Gilbert did not notice, however, for he had sat beside me on the bench and taken my hand in his in the most assuming manner. “Indeed, I take your hand now, for I flatter myself that I already know the answer you will give me. We shall be happy together; I am certain, dear Isabella. Can you not picture it? My father will give us the hunting lodge in Derbyshire for our residence and we shall be able to ride out to hunt every day, if we choose. You shall have a new mare and a pointer of your very own to follow you about.” He continued on with his views of our future life together in remarkable detail; indeed, I was surprised to see how much thought he had seemingly put into imagining his future establishment. Of course such a life as he described was completely without charms for me (I do not wish to have a large family of only boys who will muddy the carpets and run about with dogs).
As it was, the care he took in describing such scenes determined me to respond with a slightly more civil tone than I had at first intended to use; I wished to be decided, but not cruel in my rejection. The moment Gilbert paused for breath (I would not have let him say so much had he not rattled on so quickly), I extricated my fingers from his and rose to my feet.
“Mr. Cosgrove, I thank you for your proposal, but you must accept my refusal and good wishes for your health. It is quite beyond my abilities or inclinations to respond to your proposals in the affirmative.” Gilbert’s mouth had shut quite firmly as soon as I had risen, and the set of his jaw told me that he was not happy, despite my attempt at a civil tone of voice.
“You are rejecting me?” he asked simply, disbelief evident in his face.
“Yes,” I replied with similar frankness; best to get it over with at once.
“But… why?”
“Because I do not love you.” At this Gilbert jumped to his feet and seized my wrists rather more firmly than I would have expected. I was obviously unprepared and thus taken completely unawares.
“Impossible,” he said, a rough tone underneath the incredulity of his voice. His grip was becoming painfully tight, and for the first time I wondered if I had misjudged my choice to answer him so honestly. Foolish I had always assumed he was, but not given to ungentlemanly physical responses. The look in his eyes displayed mixed bafflement and anger as he searched my face intently, and I was frightfully aware of how much larger and stronger he was than me. “You cannot mean that.”
“Mr. Cosgrove, you forget yourself,” I managed to say, though I am ashamed to admit that my tone betrayed my slight fear.
“Miss Copley? Are you quite alright?” a voice sounded to my right. Gilbert and I both looked to see the family butler, Horton, approaching us with two of the grooms from the stables behind him. At the sight of them, Gilbert’s grip on my wrists loosened, and I slid away from him as gracefully as possible without betraying more of my fear than I had already done.
Drawing myself up to my full (though insignificant) height, I turned to look at Gilbert again. “I will thank you to leave now, Mr. Cosgrove. I wish you a pleasant afternoon.” One of the grooms had collected Gilbert’s horse and now stepped forward to offer him the reins with a scowl. Gilbert glared at him, and without so much as a parting word or glance at me, mounted the horse and raced off across the lawn. I sighed quietly to myself as we watched him disappear down the drive, gravel spitting in his wake.
“Miss Isabella, are you hurt at all?” Horton asked me, a note of paternal worry in his tone. “The footmen told me of Mr. Cosgrove’s neglect to report at the door, and I see that I was right to come in search of you.”
“Thank you, Horton, I am well. I wish to return to the house now, if you please.” Horton bowed and, instructing the grooms to keep a watch out about the grounds, escorted me back to the drawing room. Mrs. Horton met us there and insisted at once on bathing my wrists in lavender water and calling for tea, even though I protested at the fuss.
Since that eventful afternoon I have not had a single visitor. I cannot help but wonder if Horton and his wife have been preventing visitors from entering the house; I know that they have told the gardeners and grooms to keep a lookout whenever I venture out of doors. Their kindness is touching, but it makes me feel so like a prisoner in my own home. I long for the arrival of Mrs. Potter and her children to remove this overbearing caution.
Now you are informed in full of all my news. I confess, I had not expected Gilbert Cosgrove to propose to me quite this soon, nor in such a heated and disgustingly confident manner. You see now the reasons for my ramblings on the subject of suitable men. I am still ashamed that I was afraid of him, but in the moment his looks were so very wild that I could not help but wonder at his intentions. Even a full day of puzzling over his anger has not given me more insight into his character. Are all men so angry when their offer of marriage is refused? I doubt either of us shall ever be in a position to answer such a question.
Write to me soon and tell me of your prince. Perhaps you may conjure one up for me as well so that I may not have to suffer the presence of the Cosgroves for longer than necessary.
Your weary cousin,
Isabella
8 April, 1845
24 Rue de Verre, Paris
Dear Isabella,
Good heavens! That is quite literally what I exclaimed aloud upon reading the news in your last letter. It caused a bit of a stir over the breakfast table, for our letters are brought in early. Naturally Step-mamma, Hettie, and Fanny were all interested in what might have caused such an exclamation; Papa was worried that it was something dreadful. I gave your father’s visit to the Duke of Stirling as the reason for my exclamation, but it took all of my ingenuity to conceal the truth, for of course a mere visit to a Scottish peer is not worth the fuss I had accidentally made over it.
