Chapter 11
Mary woke the next morning as her husband left the room to dress for the day.
She could not help the smile which brightened her face as she thought of the day before.
People-watching had been the least of his plans as Lingley had dragged her from shop to shop, buying everything she so much as glanced at.
She had attempted to demur at the first shop, and at the second she kept her eyes under firm regulation, but he only began buying even more fluff, so she gave up and enjoyed being spoiled for the first time in her life.
The vanity in her room was piled high with bandboxes and packages, which spilled over onto the floor.
Durand entered with her cleaned and pressed morning gown over her arm. “Bon matin, m’lady. Would you like a cup of chocolate before you rise for the day?"
She had spoken very slowly and clearly, and Mary attempted her reply, “Oui, sil vous plat. Chocolate chaud c’est mon préféré.”
“See veu play,” she corrected brightly as she poured the chocolate and delivered the cup into her hands. “You are doing so well already! You have one hour before the modiste arrives. Do you prefer to dine with his lordship or on a tray here?”
“I will dine with my husband. We will not see much of each other today.” She took a sip and hummed with pleasure. “This is delicious. It is somewhat thicker than I am used to— very enjoyable.”
After finishing her chocolate, Durand helped her to dress and pulled her hair back into a soft chignon.
It was simple but would do well for every day.
After adding one of the new necklaces which Lingley had purchased for her the day before, she hurried to join her husband in breaking their fasts.
They spoke of their plans for the coming week, and Mary excitedly declared that she wished to see the Musée de Napoleon, as its collection was unmatched in the entire world, as well as the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle.
Lingley was pleased to introduce her to such places, but said that he also hoped to take her to the theatre and the opera.
She was less excited at the thought of being on display in such a manner, but he promised that it would not be so overwhelming as she thought, as he was not so well known in Paris as in London and if they were lucky, they might avoid the worst of the scrutiny.
The moment that Mary and Lingley set aside their utensils, the butler entered and announced that Madame Courant had arrived.
Mary admired his timing immensely and said so, making her husband laugh and though the butler’s stoic face did not crack a smile, she would almost swear that there was an extra twinkle of humor in his eye.
Lingley assisted her to rise and escorted her to the largest of their sitting rooms, where the furniture had been arranged to accommodate their plans.
Madame Courant was a handsome woman of middle years, and she exclaimed brightly, holding out both hands for Lingley’s, exclaiming, “Oh! Mon petite prince, how you have grown! Your dear Mama, she told me but I did not imagine! Now, who have you brought to me? They called her Lady Lingley?”
“Yes, Madame. I recently married and we are on our wedding tour. Knowing that we were coming to Paris, I convinced her to wait to order her trousseau until we came to the best modiste in the world.”
“Flatterer,” she preened with a laugh. “Let me look at you, then, my lady.” Mary’s shoulders raised as if expecting a blow as the modiste circled about her person, inspecting her clothes and hair.
“Hmmm, it is well enough, I suppose, for an English creation-- You were right to bring her to me. She is a little pocket Venus, I see why you married her. That hair, though…”
Mary could not stop her hand from raising to her head, where she found that several lank curls had worked their way from her coiffure. “I have an appointment with Monsieur Race tomorrow,” she murmured, almost too softly to be heard.
“Ah! You speak French, excellent!” Madame declared in English.
“I will send Maria Amelia to you. She recently began working for me, but she was trained as an excellent lady’s maid.
She did not receive a character from her previous employer because she struck the woman’s pig of a husband for making improper advances.
She is sufficient with a needle, but she is excellent with her own hair, which looks to be quite similar to your own.
I am certain she would rather come to your household than spend her days bent over my cutting tables. ”
“I would be willing to meet her,” Mary replied as firmly as she could manage, though it required great effort, “but I will make no promises.”
The woman gave her a speculative look but only nodded in reply before shooing Lingley away.
He was replaced by an excited Durand and several of Madame Courant’s assistants while footmen came in and out of the room carrying bolt after bolt of fabric for approval.
Mary was in awe of the quality and number of fabrics, and there was not a single brown specimen among them.
Even the fabrics for riding and traveling costumes were in lovely colors rather than the serviceable but bland blacks and browns which were most common.
“My dear petit prince declared that you should never wear brown again,” Madame explained when she asked.
“He is very thoughtful,” Mary blushed, pleased that he cared so deeply for her wellbeing; especially such small, trivial concerns.
“She continually calls my husband ‘petty prance’. I am unfamiliar with the words. What does it mean?” Mary asked Durand while the others were distracted by trimmings.
“The little prince, my lady,” she replied after spelling out the words.
“His mother is a princess… but that does not usually make her children princes or princesses, does it?” she asked.
“I am not sure,” Marie responded. “Spanish royalty is not familiar to me. Could you not ask your husband?”
She nodded as Madame called for her to step onto the pedestal to be measured.
She obeyed readily but flinched as they began to strip her down to her shift, her least favorite part of the exercise.
The assistants were well-trained and quick, using a premarked tape to take minute measurements of every part of her person, calling out numbers as they went.
Madame tisked to herself when her bust measurement was announced. “Do you not wear a corset, my lady? You are much more curvy than you appear.”
“I felt that I was disproportional and bind…” she gestured to her top half, “things for support.” Mary admitted with a fierce blush.
