Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale

by Britain Kalai Soderquist

  I did manage to enact a little revenge on the Duke of Stirling, however, so I suppose the evening was not a total loss. When the third change of tables occurred, I found that the Duke was to be my next partner. Mr. Bartlett and Lady Graham were our opponents, but neither approached the table immediately, as they were both finishing conversations at their previous tables. The Duke and I were left standing across from one another in silence.

  “Miss Copley,” he said finally, with the barest inclination of his head.

  “Your Grace.” I matched his tone as closely as possible, unwilling to show more civility than I received, as I was still quite annoyed with him from Tuesday.

  “I trust you are well,” he continued after a moment.

  “Tolerably,” I replied. “Though I fear I will make a rather reckless partner for you. I have spent the last hour in the most insipid manner possible and am in need of a little excitement.”

  The Duke surprised me by allowing the corner of his mouth to twitch upward slightly. “I shall wager accordingly,” he said as the others approached. We all sat and Mr. Bartlett took up the deck. For the first several hands the Duke did not exchange more than a rough series of monosyllables with me, but he certainly made good on his promise to wager aggressively (as aggressively as allowed by a small-stakes card party, that is) for the entire hour we played together. (Thank heavens I am a decent card player, for I did not intend to actually be reckless. It was a flight of fancy that led me to speak so, and I am lucky I did not have cause to regret it.)

  We played in this manner for about a quarter of an hour, with Lady Graham chatting about unimportant things. Even the wealth of winning hands had not done away with my resentment toward the Duke, however, and on Lady G. mentioning the cousins we had met at her party, I determined to prod him a little. I sighed somewhat affectedly and addressed Lady G.

  “Indeed, ma’am, I was most sorry that I did not have an opportunity to better make your cousins’ acquaintance. And I must apologize once again for my frightful clumsiness. I hope your armchair has not suffered too disastrously. I cannot think what could have caused me to have such an unlucky accident.”

  “Perhaps you were otherwise engaged,” the Duke said, his tone a trifle too casual. I looked up from my hand in time to catch him glance at the expression on my face. He seemed to have guessed my intentions and determined to head me off. My annoyance flared once again, but I could not allow myself to lose the opportunity I had created.

  Matching the Duke’s relaxed manner, I played a card and replied, “Perhaps… although I must admit that I am sometimes overwhelmed when in company. It can be so discomfiting, being stared at and having all one’s actions judged.”

  “I would imagine that if one is behaving above reproach, one would not fear judgement for one’s actions,” the Duke said, his gaze now fully directed at me, the expression on his face unreadable.

  “Indeed.” I spoke in a steady tone, even though I was not pleased to be reminded that he knew I had spilled tea on Gilbert intentionally. It was clear I needed to try a new approach. “Of course, proper behavior in company is not merely a matter of personal regulation. One expects the other guests to match one’s own level of decorum.”

  “Naturally. Though there are times when I believe some find it rather tiresome to adhere to decorum.”

  “Such as when a lady requires assistance in ridding herself of unwanted attentions, for instance?” The hint was rather obvious, but I wanted him to know exactly why I was upset. To my right, I caught sight of Lady Graham as she played a card. She seemed to be hiding a smile as she listened to our conversation.

  The Duke shifted in his seat slightly. “If the attentions are unwanted, surely the lady could use the same methods to end them that she used to secure them in the first place.”

  This remark was even more irksome than his previous ones. “That assumes the lady to be in the habit of soliciting attentions,” I replied, not realizing that I was neglecting my cards at this point. “Frankly, I find it rather cynical to assume that all ladies are quite so indecorous.”

  “That may be so.” The Duke spoke slowly, as though thinking over my words. His eyes remained fixed on my face, considering. I was slightly surprised to see the Duke look confused for half a moment. It occurred to me for the first time that perhaps he had not intervened because he simply had not realized he should. Even if it was true, I was in no mood to make allowances; a true gentleman would have known his duty. Mr. Bartlett glanced between the two of us, his spectacles perched low on his nose. He seemed quite befuddled by the conversation we were having, but neither the Duke nor I seemed to care if he understood.

  Finally the Duke broke his gaze to look down at his cards, and I belatedly realized that it was my turn to play again. It took me a moment, but I found a card that would win us the hand and played it. Mr. Bartlett groaned and began gathering up the cards to begin the next hand. The Duke leaned back in his seat, returning his gaze to my face, and continued our conversation. “Regardless, Miss Copley, you must allow that there are those who find it difficult to tell the difference between a dismissal and encouragement. Perhaps in such a situation a little less adherence to decorum would be useful.”

  “Or perhaps those who are in a position to assist others should do so. In the case you present, surely it is the duty of those who are capable to assist in avoiding uncomfortable situations.” This last remark earned a slight nod of approval from Lady Graham, and I felt an instant gratitude for her support. The Duke seemed to have nothing further to say, and we played the rest of the hour in the near silence that we had before.