Step-mamma is very pleased that Uncle Matthew is so well connected and that he has taken advantage of the opportunity to leave his “foul odors” behind him. (I did not mention that he is merely going from one laboratory to another.) She did lament over the fact that she and her girls were not there to “become acquainted with His Grace” (by which she means to have gone with Uncle Matthew and tried to catch the Duke for one of her girls), but my intentionally inaccurate description of the Duke as an older, grizzled gentleman with gruff manners put Fanny and Hettie in opposition to the notion at once. Papa, bless him, kept his countenance during my bold-faced lie about the Duke’s appearance, but he did look at me rather sternly over his teacup. I finished my breakfast hurriedly and retired to my room, where I hope not to be disturbed for several minutes. I have just heard the front door open and close, which should have been Papa ordering the carriage for our day at the symposium. With any luck, he will have forgotten the incident by this evening.
And so you have actually received an offer of marriage from Gilbert Cosgrove! I must say that I am astonished at his mode of declaring himself. Does he truly believe that such forward behavior could ever be acceptable to a true lady, quite apart from thinking it would aid his proposal? Have you written to your father yet? What was his response? I feel grateful that Horton is such an attentive man, for what would you have done if he had not noticed Gilbert’s arrival? It is one thing to know how to defend oneself against ruffians (I find myself thankful that you insisted on having Papa’s footman teach us the rudiments of fisticuffs when we were young), but another thing entirely to be accosted by a supposed gentleman when one is quite unawares.
Papa has just looked in to say that the carriage is ready to take us to the symposium, so I shall have to resume my letter this evening. We are to attend several speeches this morning, and then we are engaged to dine out for luncheon with several of Papa’s colleagues at a very fine restaurant called Le Canard. Apparently dining out at restaurants is becoming quite the fashion here in Paris; we never did such things in London. It will be lovely to get away from Step-mamma and my stepsisters for a few hours.
~Later~
As promised, I have returned to my letter this evening. Today’s linguistic presentations were most enlightening, and
the luncheon with Papa’s friends was most elegant and enjoyable. The gentlemen who dined with us were mostly Papa’s age and older. Two of their wives joined us, but I was the only young lady present. It is pleasant to be twenty-two sometimes, for one is not left out of things as often as if one were younger. You might wonder at my willingness to be the only person under the age of thirty in company, but I assure you that the conversation was most interesting and I did not notice the lack of other young people very much.
It is this group of colleagues that are most eager for Papa to visit the Royal Library in Vienna to continue his studies into the influence of the Germanic tongues on our native English. Lord Warner in particular is most insistent, and he and his wife have very kindly invited Papa to stay with them should he actually decide to travel to Vienna.
“Liesel and I would welcome it,” he said, “for our children have grown, and we dearly love company. And your wife and daughters would be most welcome to join you, if they wish.” Lady Warner nodded her agreement.
“You are most kind,” Papa said. “I must speak with Sylvia before making such a plan, but I know that I speak for Eleanor and myself when I say that accepting such an invitation would be most gratifying to us.” He had seen the look of delight on my face; I have talked of visiting Vienna ever since I played my first Mozart sonata at age seven. Indeed, I started learning German with Herr Schellen the same year because of my desire to visit Austria. Mama had planned to have me begin with French, but I took to German so well that she could not help but be pleased with my progress.
9 April
I attended the symposium again today, and have heard Papa give two of his last three speeches before the end of the event. His speech today was on the shift in vowel production between ancient and modern-day French over the centuries, and I thought he made some remarkably good points. He was kept back for half an hour speaking with members of his audience; we barely made it home in time for Step-mamma’s dinner party. She had invited several of the younger members of the Linguistic Society, with a scattering of elderly married couples and the Dupontes, so that there would be young men in plenty for the few young ladies present. She has no fears of the Duponte girls taking attention from Fanny and Hettie, even though I (and many of the young men) think that Elise and Nanette are more worthy of attention than my stepsisters.
My toilette was rather rushed, I fear, but as I did not wish to impress anyone tonight, it did not much signify how I looked. It is odd, but I find that my desire to find and encourage an eligible match has quite disappeared over the last few days; not that it was very strong to begin with, but I do find it strange how very little I cared about impressing the gentlemen tonight. I did not even mind playing the pianoforte for all of Fanny’s customary dancing as much as I usually do. I do not think it was the fault of the gentlemen, for they included some of the best in our acquaintance. But they seemed pale and flat tonight in comparison to something, though what I could hardly say myself.
Fanny has been relentless in her abuse of me since the ball last Saturday. She is jealous that I danced with Lord Rupert and is forever making thinly-veiled comments that essentially boil down to calling me a flirt and accusing me of hunting after royalty. Of course that is only when we are in company together; at home she speaks of it directly to my face, and when we do not happen to share in an engagement, I am certain she speaks most freely of her annoyance. For my part, I wish most heartily that I could be anywhere other than here in Rue de Verre.
