She walked up the grand marble steps, through the doorway, and into the Masque. A servant directed her down the hallway to the entrance to the ballroom. As she entered the ballroom, the major domo smiled, obviously pleased with her appearance. “Your name, m’lady?”
She took a deep breath and said clearly, “Madame Butterfly,” and without looking back, began descending the staircase to the floor of the ballroom.
“Madame Butterfly!” she heard the major domo loudly announce. A few heads turned to look. Then a few more, and then a few more. Soon, like a wave, all eyes were on her as she carefully, slowly, and gracefully descended the staircase. Thank goodness she had paid attention during some of those lessons in social graces! She made it down the stairs without tripping, her back straight, her head up, and with some semblance of grace and style. The only thing missing was Jake. How handsome he would look, all dressed up like the gentlemen here. How wonderful it would be to dance with him all night long!
She heard the buzz of people whispering, “Who is she?” as she walked by, slightly nodding her head in salutation, and smiling a closed-mouth smile. She was afraid the space between her teeth would give her away, as it was as distinctive as her wild, red hair.
An older gentleman approached her. She remembered having seen him before, but couldn’t recall when or where. He held out his hand and bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Adair Glenn, Duke of Cleveland, at your service, m’lady.” It was all Mara could do not to pull her hand away in disgust. The touch of his papery, dry, cold hand made her skin crawl. She wasn’t sure why, but this man repulsed her. It took all the restraint she could muster not to run in the opposite direction.
Mara bent in a deep curtsey and smiled her sly, closed-mouth smile without saying a word. She had decided that not saying anything this night would be the best course of action.
“Ah, a shy lady butterfly. I will have to make you feel at home until you come out of your shell. Come, m’lady. You look hungry.” And the Duke of Cleveland led his new guest to the enormous buffet table, where Mara busied herself dishing food onto a lovely glass plate. If she spent a lot of time eating, he couldn’t hold her hand.
After she had filled her plate, the duke led her to his table, and pulled out a chair for her to sit.
They played twenty questions, with Mara either smiling and nodding, or pursing her lips and shaking her head. She ate daintily, trying to keep her teeth from showing, chewing every bite slowly and deliberately. A couple of times, the duke’s attention was averted by other guests, and Mara could then look around the grand ballroom at the Masque’s beautifully-attired guests. She wanted to locate her family so she could avoid them, even though they would never figure out who she was.
The women in the crowd strained to see the stunning creature sitting with the duke. No one could recall ever having seen her before. “Madame Butterfly,” they jealously harrumphed. The gossip flew as they speculated on her identity.
The next few hours passed quickly. Mara was asked to dance first by the duke, and then by many other gentlemen, curious about the beautiful stranger’s identity. She neither spoke nor opened her mouth, answering question after question with a shy smile and a nod or shake. She was the talk of the party. Even King George asked for a dance, but was no more successful in getting this young beauty to reveal her identity than any of the others. The men were enjoying the game enormously; the women were ready to tear out the butterfly’s eyes.
The Duke of Cleveland hardly left her alone all evening, even claiming her immediately after every dance she didn’t dance with him. He pranced around with his hand on her elbow, escorting her from person to person, introducing her to his guests. She gritted her teeth beneath her closed lips, grimacing at his touch. She wished she spent the evening with anyone but him!
“Madame Butterfly, meet the Marquis of Rockingham.”
“This is the Earl of Chatham. We went to Cambridge together. Remember the game…” Mara’s mind wandered, her Mona Lisa smile pasted on her face.
“My dear, this is the Duke of Grafton and his lovely bride, Lady Desiree. Lady Desiree is my sister, so I guess I have to claim him, too. Ha, ha, ha!”
Smile, Mara, she said to herself. Just smile. Why couldn’t a young, dashing man have attached himself to her instead of this old, boorish fop?
“Henry Addington! Come meet my little butterfly. He is the Prime Minister, my dear.”
Yes, I know, thought Mara. I know. To escape, she boldly took Mr. Addington’s hand, and led him to the dance floor. She had had enough!
The gossip about her continued, as the guests watched her charm the PM.
*****
Back at the carriage, Calvin finally overcame his shock and spoke. “What the bloody…?”
“Come, Cal. Gigi packed us some food. It’s here in a basket under the seat. Let’s eat, and I will tell you everything.”
They leaned back in the comfortable seats, and ate the delicious meal Mr. Fout had prepared. Jake told Calvin all about Mara’s weight loss over the past seven months, and about her idea to “come out” at the Masque.
“Cecilia and Mara did most of the work. That costume is truly a masterpiece. I fashioned the wire for the wings, but they did the rest. I was just there mainly for moral support, and to help her dress tonight.”
“I canna believe how beautiful our little Miss Mara has grown to be. Her face has always been lovely, but now her whole being is lovely. I just canna get over it!”
“It is quite a transformation, I agree.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Jake took a drink of mead. “But I do have to ask you a favor.”
“About that kiss?”
Jake chuckled. “Yeah, about that kiss.”
“Just dinna get caught by the master. Even God canna save you from him then. And a third whipping would be the end of you.”
