by Ella Edon
“Aye. Very… how shall I put it? … very intriguing work you do.”
Garance was not immune to the subtle implications of the lusty old duffer. “And what do you do?”
“Well I… that is, I am Lord Attersley,” he said confused.
“But what do you do, Lord Attersley?” she persisted. “Are you some sort of shiftless lightweight who does nothing but eat bonbons?”
Lord Attersley, too dim to notice that he was being insulted, lifted and lowered his eyebrows in consternation. “Why, no,” he replied. “That is, I have a substantial estate in Essex, you see.”
“And you manage it?”
“Well no. I have a man for that purpose, dear lady.”
“I see. So, you have some other occupation?”
“My son, Alfred is a privateer,” he offered blandly.
“A pirate?”
“Oh, dear me, no. He merely plunders the riches from… that is… blimey, I’m not entirely sure what he does either. This is most perplexing.”
“Indeed. I am required on the dance floor,” she said, as the orchestra struck up a lively dance.
“Shall I accompany you, dear lady?” said the old man.
“My dear fellow, I daresay you would lose your life if you were to participate in Les Lanciers. It is a very lively dance.”
“I see,” he said aware that he had ruined his chances with the French singer.
Garance made her way to the middle of the dance floor, and raised her hand to Jonathan, who joined her along with three other couples, including Peter and Simon and their companions, both of whom Jonathan did not know. The fourth couple was a very thin, very pale young man who arrived on the arm of Miss Helen Wiglesworth whose massive body made it difficult to see him whenever she turned. She was aware of Jonathan though and smiled at him sweetly. He returned the greeting.
As the dance went on, poor Helen began to perspire profusely, and began to breathe very deeply as the dance continued. It was a very fast dance in 6/8 time, causing the dancers to skip lightly, something that Miss Helen Wiglesworth found very difficult to do. As a result, when she passed Jonathan, trying to look as attractive as possible, she found herself perspiring excessively, along with a most unpleasant odor following her.
When the dance had finished, she curtsied to her partner, and leaned on his arm heavily, causing the poor boy’s legs to buckle and he went tumbling to the floor, followed by the unfortunate Miss Wiglesworth. The chivalrous thing to do would be for Jonathan to help her regain her feet, but he was inordinately aware of the eyes watching him, being the most eligible bachelor in the place, and it being well-known that he was looking for a wife. Consequently, he feigned being unaware of the mishap, leaving Peter Nunn to come to their aid.
Jonathan, feeling embarrassed for the poor girl, took Garance’s hand and led her to a chair, where she spread her skirts out and smiled at him pleasantly.
“That was lovely Jonathan. Thank you!” she said, as though she were not aware that every eye was on her, either lustily in the case of the gentlemen, or enviously, in the case of the ladies.
Several minutes later, while Jonathan was chatting with Simon, a young man with a dreadful reputation as a rake approached Garance and introduced himself.
“I am Trevor Cust, of Brownlow,” he said. “I understand you are the Parisian Nightingale.”
“I have been called that,” she said smiling.
“Might I enquire if your dance card is filled, Miss Nightingale.”
“My surname is actually Monteux, but no,” she replied. “I should be honored to dance with you.”
“Then let us wait for the waltz, so that we can dance close together,” he said with a glint in his eye. “I’ve often heard that you Frenchies are wonderful at that sort of thing.”
Garance chose to ignore the implication. He withdrew and filled in his own dance card.
“A little liquid joy,” said a new young man smirking lasciviously holding out a glass of champagn.
“I beg your pardon, young man,” said Garance. “But is it customary to present a young lady with spirits before one has introduced oneself?”
He looked at her in confusion, as though he had been addressed by a cat. “I say, you are a demanding one, then aren’t you?” he chuckled. “As it happens, I am Charles Wentworth, of the family of the Earl of Manvers, Charles Perrepont Manvers. I’m his nephew, you see, and so absolutely impecunious.”
“I see,” said Garance not having the slightest idea what he was talking about.
“From Nottingham,” he added, as though that would impress her. “I wonder, Miss Nightingale, if you would like to meet my good friend, Mr. Johnson?”
“Mr. Johnson?” she said confused. “And who is he?”
“Yes, Mr. Johnson is one of my most intimate acquaintances,” he said smirking. “Come with me and I’ll make the introductions.”
Garance was unaccustomed to this line of conversation, and so she rose, took his hand, and followed him to a corner of the room. He let her hand go and walked ahead of her.
“Where is your friend?” she asked as he turned his back on her.
He appeared to be concentrating on something around his pelvis, and she began to understand exactly what he was up to.
“Mr. Wentworth,” she said. “I am very confused.”
“It will only take a moment,” he said chuckling.
At that moment, Jonathan, who had witnessed this display of coarse humor from the notorious Mr. Wentworth, arrived just before he turned around.