It is most annoying to be teased about someone I have not even had the pleasure of seeing more than once. Lord Rupert said he intended to attend the symposium, and that he wished very much to hear Papa speak, but I have been to all of Papa’s lectures and have not seen him at any of them. Perhaps he did not come after all, or perhaps he did but was seated somewhere that I could not see. I did not look very hard for him, of course, but I did look a little, and I suppose I could have missed him. I must confess to being disappointed; it would have been pleasant to see him again.
It is getting late (our guests stayed longer than I expected), and I am feeling rather tired. I think I shall save the rest of this letter for after the symposium has concluded. Perhaps I will wait to send it until after we take tea with Lady Rousseau. There is sure to be something to tell after we visit with her. Oh, and I am also to visit the modiste tomorrow and will have news on the progress of your gown as well.
11 April
The symposium concluded this morning, and Papa is most pleased with the end result. He has made many new connections with other scholars in the field, and his research has been very well received. I am extremely proud of him and have been pleased to share in his enjoyment of the last few weeks; indeed I am sorry to see it end. Papa and I were able to spend quite a lot of time together attending the lectures of other presenters. It was a welcome break from my life under Step-mamma and it often felt like a return to the days before Papa remarried. Of course, we can never quite go back to what we were then; it still irks me that he did not have enough confidence in himself to finish raising me on his own. It also bothers me that his domestic happiness is now dependent on a woman who I consider to be so vastly inferior to my dear Mama. I wish you could have known her, Bella. She would have loved you quite as one of her own. I miss her very much and have been thinking of her quite often of late. I wish I could ask her for advice on so many things: how to manage Fanny, her opinion on the people I have met here, and how to forgive Papa for marrying again.
As if to add to my melancholy mood, I have some rather irksome news about the progress of the gown I am ordering for you. The modiste has lost the order I placed, apparently in the rush to have new gowns made in time for Lady Rousseau’s ball. I am vexed, naturally, for I wished to have the gown ready to send by this time. I have placed the order once more, though it shall be some time still before it is made. The material I had chosen is popular here in Paris, and the modiste has exhausted her supply. She is awaiting the arrival of another shipment. But do not despair, for whenever the gown is completed you will look simply divine for your next engagement. I have told the shop to hold the final alterations so that you may have them done properly in Kent. These things are best done in person, you know. And I do hope that you like the materials I have chosen. I am purposefully not sending you the details so you may be fully surprised when it arrives. Hopefully it will be finished before Lady Duncan’s spring cotillion.
While Papa and I were attending the rest of the symposium, Step-mamma, Hettie, and Fanny spent their time paying and receiving calls and gossiping with various other guests who attended Lady R.’s ball. I joined them for a few of these duty calls (though thankfully not many), and in that manner I have learned that Papa’s assumption about everyone envying me for being attended by Lord Rupert was somewhat unfounded. The other English young ladies in attendance did not recognize him either; it was really only the Continentals that knew enough to recognize him by sight. Thus far I have only had to endure the sighs of one or two of Fanny’s friends (the lesser of our acquaintance in terms of refinement). They are not well-connected enough to have been invited to the ball themselves, but they have heard of the circumstance from Fanny and have talked of little else since. The other young ladies have not commented on it, so perhaps they did not recognize him either.
However, I did learn why Lady R. was so quiet about his identity that night, and my knowledge comes directly from the lady herself. This afternoon Step-mamma took us to pay a thank you call and to gossip some more about the party. Thankfully we were not the only callers; the Dupontes arrived not long after we sat down to tea, and Fanny was able to bore the two Duponte daughters with her list of dance partners and their pedigree while the rest of us engaged in more sensible conversation. But you know Fanny’s penchant for speaking louder than is polite in such settings. It was impossible not to overhear much of what she said on the subject of eligible men.
To cover the awkwardness of the moment, Lady R. very smoothly said
“Well, I am very pleased to hear that so many of my young guests enjoyed themselves last week. It was pleasant to see so many of our young people dancing and enjoying themselves.”
“Indeed ma’am, I do believe it was the finest ball we have attended since we arrived in Paris,” Step-mamma agreed amiably. “My girls have been able to speak of little else since the event occurred.” Fanny’s strictures on M. Pierre Cadeaux were chiming stridently from across the room at this moment (it is rather well known that Nanette harbors a tendresse for him that her family very much disapproves, so it was already an ill-chosen topic for the gathered company), and Step-mamma felt it prudent to add, “I do believe that one of your own cousins was kind enough to partner Eleanor for supper. What a charming young man he is, to be sure.”
“Indeed he is,” chimed in Mme. Duponte; she was already well informed on the subject thanks to Fanny and her own daughters. “I saw the Baron myself, and I could not help but think that it was a pity he did not dance more. Count von Schönfeld certainly was in a hurry to quit the ball. I am sure there were plenty of other young ladies who would have enjoyed dancing with His Lordship very much.” Lady R. looked somewhat put out at Mme. Duponte’s blunt speech, but she made a very civil reply all the same. I meanwhile had busied myself with some macaroons to avoid being called on to speak. I did not want Lady R. to think of me as being like Mme. Duponte and regret having introduced me to Lord Rupert.
Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale Page 7
