by Ella Edon
“Yes. Like your son, I have opted for the maths as an area of study.”
“Have you much more time before you graduate?” she inquired.
“Indeed, no. I matriculate this May, if all things go well.”
“Well, Chester, if you are able to join us on February the 29th, we are having the largest ball Lincolnshire has ever seen, at Stafford Manor. I should be delighted to have you in attendance.”
“A ball? Oh, my goodness, Jonathan, you are quite the social butterfly, aren’t you? But I am afraid the 29th is a Tuesday and I shall be otherwise engaged with my studies. Otherwise I should be there in a heartbeat.”
“I understand, Chester, but should you change your mind, please know that you are always welcome.”
“Well, Jonathan, I must say, you have always been a very open-minded sort, but I do not think I would mix well with these nobles. I am a simple man, from a simple background, and I think it best if I kept it that way. Nevertheless, I am very grateful for the invitation. Balls, though, are not my bailiwick.”
“I understand. The nobility is a dying breed, I think,” said Jonathan. “They have been excluding those who have made themselves wealthy, foreigners, and so many other worthy people, for many years now. It seems to me if the nobility cannot accommodate the very people who make England great, then the nobility will falter and destroy itself.”
Margaret, listening to this Liberal Tory diatribe, was shocked. She had lived her entire life within the hermetically sealed world of the upper class, and this sort of talk was hitherto unknown to her. Nevertheless, she also knew Jonathan was given to this sort of talk amongst his peers in school, and so she held her tongue. Radical ideas blossom in these schools, she told herself, but they tend, like hothouse flowers, to wither and die when exposed to the harsh realities of life.
The following morning, Chester had his staff prepare a large English breakfast and a boxed luncheon of sandwiches and a fine bottle of red wine for the three travelers, for the road. They were on the road by nine.
“What time should we arrive at Stafford Manor?” enquired Margaret of her son.
“I believe it is about four hours north to Peterborough and a further four hours to Stafford Manor. So, we should arrive around five o’clock,” said Jonathan. “I have arranged for the visitors to the ball to have accommodation in Peterborough should they need it. There is a fine inn there, and they have agreed to accommodate all my guests, who come from London.”
“This event is very interesting, Jonathan,” said Margaret. “I am only curious to learn what possessed you to put on such a wonderful event.”
“Mother, as you know, I am to ascend to the position of Earl of Yarmouth, and I want all and sundry, near and far, to know about it, and to get a sense that I do not intend to be one of those foppish earls who hunts foxes and does nothing to improve the country.”
“And you think having a ball for the nobles you disparaged so recently will convince them of this?”
“Well, it’s not a fox hunt. And besides, I mentioned there is a special event taking place at it. A secret for the time being.”
“I am very eager to learn this secret,” said Cecily.
“You shall,” said Jonathan. “But this is the real crux of the argument: I aim to be engaged in the affairs of the country, and I believe I have the wherewithal to do it, provided the right people know me, and know I am unlike my father in important ways.”
“Your father was a very good man!” said Margaret. “He was very good to me, Jonathan.”
“Yes, mother,” said Jonathan. “I know you loved him, and I understand and respect your views.”
“Thank you, Jonathan,” she said, wiping a tear. Beside her, Cecily rolled her eyes. Jonathan looked back to his mother.
“However, he did not do much in the way of improving the lives of the people of Lincolnshire. During his time as earl, I think the area became worse and not better, and I would like to turn that around, if I can. I have big plans for the area. I aim to talk with people like Chester Astbury, whose father built a series of canals and factories that are the envy of the world. Lincolnshire could be like that too, mother, with a little effort and ingenuity.”
“You amaze me, my son,” said Margaret. She paused, dabbed at her face with a handkerchief, and sat up straight-backed. “I do hope you will not turn our home into a factory,” she said, looking away.
“Mother, I have no intention of changing anything in the house. I merely want to bring this world into the nineteenth century. Surely you can support that.”
“Of course,” she said. She turned to look out the window and muttered, “canals in Lincolnshire! What next?”
The remainder of the voyage was taken in silence. When they arrived at the manor, Jonathan was pleased to see things seemed to be going well. Ponsonby was out front, smiling and genial, as always.
“Welcome home one and all!” he declared with great pomp. “I trust you will find things running very well. We have rehired the maids who left, and the house is ready for anything you wish to do. What are your immediate plans, my Lord?”
“Ah yes, Ponsonby,” said Jonathan. “Well, first, let us get our things put away. I shall need to have a meeting with you after that, as we have big plans for the next week or two.”
“I see the weather has been marvelous for your journey,” he said, motioning for the two valets to take the luggage from the carriage.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Finest Ball in England
Within the hour, the luggage was taken off the carriage and the carriage and its driver were heading back to London. Ponsonby was waiting to be spoken to, and Jonathan, without wasting time, met him in the study, which had been cleaned up and restored to its former glory.
