Authors: Marissa Doyle
and the tighter corsets made her figure look unexpectedly mature. Good heavens, she
would
pop. And
she looked like—like a woman. Well, she was one, wasn’t she? Mama could have had them come out
last year, but Ally had asked to let them wait a year longer so that they could keep studying. If she was
nervous now, imagine what
that
would have been like.
She breathed gingerly, trying to find how deeply she could do so and not explode her dress.
Wouldn’t that be a splendid start to her society career? In her mind she could almost hear Pen sigh
and ask, “What would be worse? Worrying about falling out of your gowns, or worrying that you’ll
rustle because you’ve had to stuff your corset with tissue paper so you don’t look like a board?”
“My girls are grown up, aren’t they?” Mama said to Madame. Persy could see that her eyes were
unusually bright.
“They shall be the belles of the season,
n’est-ce pas?
” agreed Madame Gendreau, looking at them
critically. “The bodice on thees one—take it in a leetle, like thees … .”
“Persy, you’re—you’re beautiful,” Pen whispered as they stood side by side before the mirror
while the assistants adjusted and basted. “Don’t you see it?”
Persy shook her head. “No, I don’t. But you are. You
will
be the toast of the town.”
Behind them, Madame continued to survey them. She smiled and shook her head. “You are both
très silly young ladees. Now …” She looked at them, head to one side. “Green ribbon for you,
oui
?
And peach for you. These dresses will be ready nex’ Friday. Will that do? ’As Mademoiselle
Allardyce found you yet slippers and—”
“Miss Allardyce was called away unexpectedly, and has been unable to complete selection of
those items. I hope to take care of them today.” It was a measure of Mama’s irritation with Ally that
she had interrupted Madame. “Purchasing fans and gloves will be a simple matter. But I worry about
their headdresses, with so little time.”
Madame puffed her cheeks out and gestured to her assistants to help the girls out of their dresses.
“A pitee,
oui
. Mademoiselle Allardyce—her taste was
très bon. Mais
, I can send you to a friend, but
she is
très
busee, and I cannot guarantee that she will ’ave time … .” She shrugged elaborately.
Pen and Persy tried on several more dresses each, and Persy could not help but marvel at what
Ally had been able to accomplish in such a short time before her disappearance. Mama approved all
of them with minor modifications, and when keen-eyed Madame suggested that they take time now to
order the first of the girls’ ball dresses, Mama genially agreed, and even accepted another cup of tea.
Under cover of the entrance of the tea, Persy sidled over to Madame. It was time to risk a small
interrogation spell to see what she could find out. “Excuse me,” she murmured.
“Yes,
ma chère?
” Madame Gendreau looked up from her pattern book, already partway through a
dress sketch.
“When Miss Allardyce was here to order our dresses, did she—did she say where else she was
going?” Persy fixed her eyes on Madame’s brown, slightly bleary ones and murmured “
Veritas mihi
”
under her breath.
Madame blinked at her for a moment, then sniffed and patted her cap. “I do not ’ave the time to
gossip with my clients—”
“Oh, not gossip!” Persy assured her. “I just wondered, you know, if maybe she said she was going
to the milliner’s.”
Veritas mihi
… veritas …
The slight bristle in Madame’s demeanor slowly smoothed as the spell rippled over her. “Let me
see … it was afternoon when she came … .” She paused and delicately nibbled the end of her pencil.
“Ah,
mais oui
. She was going next to her ‘ome. I was surprised to ’ear that ’er familee was in trade,
she seem such a refine’ person. But they are booksellers, in Oxford Street,
non
? It would be where
she gets ‘er knowledge to be a fine teacher for you.” She nodded sagely. “She did not go to the
milliner’s, then. But I tell you ’oo to see for your bonnets, to my colleague who makes the nicest—”
“Oh, thank you! Er, that is, I’m sure my mother will be happy to patronize your milliner friend.”
Persy glanced at Pen, who nodded slightly. Oxford Street. At least they knew where to start their
search.
