Prologue #2
The young woman straightened her shoulders. “Good day, Mme Beaufort.” Her voice was bell-like. “My name is Isolde Haywood. I will be accompanying my brother, Major Samuel Haywood, to the Cape Colony and need to be outfitted for the voyage and my stay there.”
The modiste sniffed as she peered around the room.
“You ’ave come without a chaperone? This is a respectable establishment and I do not cater to brazen women who are not properly chaperoned.
” Her sharp eyes took in the well-made dress, the fine leather boots, and the quality of Miss Haywood’s gloves and in her mind she calculated how many dresses the young woman would need.
Miss Haywood’s cheeks turned red, especially when the eyes of all the other ladies scrutinized her.
Before she could think of a suitable reply, Freya swept forward, her hands outstretched.
“Do come on. Isadore. I wondered what had happened to you. It is so crowded out on Bond Street that it is easy to lose sight of one another.” None of the others noticed that Freya had used the incorrect name.
Miss Haywood looked at her in puzzlement but accepted Freya’s outstretched hand with a quick smile that made her appear younger than her twenty-two years.
Mme Beaufort looked skeptical but nodded briefly.
She was too astute to believe Freya’s story but too conscious of the money that would be lost by refusing to serve Miss Haywood to push her point home.
While the modiste was efficiently sorting out her plethora of customers, Freya tugged Isolde Haywood to the table, declaring in a stage whisper that everyone could hear, “If we are to be convincing, we ought to know each other’s names.
My name is Freya and Mama over there is usually known as Lady Maynard. ”
Miss Haywood, who had been managing her brother’s household since her mother had died when she was seventeen, gave the younger girl a look half-way between gratitude and annoyance.
Her independent spirit quailed at being forced to kowtow to societal pressures, but she was grateful for the kindness extended to her and so she smiled at Freya.
The two of them took seats near the window while the Blythe sisters and Miss Saunders sat down at a table where they could peruse the pattern books, slipping small strips of paper to mark the designs they liked best.
Mme Beaufort clicked her tongue. “Alors, now we are all happy.” She clapped her hands again, and a maid entered with a large tea tray on which a delicate china tea set was arranged alongside plates of dainty meringues and little lemon cakes decorated with tiny, crystallized violets.
Miss Saunders took command of the tea tray, efficiently finding out each lady’s preference and pouring the tea while Bonnie handed around the cups and offered the plates of cakes.
The modiste and her assistants withdrew to plan their battle strategy, leaving their customers looking through neatly bound volumes of the most fashionable dress designs.
The room fell silent, with only the occasional turning of pages and low murmurs of conversation to indicate the presence of so many customers in the salon.
Grace and Miss Saunders began discussing whether cream or ivory would be the best choice for a wedding gown and if an over gown of lace would be practical.
Bonnie pushed aside the book she had been paging through.
She could not imagine how the watercolor prints of elongated ladies would transform into real garments that would make her look like a sophisticated debutante who would not suffer the agony of a lack of partners at Lady Wetherspoon’s ball next week.
She closed the pattern book and looked around at the other customers. People were much more fascinating than images in books, and the earlier crush had made it difficult to examine the ladies to her heart’s content.
Freya Maynard and Isolde Haywood, both pleasant-looking ladies, were behaving like acquaintances of long standing.
They giggled over the size of the puff sleeves in one picture and the length of a train on a ball gown in another.
Lady Maynard sat near them, complacently listening to their comments and suggesting alterations to the designs that would make them more practical.
A low snort of disgust drew her attention to the sofa where Gwendolyn Burroughs and Mariana were bent over a heavy volume. “These are all so ordinary,” Gwendolyn complained. “I want a gown that will make me stand out from the crowd.”
Bonnie tilted her head to the side. “Why, you’re quite the prettiest lady I have ever seen,” she said. “You could wear a potato sack and still be the most beautiful woman at any gathering.”
Miss Saunders looked up, “Hush, dear. It isn’t polite to make personal comments.”
“But I was complimenting her,” Bonnie remarked sotto voce. “She’s like one of the princesses in my favorite fairy tale book.” Her clear voice carried across the room, drawing the attention of the others.
Gwendolyn tossed her soft, golden curls and smiled sweetly. “Thank you. Papa says I perfectly fit the old rhyme. You know, Monday’s child is fair of face. I was born on a Monday.”
Bonnie giggled. “What a strange coincidence. Grace was born on a Tuesday, and Tuesday’s child is full of grace. When I was born on a Sunday, everyone called me Bonnie, even though my name is actually Bernice.” She said her name with such a grimace that the others laughed.
Freya looked up, her blue eyes shining with mirth. “This is odd. I was born on a Friday, which is why my father called me Freya.”
Bonnie frowned. “I don’t see how that relates to the poem. Friday’s child is loving and giving.”
Miss Saunders shook her head with an exaggerated sigh.
“You really should pay more attention to your lessons.” Bonnie’s cheeks turned red at this reminder that she was still officially in the schoolroom, but her insouciance quickly dispelled her irritation.
Miss Saunders, who had been a governess to Grace and Bonnie for more than five years, quickly explained.
“Freya is a Norse goddess, the wife of Odin, who gives his name to Wednesday. Friday is Freya’s day, shortened to Friday. ”
Gwendolyn, not much interested in ancient gods and goddesses, turned to Grace with a dazzling smile.
