Page 18 of In the Eyes of Lord Lingley

They spent nearly an hour reading and practicing her accent until Lingley appeared and hurried the maid away so that they could go for a drive through the streets of Paris to look at the latest fashions. Mary rolled her eyes, entirely unenthused at the thought, but willingly donned her bonnet and followed him from the house.

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.