Chapter 14
When Tuesday morning arrived, the Bridwells drank the waters at three different sources and ate a meal at La Redoute afterward.
Papa had only held out two days in following Mr. Hughes’s injunctions to take only chocolate in their rooms. Amy, however, had been unable to think of anything but her upcoming meeting with the princess that day.
When it was nearly time to leave, Marianne came into her room and handed Amy a pair of embroidered mitts they had purchased in Brussels, hovering anxiously next to her.
“The Princess Orlova has shown you an extraordinary distinction by inviting you to take tea with her.”
Amy tugged the mitts up to her elbows and smoothed the wrinkles in the silk with her bare fingers as Hannah entered the room. She checked her appearance one more time in the reflecting glass.
“I do not need to be reminded of it.” She took a deep breath. “I only wonder why she should choose to single me out.”
“Have you had any encounters with her that would cause her to do so?” Hannah reached up to coax one of Amy’s curls back into place. It was a strange sensation to have her sisters dote on her that way.
Amy thought back to the brief moment under the pavilion near Saint Remaclus’s footprint.
“Once, the first time we took the waters. I cautioned her children to take care when running for fear they would trip over a hole in the ground, and she thanked me for it. It was a conversation of no account.” Satisfied with her appearance, Amy left the bedroom and walked down the corridor leading to the parlor.
“Well, you will not need your bonnet since you are only walking to the other wing of the hotel,” Marianne said, handing her the jolité their father had purchased for the visit.
These were Spadois specialties made by the ébénistes who intricately carved, inlaid, and lacquered wood items, especially for the curists.
For the princess, Mr. Bridwell had chosen a gold-inlaid wooden box that held a quadrille card game.
It was a charming gift, and useful, and would remind the princess of her time in Spa. Amy hoped she would be pleased with it.
Hannah and Marianne followed her across the parlor to the front door. Upon seeing Amy, their father rose from the sofa with stiff movements.
“I do not think the water is having any effect at all,” he complained as he limped behind them to the door.
This caused Amy’s nervous preoccupation to halt momentarily. “I believe we might ask Mr. Fletcher for medical advice regarding your ailment, Papa.” It would mean more interaction between her and James, which would carry its own pain, but she truly thought he might help. “That is, if you wish it.”
Her father waved it off. “No need. If Mr. Hughes cannot find the cure, I will not likely have one from a man so much his junior, even if he is from Kent.”
Amy let the idea go and faced her family. It was such a formal leave-taking for what would likely be only one hour spent in the princess’s rooms.
“Wish me luck.” She flashed her family a brief smile, then entered the corridor and shut the door behind her.
She breathed in to steady her nerves and walked toward the stairwell, which connected this floor to the other wing.
It was not that she was precisely dragging her feet, but there were surely others who would have better appreciated the opportunity she was being given, starting with Hannah.
She tapped on the princess’s door, hoping Rebecca had already arrived.
She did not know if there would be others taking tea with them, and if so, who.
Not that the company mattered. One did not reject a request coming from a princess.
A manservant opened the door and admitted her into the parlor.
There, she recognized the Duchess of Leeds, who was already seated, along with Mrs. Ferrin.
Her anxiety eased a little when her gaze landed on the latter.
Mrs. Ferrin was comfortable to talk to and was no more noble than Amy.
Even Rebecca, for all she was simplicity itself, was the daughter of a baron.
The servant was about to announce Amy to those waiting but was interrupted by another knock on the door. A maid appeared from a corridor and opened it to admit Rebecca, who exchanged a timid smile with Amy as she joined her at the entrance to the parlor.
The servant announced them both, and they curtsied to the two other guests.
Amy greeted Mrs. Ferrin by name and received the duchess’s nod.
Shortly afterward, the princess made her appearance.
When she entered the room, the guests paid their respects in order of importance, with the duchess leading, then Rebecca, Mrs. Ferrin, and last of all Amy.
Following the others’ lead, Amy dipped into a deep curtsy before the princess, murmuring, “Your Highness.” After all, they were in private quarters, and it was better to err by using the proper address than by omitting it.
