Dancing the Maypole (51 page)

Isabel wrinkled
her nose, “Love as a piece of cloth? That doesn’t sound very
romantic.”

“It depends
what you plan to make out of the cloth.” Her mother laughed again
at some private thought, and sighed as if content with her day’s
weaving. “Since you can’t remember the name of the song you and
Adderbury danced to, I’ve instructed the musicians to play
fashionable pieces from 1800. I want this evening to feel like a
dream…”

Isabel scowled
at her skirts. “I feel like I’m in a nightmare. People will see me
in this old dress, dancing to old music, and think I’m an odd old
maid.”

“There are
worse things than being thought odd; like wishing you’d listened to
your mother. Are those slippers too big?”

Isabel wiggled
her toes in her borrowed white dancing slippers. “No.”

“Sit still and
let Marie finish your hair. It needs to look more Grecian;
Marie…plus Grecque!”

“Oui Madame…”
Marie waited till Isabel’s mother turned away before whispering,
“Thiz will be une soirée très spécial. Enfin! Monseigneur will
danse le maypole.”

Isabel scowled
at the reflection of her maid, “I’m in no mood to be teased. How
would you feel if your mother threatened to shoot your lover if you
didn’t wear an ugly dress?”

Marie shrugged
her shoulders, “If I had the big lover très riche ma mère, she
would ravish hiz heart.”

“Your mother
would steal your lover?”

“Ah oui! She iz
plus belle, plus amusant… Peut-être I will find the lover Anglais.
I will tell to him I am the orphan and he will not be stealed.”

Isabel slumped
into the chair and winced in pain as her thick curly hair was
undone, combed and elaborately braided into a large knot at the
back of her neck. If she had to look odd, she’d at least wear
Pierre’s flowers. “When you’ve finished my hair, fetch my new
necklace.”

“Ah non!” said
Marie. “Madame haz it. She asked for it ce matin…”

Isabel turned
to look at her mother causing Marie to pull her hair. “Why did you
want my necklace?”

“I thought you
might try to wear it.”

“Of course I’m
going to wear it. I can’t dance with Adderbury without wearing his
necklace. He’ll think I’ve snubbed his gift. He’ll think I don’t
love him…I have to wear it!”

“The man won’t
notice what you’re wearing unless you cover your bosom. Your outfit
will help create déjà vu. Your necklace will be returned after the
ball.”

Isabel took a
deep breath and screamed, “Je veux mon collier!”

“Aprés le
danse!” Her mother’s tone made it clear the forget-me-nots would
remain forgotten for the evening.

Infuriated,
Isabel turned so the maid could finish her hair and glared at the
mirror. “I hate this dress. I hate this room. Why do I have to
sleep here? No matter how large the fire, it’s always
freezing.”

“Isabel, it’s
an honour to sleep in the queen’s bedchamber. Your Uncle Robert
insisted you have this room. It’s his…way of…”

“Madame…Grecque
comme ça?”

“Oui.
Magnifique! Isabel will wear the necklace with the miniature of
Louis XIV.” Isabel opened her mouth to complain, but the look in
her mother’s eyes brought to mind a vision of Pierre bleeding on
the ballroom floor. “How can you complain about sleeping in such a
room? Your farther and I have never been invited to use it…yes
Marie, that’s the necklace. It is an honour, and you will accept it
with grace. Insult your uncle’s kindness, and you’ll face my
sister’s wrath. Your Pierre won’t be the only one bleeding on the
ballroom floor. Marie, tell the housekeeper Isabel’s room needs
three large braziers. I want the fires lit by ten, and Isabel’s bed
warmed as the clock strikes midnight. And don’t let those silly
maids forget the hot water bottles…I want everything as we
discussed.”

“Oui Madame!”
The maid winked at Isabel. “I will have everything parfait!”

“Why warm my
bed at midnight?” said Isabel. “We supper at one and then I plan to
walk in the garden…” Isabel stared unseeing at the mirror; holding
Pierre’s warm hand, she led him through the cool moonlit garden
into the cold shadowy maze. After turning several confusing
corners, she stopped, and stepped into his arms…

“Isabel! Stop
daydreaming and listen to me. You will not sneak off to the maze.”
It was a command.

“Why not?”
protested Isabel. “Why can’t I walk in the garden?”