“I say there, Charles,” he said loudly, as Charles unbuttoned his trousers. “That’s enough!”
“Only a bit of fun, old sock,” said Charles still manhandling his trousers ominously.
“Well, we are at a grand ball,” said Jonathan taking Garance’s hand and leading her away. “And should you continue with your display, you will find yourself in a great deal of trouble.”
Then, turning away from the fool, he went to Garance. “Are you alright, my dear?”
“That was terrible,” said Garance, her face white with shame.
“Yes,” said Jonathan. “I had a feeling that buffoon would do something shameful. Shall we dance? The waltz was starting.”
“I’m afraid I have been promised to Mr. Trevor Cust,” she said.
“Dear God!” Jonathan said in exasperation.
“What is it?”
“Can’t you see? These cads are trying to take advantage. It is absurd and preposterous. They came to you and introduced themselves! That is simply not how it is done. One gets a friend or acquaintance to make introductions.”
“Jonathan, that matters nothing to me.”
“Well it matters to me! You know the waltz is a scandalous dance,” he said.
“Scandalous? How is it scandalous?” she asked.
“Why it is merely an excuse to embrace on the dance floor. Even our rakish poet Lord Byron expressed his outrage.”
“Is he here? I mean, in attendance?”
“I know not,” said Jonathan. “And that is beside the point. As you can see, his Royal Highness, the Prince Regent has arrived, and I think it would be inappropriate for anyone to dance unless he does so first.”
And indeed, His Royal Majesty had arrived, as the trumpets blared, and the young liveried servant shouted out, “His Royal Highness, George, Prince Regent, by the Grace of God, of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, and so forth.”
“Dear God!” said Garance. “He is the Prince of France?”
“I believe it is a formality. Similar to his father, the King, being made King of Hanover. It is all a terrible muddle. And to make it even more complicated, I hear that Prince Edward, Duke of Kent and Strathearn, died just yesterday. I am shocked that the Prince would appear in public after this terrible event.”
“I had the idea that the Duke of Kent and the Prince Regent did not move in the same social circles.”
“I had no idea,” whispered Jo
nathan. “And to be frank, I doubt that. As you can see, he is wearing bombazine and crepe.”
“Is that what his black jacket is made of?”
“Yes. I believe so. And yet, he does seem quite jolly for a fellow who just lost his brother.”
The Prince Regent, dressed in black bombazine, still cut a very elegant, if somewhat archaic figure. He was a tall man, somewhat heavy set, with a very large shock of brown hair. His legs, clad in white hose, were somewhat reminiscent of those of Louis XIV in that famous portrait. He walked heavily though, and one could not imagine him dancing. And yet, dance he did, ordering glasses of champagne and sandwiches in great quantities. He also requested the presence of quite a number of the young ladies at the dance.
At that moment, Mr. Trevor Cust approached Garance. “My dear lady, I do believe the waltz has started.”
Garance looked distinctly uncomfortable, as though she knew she was being mocked.
“I am quite tired, Mr. Cust,” she said sighing.
“Oh there, there, Mademoiselle; it is only a little dance. Come with me!”
“I say there, Trevor,” said Jonathan interceding on her behalf. “If the lady is tired, the lady is tired.”
“I heard she can go for hours,” said Trevor to Jonathan with a definite air of the lascivious in his tone of voice. Jonathan looked at Garance, who seemed to be acquiescing to his demand to dance with her.
“That will be quite enough!” said Jonathan.
“Simmer down, old sock,” said Trevor. “She’s a Frenchie. She will be used to this sort of thing.”
At this, Jonathan advanced on the hapless fop. “If you persist in this line of conversation, I shall be forced to take steps to stop you, old sock,” Jonathan said in a mocking tone.
For his part, Trevor, the coward, backed off, looking distinctly confused that an Englishman should protect a French woman. To add to his humiliation, he had the distinct impression that his odious behavior had been witnessed by au august personage.
Chapter Twelve
The Prince Regent
At that moment, at the height of the dance, a young page approached Garance and bowed. “Mademoiselle Nightingale,” he said. “I have been sent to ask that you grace His Majesty with your presence.”
“Of course,” she said, and began to move away from the two young men who were nearly at each other’s throats. However, when Jonathan noticed Garance moving away with the young page, he decided to go with her.
“I think it best if I go with you,” he said, somewhat nervously.
“That is fine,” said Garance. “I shall obey the laws of your etiquette and introduce you to His Royal Highness.”
“Quite,” said Jonathan feeling somewhat sheepish that he was not able to do the introductions himself.
Garance approached the dais upon which the Prince Regent sat. She curtsied deeply when she was within speaking distance, and His Royal Highness gestured for her to approach. Jonathan stayed back, feeling awkward, as he saw Garance approach the Prince Regent.
