Chapter Ten
The Plimpton women were in the sitting room, waiting for men to call on Daisy.
While Mama enjoyed the attentions paid to them at home, she was also eager to flaunt their connections in society and let absolutely everyone know the Plimptons were on their way up in the world.
At first, Frances was uncertain how she felt about no longer being able to hide in the kitchen when the room became unsufferable, though she liked being included in the conversation—even if it was simply to smile and confirm that she was indeed engaged to the earl—but the shrill scream her mother uttered every time she wanted something made up her mind.
“I can go speak to Mrs. Brown,” Frances offered in between suitors.
“A countess doesn’t belong in the kitchens, Frances. And I thought I told you there was to be no more gardening.”
“You said no mucking around in the dirt.” She’d gone out that morning to cut some flowers, in case a carriage showed up to take her shopping.
“Anything to do with plants and the outdoors. It stains your fingers. You can’t hide behind Daisy anymore, and I won’t have you ruining her chances now we’ve hopefully got you settled.”
“Of course not, Mama.”
A footman entered and cleared his throat. “A caller for Miss Plimpton.”
“Is it the viscount?” Mrs. Plimpton asked.
“The dowager Countess of Lotham, Lady Grace Sutton, and Miss Rebecca Turner for Miss Plimpton,” he elaborated.
“Let them in.” Mama waved her hand like she couldn’t care less.
Frances watched, noticing how they entered in order of position, Rebecca nudging Grace to go ahead of her, which the youngest Sutton did not look happy about.
Once the greetings were out of the way, the newcomers took their seats across from Frances.
“Have you had many callers?” Grace asked Daisy.
“Grace, that’s hardly proper,” Elizabeth scolded her.
“I’m sure Daisy doesn’t mind.”
“I don’t,” she agreed, to their mother’s dismay. “We’ve had two so far, but Mama believes more will come.”
“Then you can’t come with us?”
“No, but we can certainly spare Franny, can’t we, Mama?”
Mama looked torn between being agreeable to impress the Suttons and finding an excuse to use their reputation without having them anywhere near potential suitors.
“My brother said we could all get new dresses. Even Daisy, if she wants to come,” Grace told them.
Frances saw the fury flash on her mother’s face, of this child implying they needed his charity. Then she saw the wheels turning, how Mama could spin this that the Earl of Lark was so besotted with Frances that he spoiled her sister as well.
“It would also be a lovely opportunity for us all to get to know each other better.” Frances suggested.
“I suppose it can’t hurt.” Mrs. Plimpton made it sound like she didn’t think it would help, either. “But we have vouchers for Almack’s tonight, so I’ll need Daisy back for dinner.”
Before Frances secured the earl, Mama had never even attempted to get her into Almack’s, which was ironic, considering she likely used the earl’s name to get Daisy’s invite.
“Of course. Grandmama and Nathaniel also insist that we always eat together,” Grace said, rolling her eyes.
Frances thought Rebecca was shy, and Elizabeth was dragged against her will, but once outside, it became clear that Rebecca was quiet because she knew Mrs. Plimpton wouldn’t want her to speak, Elizabeth believed that if you didn’t have something nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all, while Grace didn’t feel the need to change her behavior to suit others.
“Madame Estelle is expecting us, and we can meet Nathaniel and James in Hyde Park later this afternoon, so we have quite a busy day,” Grace told them.
“Weren’t you riding with your grandmother?” Frances asked.
“That was on Wednesday. Today’s plan was always shopping, and you know what they say, ‘First thought, best thought.’”
“She’s very predictable,” Rebecca informed them.
“Only when it comes to plans,” Elizabeth amended. “Her mouth is constantly surprising me.”
“I blame my upbringing.” Grace shrugged and sat back, turning so she could watch the scenery go by.
The Suttons were what Frances dreamed having sisters would be like.
Of her three, she’d never felt equal to Mary, who mothered her, and Iris was too busy turning Daisy against her to build any kind of relationship.
But the Suttons clearly loved each other; had she not known better, Frances never would have suspected Rebecca was only a cousin.
“My lady, mesdemoiselles,” Madame Estelle greeted them once they arrived at her shop. “I set up the back room, but if you see anything you like, we can add it.”
“These are beautiful,” Frances said of the piles of material awaiting them.
“And they’re all for you, chérie. I was waiting for your colors.”
“My colors?” Frances repeated. Her hair color? Her eyes?
“For the wedding. The ball isn’t as important, but it’s nice to have a scheme.”
“But what about…” She looked around at the women she’d come in with, none of whom were surprised. Even Daisy looked excited for her.
“We can dress them later. Today is for you.”
Frances wanted to argue, because she had never, in her entire life, been the important one, but the French modiste was right. All eyes would be on her.
Just thinking of it terrified her.
Madame Estelle had a lady’s maid to help her into the first of what looked like at least twenty dresses. Frances didn’t consider herself overly materialistic, but she was having trouble believing that after years of old dresses that barely fit, one of these splendors could be hers.
The first two were beautiful, though definitely not her style, but the third, a deep blue that reminded her of the ocean, looked and felt like it was made for her.
The color of the accents matched her eyes, perfectly, but the reflection of the rest of the material made them sparkle. She had never felt so beautiful.
“Nathaniel will be speechless at the sight of you,” Rebecca said when she saw her.
“It’s the kind of dress that makes every man in the room wonder how he was such an oaf as to not have courted you when he had the chance,” Elizabeth agreed.
“It’s only a dress,” Frances argued.
