingly. Mrs. Hollingdon smirked and suggested that there might have been other reasons besides a desire to better your French. I pursed my lips behind my teacup for a brief moment to regain my composure before answering that Uncle Charles had been contemplating the trip for some time and had been waiting only for permission from the Linguistic Society in London before including you in his plans. Mrs. H. looked put out at my determined silence on the matter, but could not very well press for more details. Eliza blushed throughout the interview, and I pitied her the possession of such an unfortunate mother. Really, sometimes I think Mrs. H. is as bad as Aunt Sylvia. The only good thing that has come from Aunt Sylvia’s marriage to Uncle Charles is that I have gained you and him as members of my family.

  Things remain otherwise quiet here in Kent. I mentioned above that the Duncans are to give a ball this weekend, and I am very much looking forward to the occasion. It will brighten an otherwise dull existence. March is a very showery month and cuts into one’s outdoor exercise most inconveniently. There is much excitement about this particular ball, as a relative of the Duncans is to join them from Scotland in time to attend. He is a high-ranking nobleman of some sort, a duke I believe, and is said to be vastly wealthy. Naturally, every girl in town is longing to make a good impression on him. Personally, I can see nothing very extraordinary in the circumstance, as he is said to be rather old and somewhat gruff in his manners. No doubt it comes from living in the wilds of the Scottish highlands. But I shall save my opinion for after the ball and will be sure to relate all that I experience to you.

  Do try to enjoy some of your trip to Paris, for my sake if not for your own. You know Papa is too busy with his scientific experiments to think much about traveling beyond our own set unless business specifically calls him away. I long for your next letter and expect you to include every detail about the things you see and do while in France. I wonder if the fashions there are as splendid as everyone claims? Perhaps I can persuade Papa to let me order a Parisian gown through your capable hands. It is a pity it would have no chance of arriving in time for the Duncans’ ball (for I assure you that I will take care to look my best whether or not the Duke is old and gruff so as to be a credit to our family in the wake of Fanny’s folly). But my rose silk is new and has not yet been worn to a proper function, so I should be decently turned out.

  Give my love to Uncle Charles. I do not send any for Aunt Sylvia, Fanny, or Hettie, for I am still too vexed with them to offer them any degree of affection. I shall write again when I have anything new to tell.

  Love,

  Isabella

  15 March, 1845

  Copley Manor, Kent

  Dear Eleanor,

  I have just returned from the Duncans’ ball, which would have been simply wonderful had it not been for their horrid cousin the Duke of Stirling. But I shall start from the beginning, or you will not be impressed with the proper amount of indignation at his behavior as I could wish you to feel.

  Papa and I were included in the dinner invitation before the ball. (Our status in the neighborhood would naturally suffice, but Sir Ian particularly wished for Papa’s opinion on some new experiment he is conducting with light.) I went dressed in my new rose silk, as I mentioned before, wearing Mama’s pearl necklace, another strand of pearls woven through my hair, and the slippers that you sent from London to match my gown. I believe I was looking particularly well. Papa let me choose his ensemble, and naturally I chose his dark green dress coat with the striped silk waistcoat. He is always so inattentive to matters of dress, and I was hard-pressed to keep him from his laboratory once he had dressed for the evening, lest he drip acid upon his person (sadly, it has happened before).

  We arrived in excellent time this evening and were greeted by Sir Ian and Lady Flora with much cordiality. Almost as soon as I stepped into the drawing room, Agnes Duncan approached me with a look that expressed the wish to be most confidential. The ceremony of greeting the other guests was barely got over before she pulled me to the opposite end of the room and began speaking in a low voice. “I am so glad you have come, for you cannot think what a tremor I have been in, thinking I would be the only young lady at dinner tonight.” I said what I thought proper, while privately wondering how she could have feared I would not come. We had spoken of the ball three days before over tea, and I had assured her of my attendance. (We are usually the only two young ladies of the party, for the Grahams’ children are all married, the Bartletts’ two daughters are not yet out, and the Felixes have only sons.) “Mama and I have been most put upon by His Grace since he arrived Wednesday,” Agnes went on. “He is a fright, Bella, he really is, and you shall see for yourself soon enough.”