By the time they left Madame Gendreau’s, Persy had begun to feel better. The excitement of
ordering half a dozen new dresses in silk and other luxurious and grown-up fabrics couldn’t help but
raise anyone’s spirits. At least, that was, until she thought again about why they were buying them.
Their next stop was just a few doors down from Madame’s, for kid evening gloves and silk
stockings and pairs of ready-made black satin slippers with the new elastic bands for evening. Lady
Parthenope also bought them Chinese silk crepe shawls with deep fringes, and Chantilly lace ones,
and beautifully embroidered Indian cashmere ones for chilly evenings. Then there were delicate
reticules, beaded and smocked, and beautiful if impractical lace handkerchiefs, plain stockings in
palest pink and blue and embroidered white ones, and yards of ribbon and lace.
By the time they were driving home for a late luncheon, both girls were chattering about the piles
of packages heaped in the carriage, for Pen had insisted they take them now rather than having them
delivered. Mama smiled at their excited prattle.
“Not a bad start to our preparations,” she agreed, then winced as the carriage wheels bumped over
refuse in the road. “But remind me not to drink so much tea at our first stop next time.”
“Yes, Mama,” Pen replied, smothering a grin. “Did you say ‘not a bad start’? Will there be more?”
“Oh, yes. I just wanted to get done what you would need first. In a few days we’ll return to
Madame’s to order the rest of your dresses. Once your presentations are past, we’ll need more ball
and party dresses.”
Persy sighed and wilted once again at the mention of their presentation.
The next morning dawned clear and warm. Finished with his yearly springtime course of nature
readings from the classics, Papa had decided that a pleasant ride in the country was just what he
needed. Mama gently reminded him that as they were in London, rural pleasures would have to wait,
but if he still wanted a breath of air and exercise …
And that was how Persy, eyes agog as London high society paraded around them, found herself and
Pen trotting behind Papa in Hyde Park on their hired horses from John Tilbury’s Mount Street stables.
Even here in the city, it was easy to sense that spring was well underway. A smell of damp earth
was pervasive, not musty or moldering but rich with the promise of new life. The trees were all
clothed in the delicate greens of spring, their new leaves fluttering in the slight breeze. Fluttering, too,
in the soft springtime wind were the veils that trailed like wisps of smoke from the top hats of the
fashionable ladies riding sedately up and down the sanded path in their snug habits, nodding and
smiling to their male acquaintances and appraising with narrowed eyes their female rivals.
Despite these distractions, however, Persy and Pen were still carrying on an argument left from the
night before, albeit quietly, as they followed their father.
“Mama will never let us go to the Allardyces’ shop alone,” Persy insisted. “Nor would we want
her to go there with us. I say we send a note. Ooh, look at that lady’s mount! What a lovely gray.”
“Probably an ex—carriage horse. You should have seen that brown I pointed out before. Anyway,
a note saying what? ‘We were wondering if Ally really is undertaking family duties, or if she’s lying
and is off somewhere else’? Come on, Persy. How will that sound? And what if she really is in
trouble? Her family will be frantic. Furthermore, I don’t like to make them pay the threepenny postage
if we send them a note. It wouldn’t be fair,” Pen finished virtuously.
Persy hated it when Pen was so self-righteously right. “I still don’t know how you think we’d be
allowed to go shopping in Oxford Street on our own. If only Charles were our elder brother, not our
younger. I rather like that lady’s habit—the deep green one, there. I’ve never seen one in that color.”
“Mama would hate it, so don’t ask her for one. She thinks black is the only proper color for a
riding habit. My goodness, Papa, who’s that?” Pen nodded toward a knot of wild-looking young men
in very dashing coats and no hats, their shaggy locks flowing in the breeze. One in the center had dark
flashing eyes and a fascinating air of danger about him.