“Ponsonby, we are having a ball next Tuesday,” said Jonathan. “And I shall need all hands on deck, as there will be twenty guests staying the night here, as well as about two hundred to attend the ball. Do you think you can handle the preparations, or should I hire a man?”
“Oh no!” said Ponsonby. “I would be most grateful if you would entrust all the preparations to me. Will there be a banquet afterwards?”
“Yes. A lavish one. A French one.”
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Ponsonby.
“I mean we will want the cook to prepare French dishes, as the theme of this event is France. I also want you to know this event will be the culmination of my efforts to woo a young French woman and this will, if things go correctly, be the way to convince mother she is a worthy bride for me.”
“A French woman?” said Ponsonby, with a furrowed brow. “That is most irregular.”
Ponsonby!” said Jonathan, with a tone of firm anger in his voice. “I will not hear another word. You will do this, or I shall get someone who will.”
“My Lord,” said Ponsonby sheepishly. “I will do as I am told but I simply want to note that it is most irregular.”
“Irregular or not, it is my wish, and if I find you have sabotaged my plans, you will be dismissed. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” said Ponsonby. “So, what would you like us to prepare for?”
“Well, there will be an orchestra of fifty players…”
“My Lord!” said Ponsonby. “We simply cannot accommodate fifty musicians! This is a manor house, not a concert hall.”
“You can and you will!” said Jonathan.
“But it is practically impossible,” said Ponsonby.
“Well, then we need to make some changes. Come with me.” He led Ponsonby into the very large drawing room where the ball was to be conducted. Halfway there, he turned on his heel, and looked Ponsonby in the face. “If you breathe a word about the French woman I am wooing to my mother or my sister, I shall have you drawn and quartered. Is that clear?”
“It is, sir.” Ponsonby was getting very uncomfortable with this arrangement. In the far end of the hall, Jonathan pointed out a place where the orchestra would be placed.
“I want a raised dais here, large enough to accommodate a fifty- player orchestra. I want twenty-five music stands and fifty chairs assembled in twos around these stands. I shall want another stand on a small raised area for Cipriani Potter to stand so that he can conduct the orchestra. And, finally, I want another raised platform, slightly higher than the others, for the singer.”
“There is to be a singer at the ball?” said Ponsonby, astonished.
“Ponsonby!” said Jonathan. “I am sensing hostility from you and a reluctance to do my bidding. Please tell me now if you have an issue with my plans.”
“My Lord, I was merely expressing astonishment at the idea of a singer, since I have never known there to be this sort of thing at a ball before. I am not resistant at all. I am merely curious and interested. Please forgive me, my Lord.”
“Very well,” said Jonathan, calming down. “There is to be a special guest at this affair, and it is the reason so many of the highest echelons of society will be joining us.”
“Understood, My Lord,” said Ponsonby. “I shall have our handy man get to work on this immediately. You mentioned the date is February the twenty-ninth, correct?”
“Yes, and the invitations have already gone out so there is no changing the date. It is a Leap Year Ball, because it is on the Leap Year day.”
“Yes, sir. Very droll. I was merely enquiring as to the date.”
“It is next Tuesday! So, there is simply no time to waste.”
“Clearly, my Lord. I shall have our man working on this immediately.”
“Good man, Ponsonby. I truly appreciate your candor and your help in this endeavor.”
“It is my duty, my Lord,” said Ponsonby with a bow.
The day of the ball opened with beautiful sunny winter weather across the sky. The temperature was warm for February, and overnight guests, including Peter Nunn and Simon Northridge as well as a number of other dignitaries, began arriving late in the morning. Garance was set to arrive a little after two. Cipriani Potter and his orchestra were in the drawing room rehearsing their music at three.
Jonathan had eaten breakfast with Cecily who was very excited about the event, chattering continuously about her new gown, and his mother, who silently disapproved of all the fuss.
“I do hope you know what you’re doing, Jonathan,” she cautioned.
“Mother, I assure you, I do. This event shall be the inauguration of my time as the Earl of Yarrow. I ask only that you trust that I know what I am doing.”
“I have no doubt you are most capable,” said Margaret. “And I shall be in attendance, to support your efforts.”
“Thank you, mother,” said Jonathan. “I must go now and ensure that everything is ready.”
Jonathan rose from the table and made his way to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, all hands were on deck. There were a number of dishes being prepared, and the cook seemed to have everything in hand.
“All the ingredients for this foreign fare have arrived and I assure you, my Lord, it will be delicious.”
“I am very pleased,” said Jonathan, turning to leave. “I am very grateful to all of you, and would like to inform you, you all shall receive an extra week’s wages for your efforts.”
There was a murmur of assent and happiness after he said this.