  “I do not believe I was introduced to His Grace when I arrived. Is he indisposed, or does he not intend to dine with the rest of the party?” For indeed, there was not a sight of a new face amongst the gathered dinner guests.

  “The Duke of Stirling does not choose to attend on Mama’s guests before he is inclined to do so,” Agnes replied with scorn. “Not once has he attended a meal with punctuality since he arrived. It has driven Mama to distraction already, for you know how particular she always is about mealtimes. And he refuses to join in formal visits unless he happens to be hungry, at which time he comes in and leers at everyone over his tea and discomfits our visitors most horridly. Eliza Hollingdon and her mama came on purpose to see him, although Mrs. Hollingdon would not acknowledge that as her intent, and the Duke entered the room after they had sat with us for almost a quarter of an hour and stared around most insipidly at everyone, grunting only when the talk absolutely called for a reply. And he stood and left again when he was finished without so much as a bow or a take leave of anyone. Mama is quite offended, but what can we do?”

  “You are much to be pitied, I am sure,” I replied with as much sympathy as I really did feel, for an unpleasant house guest is a strain, and I can only imagine that an unpleasant house guest who is also a peer would be the worst of all. For one would like to believe that the realm’s most elevated families would behave with at least decent manners, though this appears to not always be the case.

  “And the way he looks at me is most dreadful. Mama says he suffered a great disappointment in his youth that has soured his opinion of young ladies to a great degree. But even so, it is frightful to be looked at as though one was worthy of contempt simply for being a young female. You will not be cowed by such behavior, as you are far braver than I am, but I am quite at my wit’s end already.”

  I set about soothing Agnes’ nerves as best I could, and we rejoined the company. We sat so long without seeing anything of the Duke that I began to think he would not make an appearance. But just before dinner was announced, the drawing room door opened, and a bear of a man entered. I had expected to find a man of about fifty, grizzled and perhaps a little stooped, with a wrinkled brow like that of a sea captain, but it was not what I saw. The Duke’s actual age is much younger than I had supposed. He is about five-and-thirty, although the dark thickness of his hair and the smoothness of his skin make him look several years younger, except for the lines about his eyes that are just now beginning to appear.

  He is rather handsome, for all that I was expecting otherwise, with a strong jaw and square, regular features, thick brows, and warm brown eyes. But his general expression is so proud, and so full of (there is no other word for it) anger, that the attractive qualities of his face are most unfortunately marred. In person he is huge, as I have said before, not fat but sturdy, and taller by far than any other man of my acquaintance. This evening he had neglected to have his valet arrange his hair, which hung free in an unruly mop about his ears. His clothing, however, was
handsomely turned out, as if to say that while he did not care a jot for any of us, he could and would dress finer than anyone to show how far above us he was.

  Of course we all rose at his entrance and Lady Duncan made the proper introductions, but the Duke seemed to chafe at the necessity and barely inclined his head once to the whole room. Individual introductions would wait, though even a general one seemed above his notice. He strode to an armchair at the far end of the room, seized a newspaper, and buried his face it in without speaking a word to anyone. He remained in that attitude until dinner was announced. We rose and arranged ourselves for entry into the dining room. Sir Ian escorted Lady Graham in, naturally, and the others fell into place. I realized that I stood alone and tried to look about (without appearing to do so) to see who had been selected to take me in to dinner. You may imagine my surprise when I realized that the Duke was the only one left who could perform the office. Lady Duncan was looking most distressed, but nothing would induce the Duke to leave his paper. Sir Ian had not noticed that anything was amiss and was already leading the others into the dining room. So what could I do but lift my chin and sweep through the door with as much elegance and indifference as I could muster. (Though I assure you that inside my emotions were a tumult of annoyance at his willful rudeness.) Edward Felix, bless him, was escorting Agnes in and took care to seat me as well before sitting down himself. Agnes looked at me with the greatest sympathy, and I smiled back in as unconcerned a manner as I could. The Duke strolled lazily through the door and took his seat as though nothing untoward had occurred. I longed to throw a withering look at him, but in a rare moment of thoughtfulness I decided I wanted him to see that even the rudeness of a peer could not unsettle my composure.