Lord Atherston peered over at the crowd. “Goodness me. I do believe that’s the Duke of
Brunswick. The one in the center, with the large mustaches and dark hair. He was banished from his
own duchy—his brother rules it now—and … well, one hears gossip.” He shook his head.
Pen’s eyes grew round as she stared at the group. “Might we ride a little nearer? I’ve never seen an
exiled duke before.”
Persy looked too, but it wasn’t the disreputable duke that caught her attention. She drew her horse
closer to Pen’s. “He’s not stuffed and mounted for display, goose. And he can’t be very nice if he got
kicked out of his own country. Never mind him, and look who’s coming from over there.”
Pen’s cheeks turned pink and her eyes brightened. “Papa,” she said, “that’s Lochinvar Seton! Not
far off from the diabolical duke. What good eyes you have, Persy.”
Lord Atherston stopped his horse and looked around. “Where? Oh, yes, so it is. I say, my boy,” he
called and waved his crop. Persy saw Lochinvar lift his hat and wave it before spurring his horse
toward them.
Pen gazed at him, the duke forgotten. “That’s a lovely horse he’s riding. I’ll bet it didn’t come from
Tilbury’s. However did you know it was him from so far away?”
Because
, Persy thought. She didn’t dare complete the sentence, even in her own mind. She took a
deep calming breath, grateful that she was on horseback, where it was usually much harder to trip
over one’s own feet.
“Good morning, Lord Atherston!” Lochinvar called as he approached, hat still off. The sun glinted
in his gold hair. “Father said he’d got your card, and that we must visit now that you were up in town.
But I’m glad I don’t have to wait. Good morning, Miss Leland. Good morning, Miss Leland.” His
eyes twinkled as he bowed to each of them.
Pen laughed too. “You make it sound like there’s just one Miss Leland who’s hard of hearing. But I
suppose we’ll have to get used to it. And it relieves you of the necessity of guessing who is whom.”
“Oh, I always know that,” he said, smiling down at the reins held in one gloved hand.
Of course he did. Pen was the pretty, lively one. Persy looked sideways at her sister, and saw Pen
look back at her with an odd expression. But before she had time to do much more than register it, it
had gone.
There was a moment’s silence as they began to walk their mounts again, Lochinvar turning his
horse to walk with them. Persy’s horse stumbled, and she groaned inwardly. It just figured. She
couldn’t trip over her own feet while riding, so her horse did it for her. She was not sure if she was
grateful or dismayed that Lochinvar was on Pen’s other side.
Then, mercifully, Pen spoke. “That is a very handsome horse, Lord Seton. His paces are quite
fine.”
“Thank you. He was a welcome-home gift from Father, waiting when we arrived in town. I’m still
getting used to him, but I think he shall suit quite well as his manners are excellent. Perhaps you might
have some suggestions for what I should call him.”
Pen eyed the large bay next to her. “It will have to be something fitting for such a stately animal.”
“I thought something from the classics would do. Pegasus, or Bucephalus, or something like that?”
he suggested.
“Everyone’s got a horse named Pegasus. He deserves better.” Persy surprised herself by speaking
her thought aloud, then could have bitten her tongue in two at her dismissive tone. How rude had she
seemed? Charles had insisted on naming his first pony Pegasus the Magnificent, much to their disgust.
“I should hate to name him anything dull and common. I always feel I should tip my hat to him when
I enter the stable, he’s such a polite beast,” Lochinvar confessed.
“Then you must call him after Lord Chesterfield, if that is the case,” said Persy, and blushed at her
own daring.
“Of course!” Lochinvar’s grin flashed at Persy. It made her feel dizzy. “That’s the perfect name for
him. Father will love it. He made me read Lord Chesterfield’s letters when I was a boy.
Chesterfield.” He patted the bay’s neck. “How do you like that, then? You must thank Miss Persy for
naming you. I knew she’d do it. Thank you,” he added, leaning forward to catch her eye.
“Oh.” She waved a hand. Her horse flicked its ears nervously. “Anyone could have thought of it.”