  22 March

  Your letter arrived yesterday and I am quite enraptured with the gown patterns! Please find enclosed a separate sheet detailing the particulars of the purchase. You will notice that I have left the choice of colors and fabrics up to you. Your judgement is impeccable, and you know that I can never make a decision on such things unless I am actually present to handle the materials myself. So long as the gown is not yellow, I shall be pleased.

  I must admit to being quite jealous of your residence in Paris, especially considering the annoyances of this last week. To think I might have gone with you had I not been so reluctant to be under my aunt’s care! But Aunt Sylvia always looks at me as though I have offended her in some manner, and it seemed a most unpleasant prospect to be chaperoned by one who holds me in such dislike. Perhaps this is not quite fair; Papa would have missed me dreadfully if I had accepted the invitation to spend the Season in London, and you know how lonely he has been since my dear Mama died. True, it has been nearly ten years, but he still feels her loss. Sometimes I wonder if he should have followed Uncle Charles’ example and married again, but then I am reminded of how the event has answered (or perhaps not answered) in your situation, and I find I am glad of his continued devotion to my mother’s memory.

  The only other interesting event I have to add to this rather long letter is that Papa invited the usual families to dinner yesterday evening. This naturally meant another meeting with the Duke of Stirling, though we mostly avoided speaking to one another this time. I must say I am surprised that he has accompanied the Duncans to every social event through the course of the week. He even came to tea with the ladies of the house today. After sitting a quarter of an hour with us and speaking very little, he and Papa retired to the laboratory to discuss some of the more technical elements of Papa’s most recent chemical experiments. Agnes then informed me that the Duke had insisted on accompanying them when he learned they were coming to call on us. Apparently Sir Ian has been speaking of Papa’s work in great detail to the Duke, who is extremely interested in the subject of chemistry (although I believe he specializes in botany).

  I do not think I would care much about the Duke’s continued presence amongst us if it were not for the fact that he is persisting in his odd habit of staring at me when we are in company together. What his reason can be is a mystery to me; I wish he would stop, for it discomf
its me and makes me feel as though one of Sir Ian’s beams of magnified light is burning into the back of my head whenever I turn away. I have tried several methods of expressing my disapproval, everything from ignoring his stares to pointedly staring back in a displeased manner, but still he will not stop. If an opportunity arises for me to express my annoyance without seeming to favor his attentions (as he accused me of doing with Gilbert), you may be certain I shall take full advantage of it.

  Please write soon and tell me all about your adventures in Parisian society. I shall have to live vicariously through you, for I doubt very much that Papa will find any reason to take us to town this season.

  Your bored cousin,

  Isabella

  25 March, 1845

  Hotel d’Accord, Paris

  Dear Isabella,

  Paris continues much the same as before. Our acquaintance grows daily, and I must say that it is pleasant to have a ready-made group of people to meet through such an organization as the Linguistic Society. It makes finding common ground much easier, and introductions are a mere matter of finding one’s connection through the father, brother, or husband who is participating in the symposium.

  By far our most elegant new friend is the woman I mentioned before, Lady Rousseau. Her husband is the head of the Society and a high-ranking member of the French government, and she is distantly related to the Austro-Hungarian royals. Both are in their middle years and they have no children; I believe this accounts for Lady R.’s desire to mix greatly in society and to promote the enjoyment of the young people she knows. She is forever holding parties, balls, and outings, and is always generous with her invitation list. As Hettie puts it, she is “a most useful kind of person.” It is due to her that we have become so quickly involved in all the social goings-on here in the city.

  There are many other interesting people here for the symposium. I had not counted on so many of the Continental peerage to be interested in linguistics, but from the vast numbers of Italian counts, German barons, and French marquises that we are meeting, it seems the subject is of no small interest. Only last night we dined at the home of the Marquis de Lielle in company with Baron Wilhelm of Munich and Count Arllando of Verona. It is a wonder I can keep all of the titles straight!

  Of course there are plenty of regular people here as well. We are close friends with Mme. Duponte and her two daughters (both sweet and well-informed girls, even if they are quiet), and Mrs. Galloway and her large Irish family are welcome in our house at almost any hour. When I say large, I do mean it, for the Galloways have three sons and four daughters who are all grown and still single. The eldest Miss Galloway is about twenty-seven, I believe. Of all the people I know here, I consider the third daughter of this family, Lydia, to be most likely to become a particular friend. She is of middle height with dark red hair and freckles on her nose, and her personality is witty and engaging. You would like her, Bella, especially when she talks of her home in Ireland. She shares our love of long walks through the countryside, though she is unfortunately quite afraid of horses and does not ride. Still, her stories make me long to visit and see the beauty of Ireland for myself.

  My skills as a musician have been in great demand since we arrived, both singing and playing. Many evenings include a display of the young ladies’ accomplishments on the pianoforte, and it is not uncommon for dancing to commence after the singing is over. I am regularly engaged to provide accompaniment for a series of country dances, although there are enough ladies who are courteous enough to take their turn playing that I am not wholly left out. The dancing is usually begun at Fanny’s urging, for as you know, she does not play with any degree of accomplishment but does not like to be left out of showing off. Hettie has more skill, but she never offers to give up her chance of partnering the eligible young men of the company. And of course, you know how well my stepsisters dance.

