Chapter 13
By the end of the week, all of Mary’s clothes had arrived, and they were ready to attend to the invitations which they had received.
They had plans for a picnic in the Tuileries gardens that afternoon, with the first of the ball invitations which they had been able to accept to take place that evening.
Mary was feeling slightly optimistic after their success at the theater.
The evening had gone as well as they had hoped, and both had been pleased with the production of Shakespeare which had been presented.
Mary was like a wide-eyed ingenue, surrounded by the raucous crowd in the floor seats, but dressed as they were, they had been accepted easily and managed to enjoy the view of the stage rather than the people watching which seemed to be the only entertainment which those in the boxes seemed to be aware of.
Mary chattered energetically with her lady’s maids while Durand looked over a dreamy amethyst walking dress for any stray threads and Cortez tamed her locks into an extremely flattering style which allowed her curls to frame her face without being in the way of a dear, wide-brimmed straw hat with fabric roses and matching lavender, amethyst, and sage ribbons.
There was a matching embroidered parasol as well, and a pair of extremely comfortable lavender half-boots which she was certain would make Elizabeth turn green with envy.
“Thank you so much, Cortez, for working with me on my Spanish,” Mary declared as the maid pushed the last of her amethyst and pearl-tipped pins, which had been formed into the shape of flowers, into her hair.
“I was always so certain that I knew all there was to know from my studies, but it has become obvious that there are many unwritten nuances that I had missed.”
“Considering that you had no one to speak with, you are very knowledgeable, my princess,” Cortez assured her with one last inspection before she was released to Durand’s equally talented hands.
Mary switched to French as she complimented her choice of attire for the outing. “I never thought that purple would be such a complimentary color for me, but this amethyst-ish one is especially lovely.”
“Madame Courant was correct. The bright colors that your sisters preferred were not nearly elegant enough for you. But these more jewel-toned colors are spectacular.” She did the last of the buttons and pins and settled her hat carefully amongst her coronet of curls.
“Are you pleased with the rose ball gown for this evening? It will be spectacular with the set of ruby and diamond jewels which his lordship purchased yesterday.”
“He spoils me,” Mary laughed.
“As all the best husbands do,” Cortez teased. “You look very beautiful, my princess. His Highness will not be able to lower his guard for a moment.”
“What is all this talk of being stolen away by other gentlemen!” Mary scoffed.
“I find it offensive, for it is not as if some gentleman will steal me against my will. It is as if I am being judged fickle and untrustworthy. Once I gave my hand to Lord Lingley, my honor was engaged, and nothing and no one will convince me to dishonor my vows.”
“I am sorry, my princess!” Cortez was most apologetic. “It was meant as a compliment.”
“Oh, I know it was,” Mary sighed, her shoulders drooping. “I suppose I am still sensitive to criticism, even when they were not meant as such. Ignore my pique, if you will.”
Both ladies were most understanding and forgave her displeasure immediately, as she was usually so kind and friendly with them.
Mary left them to their work and went down to the sitting room to await her husband.
He had retired to prepare after her, as he was reviewing his post from his steward and it had delayed him.
He hurried into the room just moments before the large case-clock in the entry struck the hour. “I hope you were not waiting long—” his words stuck in his throat, and the look on his face was so comically blank that Mary could not help but snicker at him, drawing him from his stupor.
“I do not know why it surprises me every time that you become even lovelier, but it does!” he muttered. “The phaeton should be waiting, shall we go?”
Her smile was wide as she took his arm, followed him from the house, and accepted his help up into the eye-catching, high-perched phaeton.
Two large footmen were mounted on horses and followed behind them as they set off down the street.
Lingley looked down at her with such naked admiration that Mary’s smile widened, and she twirled her parasol with exuberance and laughed happily.
Unlike London, there were not many open public spaces left in Paris after the war and occupation.
Plans were being made to repair and beautify the city, but one place that had escaped the destruction were the gardens surrounding the Tuileries Palace, and they had been opened up to any who wished to visit them.
As they circled the parklands, the attention of all the notables was drawn to the fine carriage and liveried footmen, followed immediately by the finely dressed couple driving the phaeton.
There were several greetings called out from various groups, which seemed to surprise Lingley, and definitely surprised Mary, who had imagined they might still have some anonymity.
Lingley did not slow their conveyance but would wave in return whenever they were greeted until they approached a beautiful area where a small marquee had been erected and several footmen stood at attention awaiting their arrival.
Mary gasped in surprise. “How beautiful, Johnny! You have thought of everything! They must have been preparing all morning! Cushions and rugs and all this lovely food! I shall have to thank the chef when we return. He has done much work!”