“Parisian Nightingale,” said the Prince with a tone of great joy in his voice.
“Your Royal Majesty,” said Garance. “I am very glad to see you again.”
“I remember being introduced to you after your magnificent Command performance. It was one of the most beautiful evenings I have spent in theatre in recent memory.”
“I understand you are a frequent visitor to the theatre, Your Highness,” said Garance.
“Yes, I enjoy performances,” he replied. “But tell me, what brings you to a ball such as this?”
“Why, I was invited as the guest of Jonathan Anderson-Reese, the Earl of Yarmouth.”
“The Earl died recently, did he not?” asked the Prince.
“Indeed, he did, but I am referring to the son, who is here with me now, Your Highness,” said Garance.
“I see,” said His Majesty. “Where?”
“With your Majesty’s permission, I should like to present him to you now,” said Garance.
“Please do,” he said, and Jonathan approached bowing his head slightly.
As soon as he was beside Garance, the Prince Regent saw him and smiled. Garance put her hand on his arm and said, “This is Jonathan Anderson-Reese.”
“I see you are not in mourning,” said the Prince to Jonathan.
Jonathan was suddenly struck by the inappropriateness of this faux-pas. “No, Your Royal Majesty,” he said. “In fact, I have not had time to do anything in that area. In truth, I haven’t the means to invest in the clothing necessary.”
“That is unfortunate,” said the Prince. “Nevertheless, I will admit that mourning, as an institution, has quite run its course. I find it interferes with the living. My father, the King, has been unwell for many years, as everyone knows, and I fear that when he passes on, we will be forced into some sort of observance of something that does nothing for the people.”
“I daresay, Your Royal Majesty,” said Jonathan. “It will reflect the sadness of the people for a much-loved monarch.”
“Oh pish-tosh,” said the Prince. “This is absurd. He died long ago, for all intents and purposes. He’s been a blithering idiot for years!”
Jonathan was tongue-tied. He was nervous speaking to such an august personality, and somewhat surprised that he was so easily approached.
“I say, Jonathan,” said the Prince. “How did you meet this Parisian Nightingale?”
“Well, Your Royal Highness,” said Jonathan. “I met her in much the same way that you did. I attended the opening of her Covent Garden performances, and felt I had to tell her how much her performance inspired me. And so, I went backstage and presented her with some rather sorry-looking roses, and I supposed she took pity on me.”
The Prince laughed heartily. “I daresay she likely does that for many of her admirers. But how did you stand out?”
“In truth, Sir, I am not sure that I did stand out in any way,” said Jonathan.
“Your Royal Highness, he did indeed stand out for his modesty and his sincerity.”
“I daresay, that is a great skill: to be able to fake modesty and sincerity!” said the Prince.
Jonathan and Garance both laughed at the Prince’s jape. “Very amusing, Your Highness!” said Jonathan.
At this point, it was clear that their audience was over. Some important-looking person had come to him and whispered something in his ear that had changed his demeanor entirely.
“I am terribly sorry to have to cut short my visit here,” said the Prince. “But I am told I am needed at the palace. My father, bless his soul, has taken a turn for the worse and the Archbishop has been summoned. It has been a pleasure to see you again Parisian Nightingale, and you, young Jonathan, are a credit to your title. We shall make it all official in a matter of weeks. At the moment though, I must away.”
He rose, and all rose with him. The musicians even stopped playing for several minutes while the Prince made his exit, with great solemnity.
“I am very impressed, Garance!” said Jonathan. “The man who will be king is very keen on your work. That is a great honor!”
“I do not think that is the case,” she said. “In truth, His Majesty was quite rude for the performance, talking throughout and hardly paying me any mine at all. It was very distracting.”
“Be that as it may, he was impressed.”
The musicians seemed to have stopped playing, and Jonathan looked at Garance. “Would you stay for the banquet?” he asked her.
“If I may be honest, Jonathan,” she said. “I should be very glad to give it a miss. I have found many of the people quite unpleasant, and if there were to be a way to avoid them, I should enjoy that far more than a great late-night meal that I have no interest in experiencing. I have been told that when visiting England, if you like the weather, you’ll love the food, and both of these misfortunes has been my experience so far. There is only so much roast beef I can eat.”
“Very well,” said Jonathan. “I shall fe
tch your overcoat.” He made his way through the crowd, and was accosted by Cordelia de Montmorency, with whom he had had a brief discussion before Garance’s performance at Covent Garden.
“Jonathan Anderson-Reese,” she said, shocking him with her boldness. “I have yet to have been graced by your presence at my home. You promised you would attend, and yet I have been neglected. Do tell me you plan to visit.”
“Well of course, I shall,” said Jonathan trying to be pleasant. “You see, I have been very busy with my father’s funeral and the will.”