  The meal was elegant, as suits Lady Duncan’s usual style. (The cream of asparagus soup was particularly well done, and I intend to have Agnes inquire of their cook for the receipt.) The conversation turned quickly to science, as I had expected, for Sir Ian, Papa, and Lord Graham are all members of the Scientific Society, and Mr. Felix and Mr. Bartlett are just as interested in it as if they were too. Papa was greatly animated by a description of Lord Graham’s most recent experiment, something involving a series of chemical reactions between various liquids. Lady Graham seemed a bit tired of the subject; I suspect she hears full enough of it at home if Lord Graham talks as much about his work as Papa. She attempted to turn the conversation by laughing slightly and saying “Dear me, I fear all this talk of chemicals will put the ladies off of their food. Really, the thought of pungent odors alone makes me feel almost faint.”

  “Nonsense, my dear, it is a subject that is universally interesting, and pungent odors have never put anyone off of a meal so fine as this,” Lord Graham replied with a nod to Lady Duncan, who seemed to think the compliment not much of one at all. Several more things were said about the subject of pungent odors, but Lord Graham seemed no more willing to cut short his explanation to Papa at the end of it than he had from the start.

  “Perhaps, Lord Graham, you might defer the rest of your explanation until we are in the drawing room,” I suggested. “I fear that I will miss some of the details once we ladies withdraw, and I am particularly interested in hearing the result of your experiments.” (This was a second instance of clear thinking, for in general, you know I am not quite so coordinated in society.)

  “Does the lady profess an interest in scientific experimentation?” The question caused not a little surprise around the table, for it was the Duke who had spoken (thus far he had barely grunted in response to any comments that had been directed at him). The tone in which the query was made was one of decided sarcasm, as if the Duke thought it unlikely that I meant what I said. I determined to answer him civilly, even though he did not deserve it.

  “Indeed I do. My father’s work has led me to some study upon the various areas of scientific inquiry, and while I cannot claim more than an elementary knowledge of most, my interest in them is very great, and by listening closely to the work of others, I hope to better educate myself on the subject with time.”

  The Duke appeared to have no response to this, for he merely grunted and the conversation soon resumed. Agnes gave me a covert smile from across the table, and I was pleased that I had managed to undermine the Duke’s slighting remark. Dinner eventually ended, and we retired to the drawing room to await the rest of the guests and the start of the ball. As soon as she had seen her guests comfortably situated, Lady Duncan approached the sofa where Agnes and I had settled.

  “I must apologize for the Duke and his unaccountable behavior, my dear,” she said. “It was a risk, arranging for him to escort anyone into the dining room, but you understand the numbers would not have been correct otherwise, and I thought you the most likely person to handle the chance of an affront with tact.” This was a true compliment, as you know tact is not always my best quality, and I thanked Lady Duncan with real sincerity.

  Soon the hall was full of the sounds of arriving guests, and Agnes and I retired to her dressing room to touch up our hair and ensure that we had not spilled anything on our gowns before joining the rest of the party in the large ballroom. I do not believe you have ever had the opportunity to see the Duncans’ ballroom, but I think you would be impressed even after several Seasons in London. It is an extensive room with large windows that overlook the back gardens. The floor is of a warm golden wood and is smooth underfoot. Gilded mirrors line the walls that do not have windows, and an enormous fireplace stands at one end of the hall. Tonight it was lit with a fine blaze. Everything was draped in gauzy white, and the chandeliers sparkled with gold and cut glass. Large floral arrangements gave the room a sweet scent. A short dais raised the musicians from the floor slightly at the opposite end, and gilded chairs were arranged in small groups about the room. The center was obviously left clear for dancing.