“But when you’re in it, you look like a princess,” Grace explained.
“I don’t even think it needs any adjustments.” Daisy was in awe.
“Ah, ma préférée. I made it to measure in the hopes you would like it.”
“I love it,” Frances said, though she hadn’t meant to admit how much the dress meant to her.
“I’ll collect some shoes and accoutrements to go with it.” Madame Estelle went off again.
After a few more dresses, the other girls were distracted by ribbons and their own dress options, so Elizabeth was able to corner Frances in front of the mirrors.
“There’s also a pile of other things you’ll need for your trousseau. I’m sure your mother will bring you, and it’s entirely up to you, but I had Madame Estelle put aside a few pieces for you.”
“Oh, I…I don’t think I need…”
“You do. And ultimately, they are more for Nathaniel, so he should be the one to pay for them. You simply decide what you like, and whether you want to try them on or trust Madame Estelle knows your size.”
“I trust her,” Frances decided after a quick glance at the pile told her most of the material was sheer.
They ended up with a total of sixteen dresses—all but four for Frances, half of what Elizabeth thought her trousseau required, and more boxes of accessories than any human needed.
All on Nathaniel’s account, which made Frances feel like nothing more than a fortune-seeking social climber.
She watched Elizabeth and Madame Estelle tallying it all up, and tried to figure out a way to put some dresses back without anyone noticing, but Grace came over to see how she felt olive matched with her skin, accidentally bumping into…
“Miss Hargrave!” Frances exclaimed as Grace apologized.
Frances had been to the theater exactly once, for her eighteenth birthday, and it had been a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream where they filled the stage with fresh flowers, and Clara Hargrave played Helena.
Miss Hargrave must be used to annoying fans accosting her, and clearly wouldn’t want to stand around to talk to them in random places while running her own errands, but Frances was not expecting the hatred and anger that greeted her after Miss Hargrave looked from the Sutton women to Frances, recognition dawning on her face.
“Miss Plimpton.” She gave the tiniest of nearly imperceptible nods.
Frances was shocked she knew her name, but had no idea what she’d done to so quickly deserve her ire.
“I absolutely loved you as Helena. I felt like I was living in a fairytale rather than watching one.” She tried to mollify her.
“Unfortunately, most of us don’t get it so easy.”
“Charlotte will show you to your room, Miss Hargrave,” Madame Estelle cut in, removing Clara before the animosity became more than words.
Once they were outside, Frances tried to hold her tongue.
It wasn’t polite to ask, and his past was none of her business.
She should have paid more attention to the gossip if she wanted to know.
But she couldn’t let it go. Frances was frequently met with indifference, but she hardly ever signified enough for hatred.
“Was she with your brother?” she asked Elizabeth in a whisper.
“According to the papers—” Daisy started before realizing she shouldn’t be gossiping about her brother-in-law, especially not with his actual relatives.
“If he was,” Rebecca said like she clearly knew the answer, but didn’t want to hurt her, “it wasn’t serious enough for him to mention it to us, and it would be over now.”
“None of it was personal. Simple jealousy on her part, because Nathaniel chose you.”
“Of course,” Frances agreed with Elizabeth, but reassured was the last thing she felt.
Because he didn’t choose her at all, did he?
The packages would be delivered to their houses, so the girls took the carriage to Rotten Row. Hyde Park was somewhere people went to be seen, which meant there was no cover from the elements, or from prying eyes.
Nathaniel and James found them halfway through their loop. “Fancy seeing you ladies here,” James said from atop his horse. He was all smiles, while Nathaniel looked rather uncomfortable.
“I’m guessing you won?” Rebecca shook her head at him.
“He did, actually, but I have a much easier disposition,” he teased his brother. “Though, please, Miss Plimpton, forget I said anything negative about your intended.”
Frances didn’t know either of them enough to tease, nor was she in the mood.
“I haven’t any idea what you’re referring to.”
“I knew I liked her.” James sent her a smile that warmed her heart, but she couldn’t quite face Nathaniel. Not that he was looking at her either.
“Was your afternoon successful?” he asked the group of them.
“Oh, yes, very productive. Frances will be the belle of the next ten balls she attends. And her wedding,” Grace shared, making Frances feel more guilty than anything.
She waited for Nathaniel to reproach her for taking advantage of his generosity.
“I’m glad I could play a tiny part in it,” he said instead.
Frances couldn’t manage more than a polite smile before looking out into the park.
She spent the rest of the afternoon smiling to the people she knew, but more often pretending to be very interested in something in the distance. The other women kept up a steady stream of conversation that lasted through their loop, all the way back to Plimpton House.
Nathaniel and James had been stopped by friends a few blocks earlier, so Frances hurried to alight the carriage and get inside before the men could catch up.
“Thank you so much for a wonderful day. And please thank your brother for me.”
“Of course, but are you sure you’re alright?” Elizabeth asked, looking at her like she knew exactly what this was about, and wanted to reassure her, but didn’t know how.
There was nothing she could say without knowing the full story, which Frances wasn’t going to tell her. It would give her even less reassuring things to say.
She wanted nothing more than to go into the yard and get elbow deep in damp soil, surrounded by soothing smells, but Frances didn’t dare defy her mother.
Instead, she turned down Daisy’s suggestion that they embroider in the drawing room and went to help Mrs. Brown make soup.
Which mostly involved eating bits of carrot and tasting the broth every time Mrs. Brown wanted to add more salt.
“Are you well, love?” she asked in a whisper.
“I will be,” Frances assured her.
What choice did she have?