The princess waved this away. “In Spa, we forget such formality and put at edge of town like gentlemen’s swords. Here, I am ‘madame.’”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison. Amy knew Rebecca was as nervous as she was, even if she did belong to the peerage.
The two married women offered their gifts, then Rebecca presented a dish of glazed chestnuts and nougat, explaining that the plate was a Sèvres her father had purchased on his travels.
After the princess thanked her, Amy stepped forward, holding the jolité in two hands, willing herself not to tremble.
The princess, who likely could have anything she wished for, probably had three of them already.
“It is a coffret de quadrille,” Amy explained. “I am sure you are more familiar with the jolités that Spa has on offer than I am, but I hope it will please you.”
“Very pretty.” Madame Michalkoff’s smile sent a wave of relief through Amy. Her father’s passion as a collector had served him well in this instance. The princess then indicated for the servants to show them to their seats in an adjoining room that resembled a small dining room.
The oval table in the center was covered with a white cotton cloth, whose tight weave lent a shine to the spread.
A dark red Russian tea set was placed in its center, and there was an array of delicacies set out on plates, all of it sweet in nature except for the selection of cheeses.
There were small cakes, brightly colored almond paste in the shape of fruits called massepain, fresh and candied fruits, and pralines.
There was also a footed salver with cream pudding and another with jelly to be eaten with the cakes.
The princess nodded for one of the servants to begin pouring tea.
The other footman presented the plates one by one to each of the guests so they might sample anything they chose.
With this accomplished, everyone waited until the princess took her first bite before taking theirs, a respectful silence falling during the process.
The duchess seemed perfectly at ease as she ate. “The weather has warmed enough for us to enjoy the outdoor concerts on the Promenade de Sept-Heures once again. Last year, they were quite the favorite.”
“Weather pleasant,” the princess agreed. “I wish try lunch at Annette and Lubin.” She turned to Amy. “Miss Bridwell, I walk to cottage. You come? Must have good health to climb hill.”
“I will join you with pleasure, ma’am.” Amy set down the cake carefully, surprised at yet another sign of distinction. Belatedly, she crinkled her brow. “Forgive me. I do not know who Annette and Lubin are.”
The princess laughed. “I enjoy discover Spa with you. Mrs. Ferrin, you must tell her.”
Mrs. Ferrin obliged, turning to Amy. “Annette and Lubin are a farmer husband-and-wife couple who receive the bobelins, as they call us, for a rustic lunch on the hillside where their cottage and stables are located. It is one of the divertissements Spa is known for and is considered something one must experience while here.”
“I see.” Amy smiled, then turned back to the princess. A walk in the woods followed by a rustic picnic was just what she would enjoy. The princess nodded for the servant to refill the teacups, although they had scarcely drunk any.
“Perhaps Friday. My servant reserve place for your family, Mrs. Ferrin, and place for you, Miss Bainesworth.” She turned to the duchess, adding with a smile, “You do not like eat outdoors, so I not invite you.”
Both Rebecca and Mrs. Ferrin murmured their acceptance, and Amy wondered how Rebecca felt about being invited without her mother, who clearly sought a connection with the princess.
“If your father and sisters come, we reserve place,” the princess said, addressing Amy again. “You must answer for family.”
“They will be honored to attend,” Amy replied, knowing it to be true.
“Good.” The princess cut her pear in quarters and began to peel it. “It is village setting and village meal. Like peasant.”
The princess looked truly pleased, as though such an excursion were exactly to her taste and not well below her exalted status.
Then again, she did dress in peasants’ clothing in the mornings.
Amy began to relax, daring to look at their hostess for more than a timid glance.
The Princess Orlova was a well-looking woman with intelligent eyes and did not appear to be much older than Amy.
If there was not such a large difference in status, she might have hoped for them to be friends.
“It sounds delightful,” Amy said, and meant it.
She had missed wandering around in nature close to her home.
Here, one spent a considerable amount of time outdoors, and the hillside was beautiful, as was the source that trickled down the steep hills.
But apart from visiting the sources, she had spent most of her hours in town.
It would be amusing to quit their usual sphere.