“You are here to choose your wedding clothes. I think it would be delightful to be a bride and have everyone looking at you and envying you while you’re the center of attention.
Of course,” she said with a toss of her golden hair, “I could marry any time I choose. At least half a dozen gentlemen are eager to ask Papa for my hand, but it is frightfully difficult to decide which one would suit me best. I am not ready to be forced to become a somber matron with only one gentleman at my beck and call.”
Bonnie was a little unsettled by Gwendolyn’s tone and words.
Her sheltered upbringing in Berkshire had not prepared her for self-centered beauties, but her natural friendliness asserted itself.
“It must be thrilling to have a string of beaus dangling from your fingers. Grace is betrothed to Major Thomas Enderby of the Ninety-sixth Division. He has been in Portugal for the last few years, but there has always been an understanding that they will marry.” Grace tugged at Bonnie’s sleeve.
She did not like to have her personal matters discussed with complete strangers.
Mariana tilted her head to the side. “It must be very comfortable to have everything settled in such a way. Society places such heavy expectations on ladies to marry well and it is not easy for most of us to convince gentlemen that we will be good wives.”
There was a tremor in her voice that drew kind-hearted Grace’s attention. “It is comforting,” she agreed, “but a little uncomfortable too when one is barely acquainted with one’s betrothed.”
None of them noticed that Gwendolyn had turned white at the mention of the major’s name and that she darted looks of envy at Grace.
“Major Enderby,” she said lightly. “He is a charming and handsome gentleman who is being lauded all through London for his heroism in the war. I have had the pleasure of dancing with him at several balls and accompanying him to the opera.” She failed to mention that they had both been invited to form a party with Lady Spencer’s daughters and a number of other guests and that, beyond greeting one another, she had not spoken a word to the major at the theater.
“Then you have the advantage of me,” Grace said, but even Bonnie was aware of the tightness in her sister’s voice.
Grace had met Major Enderby in her first season, but she had been heavily chaperoned and had only been alone with him for the length of a dance and had conversed with him at various dinners and assemblies.
He had been affable and gracious but she had been intimidated by his overpowering presence and had not said very much.
In spite of this, or perhaps because of how different she was from the giggling girls who chatted incessantly about nothing, he had found her charming and well-bred and before his regiment had departed for Spain, he had asked Mr. Blythe for her hand in marriage.
Grace and the major had exchanged letters over the three years he had been away but their correspondence had consisted mostly of short descriptions of the weather or which pieces of music Miss Blythe was learning.
When Major Enderby had resigned his commission and returned to England, he had set up residence in London while Grace had been at the family home in Berkshire.
An outbreak of measles in the village of Lyttleton, where the Blythe’s country manor was located, had kept the family quarantined.
Grace had not yet seen her major since his return from the Peninsula and she wondered if he would still find her charming.
Freya, looking from Gwendolyn to Grace, decided a change of topic was needed.
“I wonder if there’s any truth in that old nursery rhyme.
There’s Miss Burroughs, undeniably fair of face, and Miss Blythe moves and speaks so gracefully.
She shows a graciousness of spirit, as well.
Bonnie is certainly blithe, and Mama says I am far too giving.
” She smiled at her mother. “I tend to bring home all manner of waifs and strays, birds with broken wings and kittens who have lost their mothers. I once even brought home a lamb that needed to be raised by hand. But Papa would not allow me to nurse a baby pig that was the runt of the litter.” The others laughed, glad that her chatter had lightened the mood.
Isolde Heywood looked thoughtful. “Perhaps it is true. I was born on a Thursday, and within a few months, I will be traveling to the Cape of Good Hope, which is rather far to go.”
Bonnie looked horrified. “I do hope you aren’t leaving too soon. The Season has only just begun and there are all kinds of routs and parties planned for the next few weeks. It would be a great pity if you missed out on them.”
Isolde smiled, her sober face brightening and making her look much more like the twenty-two-year-old young woman she was rather than a settled old maid that she was often considered to be.
“I have two months in London and my brother will, no doubt, be invited to many social events here and in the Cape.”
Bonnie looked around the room, a slight frown on her face. “We are missing only Wednesday and Saturday to complete our group. With them, we would be the whole rhyme.” The others laughed.
Gwendolyn slipped her arm around her cousin’s shoulders.
“It just so happens that Mariana was born on a Wednesday, and she is as woeful as you could wish for. She predicts gloom whenever I plan some fun.” Mariana smiled but shook her head ruefully.
She had followed Gwendolyn headlong into trouble on many occasions since their childhood.
Miss Saunders laughed quietly. “There are only six of you. I am too old to be considered a débutante and I am not a society lady but if you’ll have me for now, I can fill in for Saturday until you find a better candidate.”
Grace took her governess’s hand in hers. “You are every inch a lady and you’re not old. Not really. Of course, you must be a member of our unexpected club. Indeed, I know no one who works harder than you do and so you fulfill Saturday perfectly.”
“A toast to our Seven Perfect Days Club,” Grace declared. The ladies all raised their teacups in a toast which ended in laughter.
Mme Beaufort swept into the room. “Alors. Have you decided on a pattern, Miss Blythe? I will design a perfect gown for your wedding and you will be the most beautiful bride in all of England this year.” She swept her gaze around the room. “All of you will look most beautiful in my dresses.”