Jonathan then went to the drawing room, where Cipriani Potter was playing some beautiful music. Jonathan sat quietly listening to the music, clearly impressed with the quality. Cecily sneaked into the room and sat beside Jonathan. “Jonathan, I wanted to ask you something,” she said quietly, as the music played in the background.
“Yes, Cecily. What is it?”
“I am certain that you are aware of my relationship to Peter Nunn, your school chum. He arrived earlier and asked for an audience with me. I feel it is my duty to let you now that he plans to propose to me formally tonight.”
“Really?” said Jonathan. “A gentleman normally proposes with the blessing of his family. Will they also be in attendance?”
“They will be here,” said Cecily. “Peter is very serious about this. What I need to know is if, as lord of the manor, you will support this engagement?”
“Of course, I will. I cannot think of a better brother-in-law than Peter Nunn, who has been one of my best friends for years.”
Cecily smiled and kissed Jonathan on the cheek. “Thank you, Jonathan! I am very pleased!”
“Of course, if I am not permitted to wed Mademoiselle Garance Monteux, all will be lost,” he said.
“I understand.”
“I have gone to great trouble to ensure that all is done correctly. Garance’s parents will arrive later today from Paris, and I feel their acceptance of me, and mother’s of Garance, hinge on the success of this ball.”
“Of course, Jonathan, and I hope you know I will be fully behind your efforts.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said Jonathan.
Only an hour before the ball was scheduled to begin, at six o’clock, Margaret knocked on Jonathan’s bed chamber. When he approved of her entry, she began, “Jonathan, I feel it is my duty to dissuade you from this poorly-thought-through engagement to that foreign singer.”
“I see,” said Jonathan. “So, you do not believe I am in earnest about this?”
“I believe you are in earnest, but I also feel you are being hasty and acting on your emotions rather than on your rational mind.”
Jonathan could not help thinking she was not speaking her mind, but that of someone who had some undue influence on her. Someone who did not wish him well.
“Mother, throughout history, there have been many such decisions, and I assure you, as a mathematics scholar, I approached this with two things in mind: the happiness of my future self, and the continuance of the family. Garance has helped me attain both goals.”
Margaret looked slightly crestfallen at the failure of her argument. “Well then,” she said with sadness, rising from the chair. “I suppose there is nothing further to say.”
“No mother, there is not. I will not be put off my aim.”
Garance arrived without fanfare at Stafford Manor, and went to the drawing room, where she met with Cipriani Potter. “My dear friend,” she began. “I hope you have arranged everything well, for there is a great deal riding on tonight’s performance.”
“Indeed, I have,” he said.
“Shall we practice the songs?”
“In truth, I do not want to give away any of the surprise,” he said. “By your leave, I should like to assure you the orchestra is well-rehearsed, and all you need to take care of is your gown. I trust you have a lovely one.”
“Yes, Mr. Potter. I have a gown brought to me by my parents. It is a white raw silk dress with full décolleté, puffed sleeves, and a beautiful golden embroidery around the hem. In this charming chandelier-light, I believe it will glow.”
“And your shoes?”
“Red shoes by Félix D’Anton of the Champs Élysée. They are beautiful and very appropriate for dancing.”
“Then all is ready. Do go to your room and await the entrance,” said Potter.
“Very well,” said Garance.
She returned to her guest room and consulted with Camille about the appropriateness of her attire. “Garance, you shall be the belle of the ball,” said Camille in French.
“I am most terribly afraid something may go wrong,” she said with some consternation. “This is a very unusual way to propose marriage. Jonathan met my parents and they seemed to be very impressed with him, despite his lack of French.”
“Yes, I had the same impression. And now, Garance, the moment of truth.”
The two of them proceeded to the head of the stairs. It was half past seven, and many of the guests had already arrived. Announcements were being made over the beautiful music played by an orchestra that was so impressive even Garance, who had spent her life around musicians and orchestras, could not help but be in awe. At the top of the stairs, she took out the small golden
cross that hung around her neck and made a silent prayer for success and happiness.
“I believe it is time to go,” said Garance, and she stepped onto the first step of the grand staircase. Holding on to the bannister, she stepped slowly and carefully on each tread. As a slight woman, she barely made any effect on the strong oaken staircase, which was covered with a beautiful cream-colored runner. Camille went before her, ensuring her entrance would be perfect. Before long, she had reached the bottom of the stairs, and she turned to proceed into the drawing room.
The double doors were open wide, allowing the music to spill out into the main hall. As Garance appeared, silhouetted by the bright chandelier light coming from the hallway, all eyes in the ballroom turned to see. Garance’s diamond earrings glinted in the light of the thousands of candles that illuminated the hall. Her little golden cross was nestled between her bosoms, and her dress truly glowed with an unearthly sheen. The effect was perfect. Potter, sensing the change in the room, wound the orchestra down, and put his baton on the music stand before him. He turned, causing the rest of the revelers to turn to face Garance.