“Thanks, Cal. I knew you would understand.”
“Understand, my arse. You’ve been makin’ goo goo eyes at that girl for years. Only blind people and her family haven’t noticed. It’s been written all over your face since the day you came to work for me.”
“That bad, eh?”
“You got it bad, all right. Real bad.”
*****
At 11:30 pm, thirty minutes before the unmasking, Mara excused herself to go to the ladies’ retiring room, and then slipped out of the duke’s home. She ran all the way back to the carriage, and found Jake and Calvin snoozing in the coach.
“Wake up, you two worthless bums! Help me out of this costume.”
Jake and Calvin jumped out of the coach and helped Mara back into her fat towels and original party clothes before leaving to pick up her parents and brother.
In no time, they were on their way to Stafford House, to wait in line with the rest of the coaches. Jake walked alongside the carriage, as Mara gave him a whispered update through the open window.
“The Duke of Cleveland was horrid. There is something about him that makes my skin crawl. He kept holding my hand and touching my elbow and putting his hands on my waist. He referred to me as ‘his butterfly’ all evening. He was awful.”
Jake was green with envy listening to Mara talk about another man touching her. True, the duke was old, but he was still a man!
She told him about her dance with King George.
“You danced with the King? Great gads! That is amazing. How did you manage to stay silent in the king’s presence? The king, by God!”
“By then it was a great game, and gentlemen were asking the silliest questions just to see me react. I was having the best time playacting. I think I could make a living on stage!”
“Not my wife,” Jake growled, giving her a smoldering look.
She gave him a smoldering look back. He growled again and walked away, afraid of what he’d do if they continued this game.
In time, her parents emerged from Stafford House and got into in the carriage. Jake closed the door, climbed onto the footman’s post, and off
they went. Inside, Mara’s parents and brother kept falling all over each other’s sentences as they talked about the mysterious, stunningly beautiful Madame Butterfly. Mara sat in the dark corner, and smiled her Mona Lisa smile.
Chapter 27
The entire town gossiped about the Masque and the beautiful Madame Butterfly. The women spent hours poring over lists of people who were known to have been there, eliminating as many names as they could. But the mystery remained. Madame Butterfly was obviously a woman of breeding. Could she have been a real Madame? The men were delighted by that thought—a Madame flagrantly running around in front of their wives. That idea raised up their passions, but raised up the women’s ire.
They all finally decided she must be a foreigner. That must be why she didn’t talk, so as not to betray her accent. So they looked over the guest list again, and still came up empty. But it was better than thinking she was a real Madame, so the ladies settled on that idea.
The person most obsessed with Madame Butterfly was Adair Glenn, Duke of Cleveland. He was a widower with two daughters but no son to inherit, was over the age of fifty, and thought Madame Butterfly would make a perfect second Duchess of Cleveland. He started his own search for the elusive beauty, calling upon the London constabulary and his own barristers to assist him.
*****
By the middle of November, people were no longer talking about the Masque, and Mara felt it was time to tell her family the truth. Her brothers were in school, leaving only her parents to confront.
One night after dinner, she asked Termins to have her parents meet her in the parlor to discuss a matter of importance. Cecilia helped her dress as Madame Butterfly, and she walked down the stairs to the parlor, where she would meet her parents.
She was more nervous now than she had been at the Masque. Coming out was harder than staying in her shell, and she almost ran back up the stairs, and probably would have if Cecilia hadn’t been behind her, encouraging her along.
She walked into the parlor and stopped, standing as straight as she could, and with as much dignity as she could muster.
Lady Maureen gasped, and Lord Markham stood up so rapidly the papers on his lap fell to the floor, scaring the resting Lilac, who scuttled off to a corner.
“Madame Butterfly?” Lady Maureen sputtered, not sure if she asked a question or made a statement.
Mara reached up and slowly pulled off the mask and headdress.
“I am Madame Butterfly, Mother, Father.” Her parents could only stare, stunned.
Where was their fat daughter? When had she slimmed down? When did she become so beautiful? Where did she find that dress? How did they miss this?
Mara realized they were too shocked to say anything, so she started to rapidly explain.
“It all began when I was so sick and couldn’t eat. I started losing weight, and decided to lose it all. I worked on it all summer and fall, hiding it from you because I was afraid of how you would react. I decided to become Madame Butterfly at the Masque because, for once in my life, I wanted to be bold, and beautiful, and thin, and the Masque was the perfect opportunity, and…” her voice trailed off.
Lady Maureen started to cry. Now it was Mara’s turn to stand in bewildered silence. Now what? Her mother stood up from the settee and came to Mara with open arms to give her striking daughter a hug. Then Mara started to cry, hugging her mother back. All was forgiven, all was right.
Lord Markham was astonished. Could this vision of loveliness be his fat, ugly daughter? When had she become such a gorgeous young woman? When did the butterfly emerge? How had he missed this event? He sat back down before he fell down.
“Father?”
He stared at her tear-stained face. “You’re beautiful. I don’t understand, but you are beautiful and I’ve missed it all these years. I… I…” He stopped, overcome with emotion. But that didn’t last long. The businessman in him soon took over, when he realized what she was now truly worth to him.