“Because I
can’t trust you to remain vertical. You won’t roll in the grass, or
be pressed into a hedge, while wearing my sister’s white dress.
Give her one more reason to lecture me on my failings as a mother,
and I’ll shoot your lover myself. If you must catch a chill and die
of ague, you will wait until after supper when you may change your
dress and do as you please. Comprends?”

Resigned to her
fate, Isabel allowed the Louis XIV pendant to be placed over her
head. Standing up, she tipped back her head to admire the whole
bed. “It is a beautiful bed.” Countless yards of blue-green silk,
embroidered with exotic birds and creatures highlighted with gold
and silver thread, hung to the floor, protecting a blue-green silk
coverlet covered in similar embroidery. “Why would Uncle Robert
want me to sleep here? It’s a suite of rooms for a married couple,
not that anyone sleeps in this part of the house. After Marie
retires for the night, I feel like an abandoned ghost. If the house
caught fire no-one would hear me screaming…”

“Your Uncle
Robert knows how much you enjoy new experiences. This bed is a
thousand stories all stitched together. Stop whining and enjoy it!”
ordered Madame.

“I’d rather
sleep on a pile of hay, in a barn, wrapped in Lord Adderbury’s
cloak…next to its owner.” Isabel was mentally lying on a pile of
fresh hay, smiling up at her hero bending over to kiss her…

Her mother
rolled her eyes at the ceiling, as if searching for grace from
above. “Yes, it must be romantic to wake in a barn full of birds
pooping from the rafters. After a night trying to ignore the straw
poking you through your lover’s summer overcoat, you’d open your
eyes and admire your snoring companion’s handsome chin shining with
drool. Just as you were about to lean over and kiss his parted lips
you’d realised several mice were making a nest in your hair. In
this bed, you can close your eyes and comfortably imagine a
well-groomed husband appearing through the connecting door as if by
magic.”

“I wouldn’t
need an imaginary husband if you’d left me in Bath! I’d be wed by
now.” Isabel moaned as her imagination was swamped with awful
scenes. “With my luck Adderbury will be killed by highwaymen, and
I’ll never see him again. I’ll die of a broken heart!”

“Don’t be a
ninny. We know he returned safely to Bath. Ghosts don’t send
letters.”

“It doesn’t
mean he won’t be killed on his way to the ball,” cried Isabel. “He
could be dead as I speak. He could be sitting on my bed sobbing
that we’ll never kiss again.”

“Heaven
preserve my poor nerves…take your fan!” Her mother held out the
visibly charred fan.

“I can’t use
that in public, it’s burnt. People will look at me and think I’m
losing my mind…that you’re diverting me one last time before
dragging me off to a convent, where I’ll cry myself to death.”

“Your lover
burned his hand grabbing it out of the fire and then, if Agnes is
to be believed, carried it around in his pocket for weeks like a
besotted fool. You’ll peer up at him over its burnt edges, and let
your lovely eyes remind him how badly he wants you. Honestly!
Marie, Isabel’s dance card…” The ivory tablets strung on a ribbon
with a matching ivory pencil were lightly tied around her wrist. Is
that everything?”

“I need my
ring…the one with the disguised vinaigrette. I may faint any moment
from embarrassment.” Isabel held out her hand for the silver ring
set with a tiny miniature of her paternal grandmother as a young
woman. The ring felt almost as heavy as her heart; Pierre would
take one glance at her, and decide to risk a bullet in the leg to
escape a mad wife. “Please don’t tell me I have to stand at the
door greeting people looking like this.”

“No, I want you
to be sitting in the ballroom, against the wall, a blanched
forget-me-not waiting for her hero; and avoid your brother. He’s in
a vile mood. He’s bound to say something rude about your
appearance. Ignore him. With luck he’ll sulk out of sight. I
suspect there’s some female he wishes to avoid. If the boy had any
sense he’d tell me her name, so I could confirm if she was invited
or not. I hope your Pierre is punctual or your father may shoot him
out of irritation. That would ruin the evening’s finale.”

“What finale?”
said Isabel. “Are we having fireworks?”

Madame coughed
over a smile, “Something like that…stop moping at your reflection.
You look lovely.”

“I look odd!”
wailed Isabel.