Lingley laughed at her joyous monologue as he drew the horses to a halt.
One of the waiting footmen stepped forward to hold them while his Lordship rounded the carriage and lifted her down.
The heated look he gave her made her blush deeply, but he did not embarrass her with any public display; only pulled her close enough to wrap her arm about his and led her to the picnic spot.
They settled onto the cushions, and Lingley plated up delicacies for them both.
They enjoyed their repast, and it took some time for Mary to observe that the footmen were keeping away the most insistent of the parkgoers.
Most could see that the couple wished for privacy to enjoy their outing, but there were always those who felt that their importance or wealth gave them leave to interrupt.
The footmen did an excellent job until soon after they had eaten their fill.
Lingley had lounged back onto the cushions and groaned, replete.
There was a scuffle and a single cry of outrage, and then suddenly a lace-covered cannonball careened into their happy solitude and launched herself onto Lingley’s person.
Time seemed to freeze as Lingley was nearly paralyzed by his surprise and Mary by her horror.
The young lady, and young she was, Mary thought, perhaps the age of her sister Kitty, began to cry great crocodile tears as her bodice failed, releasing her bounteous breasts to the view of the entire garden.
“Compromise!” a triumphant woman screeched, shocking Lingley out of his stupor. He began to struggle with the girl as he attempted to push her from his lap, and she fought to remain. “Lord Lingley has compromised my daughter before everyone without a thought for her reputation!”
Lingley’s struggles took on a more frantic energy as he noted Mary’s silence.
The girl was having none of it and threw herself prone onto his person, knocking him back into the cushions, but she miscalculated her move for it freed his legs and he was able to lift a single booted foot onto her torso and use it to lever her up and over his shoulder where she somersaulted, with a cry, and tumbled down the bank and disappeared into the reeds surrounding the edges of a small goldfish pond.
“Mary—”
She burst into laughter so suddenly that she could not help the snort which followed.
Tears streamed down her face as she nearly collapsed with mirth.
“All this talk of me,” she snorted once again, “being stolen away by some unknown gentleman, and here it was you who we ought to have been worried over. Shall I challenge her for your honor? Hire you a companion for your safety? Perhaps tie you to my side and find the largest of jewels for your finger to better announce my ownership?”
“Honoria!” her mother screeched at them. “How dare you laugh at…”
“Do not address her royal highness without her requesting your acquaintance,” one of the footmen growled.
“Her royal…” she began to sputter.
“We have not been introduced,” Lingley snarled, rising to his feet and fixing his waistcoat with a jerk.
“But I shall inform you of our names: Infante Juan Carlos Alphonse Felipe Ferdinand de la Vega Lingley, Don de la Vega, Viscount Lingley. This is my wife, Her Royal Highness, Infanta Mary-Hannah Bennet, Donna de la Vega, Viscountess Lingley. I do not care who you and your horrid offspring are, and as a compromise is superfluous at this juncture, you are not invited to enlighten me.”
The woman and her cronies gathered her blubbering, pond scum encrusted daughter and hurried away.
Mary felt a flash of empathy for the girl.
Her mother was obviously a harridan of the highest order and had Mrs. Bennet been determined to marry her most plain daughter off no matter her wishes, she would likely have acted similarly.
She reminded herself how desperately the girl attempted to remain on her husband’s lap, and her sympathy dissolved like soap bubbles in a bath.
“What an end to a perfectly wonderful afternoon,” Lingley groused as he assisted the now frowning Mary to her feet. “I cannot apologize enough for—”
“Nonsense!” Mary silenced him with a look. “That comedy of errors had nothing to do with you. You did nothing to encourage the girl, and they were obviously completely unaware that we had married. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”
“I suppose I might have sent an announcement of our arrival to the papers…”
“Which papers? All of them? In every port we visit? They saw that you were accompanied and did not care to check who I was,” Mary began to laugh once more, having been put completely at ease by his unaccustomed displeasure. “It is nonsensical, sir.”
Her laughter lightened his pique. “You are likely correct. Shall we return home? We can spend some time in the library working on your Italian before we must prepare for the further horrors of this evening.”
“Now you sound like my brother Darcy,” Mary laughed as he wrapped his hands about her tiny waist and lifted her into the carriage. “He always claims to despise public dancing, though it will be interesting to see what Lizzy might convince him to do now that he is no longer on the marriage mart.”
He laughed in return. “You are likely correct. I normally would have avoided such a blatant attempt at compromise, but I had relaxed too far into my new status as a married gentleman.”