  I was just complimenting Agnes on the style of the decorations and on her chosen gown when I caught sight of Gilbert Cosgrove entering with his sister Mildred. You remember the Cosgroves, do you not? Since Gilbert returned from school he has been full of self-importance, and Mildred follows wherever he leads. For some unaccountable reason, he has taken it into his head of late that I enjoy hearing him describe his exploits and achievements, and he never misses an opportunity of speaking to me when we are in company together. It has become quite wearisome, for he does not actually seem to have gained any real knowledge in his time at school—all he ever speaks of is hunting and horses.

  I turned my back to the door, admiring Agnes’ gown and effectively hiding my face until I could reasonably move to a less conspicuous spot. Fortunately, Lady Duncan called Agnes away at that moment, and I was able to slip away to join Papa on the opposite side of the room.

  The ball was well attended, and I managed to avoid Gilbert for the first half of the dancing. I was quite enjoying myself and I believe that was my downfall. It caused me to become lax in my caution to keep out of his way, and when my allemande with Richard Bartlett ended, I found myself almost face to face with him.

  “How do you do, Miss Copley?” Gilbert asked in his usual over-loud tone.

  I curtsied in spite of my annoyance. “I am very well, Mr. Cosgrove. I hope your family is well?”

  “Jolly well indeed, thank you. Nothing like a good day’s worth of riding to keep one in health. I forget whether or not you ride, Miss Copley?”

  “I enjoy a ride some afternoons.”

  “Nothing like it,” he repeated, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I was just speaking to young Felix over there of the bruising ride I had the other day while out with a pair of sharp pointers. It was devilish dirty out, but that did not signify with me, although it did cause several of the other lads’ mounts to stumble quite badly.” He continued in this vein for some time until I despaired of being asked by a more reasonable partner for the next dance. Gilbert’s monologue only ceased when the musicians began the introduction to the next dance, a waltz of all things! To think I would be stuck
with Gilbert for a waltz was almost more than I could bear.

  I had just determined to make up some excuse for moving on before he could ask for my hand, when we found ourselves joined by the most unlikely person of all: the Duke of Stirling himself! I was so astonished that I hardly remember in what way he extricated me from Gilbert, but I found my hand taken and myself being led to the floor in spite of my surprise. All night the Duke had been at cards in the adjoining room or prowling about the ballroom like a disgruntled bear; neither dancing nor talking to anyone present. To have been so singled out was, I was sure, causing quite a stir, but I was too distracted to notice much beyond my own feelings. The melody began and we waltzed.

  The Duke said nothing for the first few bars, and I used the silence to gather my composure. Finally I felt it appropriate to offer some kind of conversation. “I must thank you, Your Grace, for your timely intervention on my behalf. Mr. Cosgrove is a bit over-fond of talking, and young ladies, you know, like to be dancing at balls.”

  The Duke snorted mirthlessly. “That is the polite way of saying that you think he is an utter fool. I am inclined to agree, from what I have observed, but I do not want your thanks for my so-called intervention, for it was not my intent.”

  “I may ask what other motivation you could have had, considering you have not danced once during the whole course of the evening.” (You may be shocked at my language, but his rudeness really was discomfiting, and I suffered no scruple in speaking to him as frankly as he did to me.)

  The Duke surprised me with a grimace that seemed to stand in place of a smile. “A direct inquiry from a lady in a ballroom… Perhaps there is more of the scientist in you than you claimed at dinner.”

  “I spoke the truth about my level of interest in such subjects, although I will admit that my father’s work is my only real inducement to study them. For my own part, I prefer literature to science.”