“A good corset would be more comfortable and give your gowns a better shape. You shall see!” Madame declared, waving to her assistant to add it to the list. “Now, I was informed that you plan to stay a month complete, is this still true?” Mary nodded.
“Excellent. It shall give me time to complete your travel wardrobe and then the rest of your trousseau, some of which will be sent to Mallorca to await your arrival and the rest of which will be sent to your English residence.”
“Lord Lingley has been very thorough,” Mary nodded, highly disappointed to hear that he obviously did not trust her to manage her own wardrobe.
Misunderstanding her frown, Madame Courant laughingly reassured her.
“Not at all! He is as oblivious to our needs as the average English male. I informed him that you would need an entirely different wardrobe for joining the royals. Your travel clothes would leave you entirely underdressed in their company. Her Highness has trusted my judgement for decades, I will not let you be embarrassed for lack of experience.”
Mary expressed her gratitude as the women gathered their things. It had been an exhausting day, and they had even worked through lunch and tea, though the housekeeper had brought a tray for all of them to consume as they could.
“I am looking forward to exploring the museums tomorrow,” she sighed to Durand as she stretched her arms above her head and made her way toward the door.
“NON!” Madame cried in horror. “Absolutement non!”
“What is wrong, Madame Courant?” Mary nearly choked, she was so startled by her exclamation.
“You absolutely cannot be seen until your dresses are complete. It is unthinkable! You will be introduced to the world as the Infanta de Don Juan Carlos. The damage which could be done to your standing! Dieu m’en garde!”
“Infanta? But I— But Lingley— We are only a courtesy title!” Mary cried.
“Oui, in England,” Madame informed her. “But in Spain Lord Lingley has additional titles from his grandfather. Her Royal Highness was a favorite of her father and he granted her, as well as her offspring, royal titles. Mon Dieu, did you not know this? He was made un Don at his majority.”
Lingley entered then with a sheepish look.
“As we do not spend so much time in Spain, I do not use the title for every day. Please forgive me, Mary. I did not mean to leave you uninformed. I honestly do not think of myself that way. I would have, of course, informed you before we arrived in Mallorca.”
“Please tell me you are not in line for the crown,” she whispered as the ladies all respectfully retreated from the room.
“No, no. It would be an astronomically small chance of that.” He assured her earnestly. “Can you forgive me my thoughtless omission?”
She wished to punish him further, but the look of panic on his face soothed her disquiet, and she put him out of his misery. “In all honesty, I do not feel lied to. I was surprised, certainly, and uncomfortable with the disclosure, but my trust in you remains unshaken.”
He released his breath in a whoosh and crushed her to his chest. “I was sure I had broken something irreparable through sheer stupidity.” Her giggle was muffled by the folds of his cravat. “Did you get a good start on your wardrobe?”
She arched her neck to look up at him. He was so much taller this close.
“Madame believes that she has a handle on things. I begin to see why your mother places so much faith in her skills. She was extremely knowledgeable about my needs based on my new stations in both England and Spain. I had no idea. Even Elizabeth did not order half so much, and she married into the Darcy family!”
“Darcy is not nearly so high as his manners suggest,” Lingley snorted.
“He has— I suppose I should say had — a disproportional amount of pride in his family name. While it is an old one and wealthy, they are untitled, and though his mother was the daughter of an earl, the Matlocks are a new creation, only two generations. By contrast the Ashford earldom was created by Henry II in 1160. You will be the fourteenth Countess of Ashford when the time comes. And when Uncle Archibald passes away, my father will also become the Marquis of Trenton, and we shall be the eighth Earl and Countess of Kettering. Our first and second sons will carry titles.”
“I am well aware that sons are not a guarantee in life,” Mary reminded him hesitantly.
“Then our first two grandsons will inherit the titles. They cannot be held by female offspring, but they can pass through that line if it is needed.”
“That is a relief. My mother has never been the most intelligent of women, but she was not nearly so shrill when I was younger. It was after Lydia’s traumatic birth, when she learned that there would be no more children, that her nerves became unendurable to the rest of us.”
“I care not for the reasoning. I shall never forgive her treatment of you,” he growled, nostrils flared in disgust.
“I was not justifying her prejudice, but it does not mean that I do not understand her reasoning for her worries. I have no desire to become my mother, and it is good to know that no matter the gender of our children, I shall not feel as if I have failed you. And of course, the funds you settled on me will prevent me from ever worrying over my future. It makes me wonder how different the past might have been had my parents saved some portion of their income toward the future rather than spending it on books and port and more and more lace.”
“I have never understood some ladies’ desire to dress themselves up like a very expensive dessert and then expect a rational man to fall at their feet.
One look and most would run the other way to avoid such a frivolously expensive wife.
It would be much more rational to dress well but simply to entice a husband. ”
“Oh yes, much more rational, but not nearly so fashionable. My mother was indeed hoping to entice some unfortunately wealthy man into marrying one of my sisters, but a secondary, but equally important reason was to project our wealth to the neighborhood. Even with my father’s lackadaisical management, Longbourne brought in ￡2000 a year, which was double the next highest income in the area, since Netherfield had always been leased.
My mother was extremely proud of the fact that she had caught the heir of Longbourne.
Your father was lucky to have avoided the area until he had married. ”
He snorted with amusement. “I cannot imagine that he would have given up a princess for the gauche daughter of a solicitor.”
“My father had no plans to marry her either, and yet here we are.”