“Are you six or
thirty-six? Stop thinking about what you look like, and start
thinking about how you’re going to ensure Adderbury remembers
falling in love with you. Honestly! I thought my nursery days were
long over. Are you ready to throw your heart onto the dance floor
or do you intend to sit on it until it stops beating?”

Pursing her
lips in irritation, Isabel followed her mother from the room,
hoping her plain white dress would magically turn into her pink and
brown striped gown. Her feet automatically carried her on to her
fate as she sailed a stormy sea clutched in Pierre’s arms, her
brown and pink silk billowing in the wind, revealing more than a
little ankle.

Stepping into
the ballroom, Isabel inhaled the haunting smell of lemon verbena
and stared wide-eyed at the transformation. Someone had waved a
magic wand, and turned the ballroom into a night garden. The
ballroom’s pale-blue walls looked moon-kissed. The large embossed
rectangles, symmetrically dividing the room, highlighted by gold
leaf, shimmered in the candlelight like vast windows into another
world. The dance floor was encircled by fat swags of greenery and
flowers, suspended from dozens of free-standing maypoles wrapped in
green, lavender, white and gold ribbons. In the corners, and
between random garden seats, were small potted trees, shrubs, and
flowers.

Most of the
early guests mingled in groups, but several couples were walking
arm in arm around the perimeter of the room, causing long gold
ribbons, dangling from elaborate bows to flutter as if alive.
Forgetting her unfashionable dress, Isabel had to refrain from
skipping as she headed for the decorated bench in the farthest
corner as her mother had directed. Isabel was mentally rushing
through a midnight garden to meet Pierre, when a large man appeared
in her path, bringing her to an undignified stop. Abruptly returned
to the real world, she looked up to find her beautiful cousin,
Robert Neilson the younger, admiring her breasts. It took her a few
moments to realise she hadn’t fallen under his spell. He was just a
large handsome man who happened to be her cousin.

“Good evening
Robert, have you forgotten my name or were you desperate for a
closer view of my charms?”

“I called your
name three times. You’re not really going through with it, are
you?”

“Through with
what?” asked Isabel.

“Marrying that
Smirke.”

“Am I engaged
to Lord Adderbury? Yes, now if you’ll excuse me…”

Her cousin’s
beautiful face contorted with disgust, “You don’t have to marry
that prig. If you’re desperate for a taller husband, you know I’ll
take you off the shelf. Unlike a certain blockhead, who dangled his
celibacy at the world as if being an inadequate lover makes him
some sort of prize, I can offer numerous testimonies to my conjugal
skills. Choose my bed and you’ll wish you married me years
ago.”

“What a
romantic proposal.” Isabel’s bored tone made the man scowl. “I’d
swoon with delight, but I need to find my seat.” She tried to step
around him, but he blocked her path.

“Why chain
yourself to a Smirke when you can marry me? I can provide a
pleasurable bed in any number of beautiful homes. If you’re too old
to bear children, and you want them, I’ll adopt several you can
raise as your own. Marry Adderbury, and you’ll be the woman who
married a national laughing stock.”

“At least Lord
Adderbury isn’t the national stud. Is this how you win all your
lovers, you tell them how wonderful you are?”

“Do you want me
to lie and say I’m in love with you?”

“No, I want you
to get out of my way. I need to find my seat. If my mother thinks
I’m changing my dress she might start shooting people. With any
luck, your foot will be in the firing line.”

“Your mother
must be desperate to get rid of you. Were your neckline a hair’s
width lower, I’d think I was visiting a house of ill repute;
though, to be fair, most whores wouldn’t be seen dead in that
unfashionable rag. If she’s hoping an expanse of skin will goad
your impotent lover into making a move, I hope she offers him a
magnifying glass at the door. At forty-four, Adderbury must need
spectacles to see anything up close.”

“I happen to
know there’s nothing wrong with either Lord Adderbury’s eyes or
hands. If you’re finished insulting my future husband, I’ll leave
you to ponder which of your innumerable lovers will give birth to
your next daughter.”

“Don’t be
heartless Isabel! You can’t blight the family tree with another
Smirke. It’s bad enough we have to endure the dummy board who
married Agnes. Have you spent five minutes with those matching
fiends he sired? The last time I called, the little rats picked my
pockets. When I sent a note demanding Agnes return my stolen
belongings, she replied, that as her fiends protested their
innocence, there was nothing she could do. Have you heard anything
so outrageous?”