*****
Mara was as happy as she had ever been. Her mother immediately took her under her wing, and doted on her every need. Her father proudly showed her off to his peers.
The ladies went shopping almost daily through the month of November, not only to Lady Maureen’s favorite couturier to acquire a proper wardrobe for her daughter, but also to shops to buy hats, ribbons, shoes, and scarves.
The clothier was French, of course. Madame Poitier was renowned for her sense of style and being au courant with the haute couture of the continent, usually adding flair of her own. Madame moved her eyes over Mara’s new figure, and immediately set out among her materials, tossing bolts either to her assistants, on the floor, or off to the side, mumbling in French about color and texture.
No more dull browns and beiges for Mara! Her new clothes would be made of fabrics in bold peacock blue, emerald green, fire red, soft peach, royal purple and canary yellow, to set off her hair and eyes.
“She has the body of a goddess!” exclaimed Madame Poitier. “I must outfit her like Athena.” And with the generous budget set by Lord Markham, Madame thought even Athena never had such a wardrobe!
Mara was measured, pinned, poked, and prodded, but the results would be worth it. Madame would sew for her a couple of dozen day gowns, five evening gowns, two riding outfits, and all new undergarments made from the softest materials imaginable—muslins for everyday wear and batistes for evening. Madame Poitier was in her element. Mara was her palette, and what a palette she was!
Mara insisted on buying a new pair of boots from the cobbler, dragging her mother to see Luke.
His jaw dropped when he saw the face of his Angel Mara walk into the shop, now with the body of an angel as well.
He recovered quickly. “Ladies, you are like a ray of sunshine on my otherwise dark and lifeless day. Come in, come in!” Luke poured on the charm, as he bowed deeply to kiss Lady Maureen’s hand. He looked over Mara’s hand quizzically as he kissed it, and saw the warning in her eye. He promptly realized he needed to play dumb, as her mother was by her side.
“Young sir, I am in need of a pair of new boots.”
Luke’s face broke out in a huge smile.
“M’lady, I have the perfect pair in mind for a flower as fair as you. The softest leather from the hide of a yearling calf, flawlessly tanned to perfection by the hands of virgin maidens. Only the best for the rare and delightful beauty you possess.” Mara now understood why the girls chased him. Even her mother looked a bit smitten by the charms of cute, little Luke.
“Here, here. Sit and let me take your measurements.” He led Mara to a leather chair, removed her shoe, and expertly measured her foot, arch, ankle, and lower leg, all the while extolling her and her mother’s virtues.
“And does your sister wish to have new boots as well?” Luke’s eyes sparkled.
Lady Maureen tittered. Sister! My goodness! But she let Luke lead her to the chair for her own fitting.
“I am Miss Mara’s mother.”
“NO!”
“Yes.”
“It ain’t possible! You canna be more than ten years older than this young girl, m’lady. You are so young yourself!”
“Thank you, kind boy. You are good for my old ego.”
“Old and you canna fit into the same sentence together. You are as lovely, fresh, and new as the sunrise itself, bringing life to an old and dreary world.”
So not only did Mara acquire new shoes that day, but she would also have a pair of boots just like Lady May’s.
Her mother was also quite happy to have met a wonderful new cobbler.
Luke felt thrilled for his Angel, and his master clapped in joy with the new boot orders and a new client.
*****
Lady Maureen took Mara everywhere, introducing her anew to friends and acquaintances, showing off her lovely daughter to all who would come and look. Mara was afraid she’d become fat again from all the teas she was forced to attend, and had to double her morning efforts on the ballroom stairs to keep u
p with the intake. She felt like she was on parade.
“Lady Muriel, this is my daughter, Mara. Mara, may I present the Duchess of Devonshire.”
“Lord Herbert! So nice to see you again. This is my daughter, Mara. My dear, meet the Earl of Lonsdale. Edwin escorted his granddaughter to the Masque, remember?”
“Lord Newbury is the Duke of Wellington. My daughter, Mara.”
“Mara, please welcome the Marquis and Marchioness of Westminster.”
“Sir Philip Sidney…”
“The Earl of Devon, Lord Brooke...”
“The Marchioness of Bath…”
“The Countess of Bute. She is the one who helped us with the Queen’s Children’s Home…”
“The Earl and Countess of Rosebury…”
“Viscount Twistleton…”
Mara’s head swam with all the social events and people. She couldn’t possibly remember any of their names. Just like at the Masque, they all looked alike, they all sounded alike, they all talked alike. They drove her insane. All she wanted was to be at the house with Jake and Alvin, away from all these blathering fops.
Conversing with the women was the worst. All they wanted to do was gossip and talk about who was seen with whom, and who was sleeping with whom. Whenever she brought up politics, philosophy, or current events, they looked at her with blank stares on their faces.
The men, married or not, ogled and pawed at her, making forward and sometimes lewd advances. She spent most of her time swatting away their octopus hands.
She began to wish she had stayed overweight and not come out of her protective shell.
Mara: A Georgian Romance Page 15