  Of course they would both be blind to the reception of their behavior among the other young people. I am used to it, but the other young ladies have begun to realize that they should not expect even a polite offer of relief from the tedium of playing reels. Rather than allow resentment to build, I do my best to take the majority of the task upon myself. Even the men have begun to notice. Last night at the Marquis de Lielle’s, I was playing as usual and overheard a conversation between Fanny and one of her partners, Sir George Hightower, a respectable English gentleman of about five-and-twenty who is here visiting his sister.

  They were placed relatively close to the piano during the set, and Fanny was in particularly high spirits due to having succeeded in coercing the Marquis himself into opening the dance with her. I could not help hearing them, even with the noise of the instrument. Sir George seemed to be observing me, for the gentlemen were facing my direction. I had been playing for two hours, even though Miss Galloway had offered to relieve me (I had declined because Mr. Robert Ellis was in attendance, and I know that he has been paying attentions to her of late).

  “Your sister Miss Stafford is a very accomplished musician,” I heard Sir George remark to Fanny.

  “Yes, I daresay she is,” Fanny replied in an off-hand manner. “But I never could see much in it, myself. All those hours spent with a mere instrument when one could be in company with people instead.”

  “Do you not play, then, Miss Copley?”

  “Heavens, not I! I make a point never to touch the pianoforte, for you know, one becomes so easily stuck in playing for the enjoyment of others when one would rather be enjoying oneself.” The couples exchanged places, and I saw Fanny’s brilliant smile and Sir George’s surprised confusion. He seemed uncertain how to respond, for he had led me in to dinner and we had actually spoken of our mutual fondness for dancing at some length. He decided, very wisely, to nod and refrain from continuing the topic, but when the set broke up, I saw him proceed to his sister (Lady Jacques, for she is married to a Frenchman) and speak quietly to her. Moments later, she approached and offered to replace me at the pianoforte in the kindest manner, and Sir George claimed my hand for the very next set. I think he was embarrassed by Fanny’s blunt manner of ignoring my comfort; he cannot know that her behavior is not new to me.

  Next week is to be Lady Rousseau’s spring ball, which I have been told is considered the most important event of the season. She has very kindly invited us to attend, and you can be certain that Step-mamma will insist on new gowns for all of us, even though we have not yet had time to wear all of our first purchases out in public. There is a rumor going about that one of Lady R.’s royal relatives will be there, but as I have heard this rumor several times in the last fortnight without ever seeing it confirmed, I do not set much store by it. But I will write and tell you all about it whether or not royalty actually attends, for it is sure to be interesting.

  Papa sends his compliments to you and your papa, and Step-mamma said in passing that I should send hers as well. I hope that your reply to my last letter arrives soon, and that this letter reaches you before you post another missive. My reason is that we are to take a house after all and will be settled there by the end of the week. You may direct your future letters to Number 24 Rue de Verre in Paris.

  Love,

  Eleanor

  28 March, 1845

  Copley Manor, Kent

  Dear Eleanor,

  I do not know what to make of the Duncans’ guest. At times he seems purposefully disagreeable, but at others he seems genuinely uncertain of how to act, reverting to grunts as his natural form of communication. We are in company together so often, I cannot help noticing. But I am at a loss to understand why a gentleman and a peer would struggle so. Should he not have more experience with social decorum than we do? Agnes insists that he is merely taciturn and prideful due to his position, but I am not sure I agree. My experience is limited, but I think Gilbert Cosgrove is excessively prideful, and the Duke is nothing like that. He does not go on about his accomplishments or wealth; he observes a good deal and speaks very little; he does not rattle about lik
e Gilbert, nor does he seek to be generally pleasing like the Felixes. But he seems to have great disdain for those who are not his intellectual equals. I cannot make out the reason for his behavior at all, and it frustrates me greatly!

  You will accuse me of speaking like one of Miss Austen’s heroines, and the comparison is apt, but Miss Austen never wrote a male character with the untamed quality that the Duke seems to exude. None of her heroes are quite so like a bear in their manners. I could almost believe that the Duke has been living in utter seclusion and is out of practice, if it were not for his uncanny ability to perfectly deliver cutting remarks. Suffice it to say that I have never before had such a fascinating character to study.

  I will return to my letter later; the morning rain has let up, and I must be off to meet Emily and Hannah Bartlett for our weekly visit to the poor. Agnes expressed an interest in going with us, but I am not certain she will come. She is a sweet girl, but she has not cared much for the duty in the past. It is a shame, for her position in the neighborhood naturally gives her more opportunities to assist those in need.

  ~Later~

  Well, this has been an eventful morning! I daresay you will not see anything remarkable in it, but where so little of real interest occurs in the country, I am inclined to call this morning interesting indeed.

  The Bartlett girls and I met at the Vicarage, laden down with baskets and blankets as usual. Emily had a list from her father of those in his parish that required particular assistance, and we set off, Emily chatting cheerfully about the plans for her coming out after her birthday next month.