Evelyn Richardson (22 page)

The faithful Marthe appeared bearing a shimmering roll of material which sparkled gold and emerald according to the light. “Oh, how lovely!” breathed Frances involuntarily as she caught sight of it.

Madame wore a satisfied smile. “You are quite correct, mademoiselle. It is most unusual. Un ami ... a dear friend gave it to me just before I left. It was something they had just begun to work on at Lyons when . . . when . . .” She broke off.

Frances held out her hand. “But surely something such as this is far too precious for you to waste on someone who has no claim to fame, fashion, or great beauty.”

The seamstress smiled through the tears she could not hide. “Mademoiselle sadly underestimates herself. But in any event, I would much rather adorn a heart as warm as yours than the most-toasted incomparable in London.”

The next hours were, for Frances, a blur of laces, satins, gauzes, plain and printed muslins, ruchings, and flounces, the chatter of French and deft fingers pushing, pulling, fitting, and sewing. She emerged somewhat dazed, her wardrobe increased by an exquisite ball gown from Madame's special material, a carriage dress with a white satin pelisse, a walking dress of jaconet muslin over a peach-colored slip, two morning dresses, and another evening dress of an unusual rose satin slip with silver spangled gauze over it giving a most ethereal look. “I cannot thank you enough, madame, for having created costumes that fit me and the type of person I am,” began Frances. But Madame was not yet through. While Frances was bemused by the selection of trimmings to embellish her choices, Marthe had been sent to fetch Monsieur Ducros, hairdresser to many of the ladies of Versailles. Frances was not at all certain she wanted the transformation to extend quite so far. “But I don't think . . .that is, I like the simple style I have now. It is not fussy, and that, you know, is of paramount importance when one leads a country life,” she objected.

“Mademoiselle does have beautiful hair,'' agreed Monsieur. “But,” he added severely, “she does nothing to show off its true beauty. As to the care . . .”He shrugged with true Gallic expression. “Why, the time you spend brushing it now is twice the care this new style would require.”

“Very well,” sighed Frances. “Never let it be said that I didn't do my utmost to be worthy of one of Madame's creations.”

It would not be entirely accurate to say that Lady Frances Cresswell emerged from Regnery's establishment transformed into a diamond of the first water and bearing no earthly resemblance to the serious young woman who had entered some few hours before. She remained Lady Frances, but it was a different Lady Frances—one whose curls caught the light, softened her face, and gave it a slightly mischievous look. She was elegant as ever, but, wearing a new bonnet and a walking dress Madame had happened to have at hand, she somehow looked lighter, more carefree. The dress of primrose sarcenet under matching jaconet muslin with puffs down the sleeves and trimming at the hem was more elaborate than her usual style and lent an interesting air of fragility and delicacy. The ruffled parasol completed her toilette. The comte walked round and round, examining every detail. At last he stood back, his face breaking into a smile of paternal pride and satisfaction at his own cleverness. “Ah, madame, you have not lost your genius. And you ...” He included Ducros in an expansive gesture. “You are more talented than ever. Thank you. Now, come, my child, we must show the rest of the world that you are a woman of exterior, as well as interior, beauty and taste.” He bowed and escorted Frances to the carriage.

Though no one stopped to stare as they made their way home, their reception on Brook Street was highly gratifying. The twins, who had become more curious the more they discovered that no one in that establishment had the slightest idea of their elder sister's whereabouts, had been watching for her return from the drawing-room window. Higgins had barely closed the door behind Lady Frances and the comte when they came clattering downstairs, closely followed by Wellington and Nelson. The cavalcade screeched to a halt at Frances' elegant parasol and lemon kid slippers. “Fan!” Cassie exclaimed. “You look ... you look beautiful!”

“Slap up to the echo,” her twin agreed heartily.

Frances didn't know whether to feel flattered or insulted at the disbelief in their voices.

They walked around her, Cassie remarking in puzzled tones, “But, Fan, whatever for? I thought you detested dressing up. And at any rate, we thought you were pretty before.” Wellington, sniffed the new parasol but gave over as soon as he had established that it was too new to have acquired any interesting scents. Nelson examined the flounces with equal curiosity.

Frances was touched by their loyalty, but said in a rallying tone, “Well, now that I've been so thoroughly inspected and met with your approval, will you let us come in?” She smiled and led the way into the morning room. “Monsieur le Comte has, in addition to asking that we call him Uncle Maurice, invited us on a very special outing.” Immediately all eyes were riveted on him. “He has invited us and Aunt Harriet to go with him to the botanic gardens at Kew. We shall pack a lovely picnic and make a real expedition of it. I thought we would ask Kitty and Ned to go with us as well.”

“May we take Wellington and Nelson?” begged Cassie, seconded by Freddie. “Yes, please. Fan, may we? It's been so long since either one of them has been in the true country. I think they're becoming a bit tired of all the London traffic.” Freddie remembered his manners. “But, I say, sir, it sounds like a bang-up idea. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you ever so much,” added Cassie as the twins dashed out the door to tell their aunt of the forthcoming treat. “Aunt Harriet, Aunt Harriet, Uncle Maurice has invited all of us, even Wellington and Nelson, to the gardens. Aunt Harriet, Aunt Harriet. . .”

Frances turned to the count. “Thank you for giving us all something to look forward to.”

He bowed over her hand, his eyes twinkling. “I shall be watching future events with interest myself,” he replied somewhat enigmatically.

Chapter Twenty-three

The Comte de Vaudron had no intention of concluding his campaign with the mere transformation of Frances' appearance. He was too much a man of the world to let it ride without laying further plans. He knew that no man, no matter how well-versed in fashion and the ways of the ton, could effect a change in someone's social reputation as well as a woman could, so he made his way as quickly as possible to someone who had been making and breaking reputations for forty years—the dowager Marchioness of Camberly.

She was delighted to welcome a visitor who brought, along with news of the latest scandals, memories of a past in which she had lived close to the edge of scandal herself. “Maurice,” she sighed as he bent over a beringed hand. “You look as distinguished as ever. How delightful to have you back in London.”

He smiled. “I wish I could say how delightful it is to see you queening it over all of them in your old haunts, but you insist on remaining a recluse.”

“Well, to tell you the truth,” she responded in a conspiratorial whisper, “I find that I hear just as much of what is happening if I remain here entertaining a few select friends who visit me. It's much less fatiguing than the eternal dressing and promenading, and it's far more entertaining because one sees only whomever one wishes.”

He smiled fondly. “But, my dear Marianne, it is so much more boring without you for those of us who continue to dress and promenade.”

“Be off with you, Maurice. You always were too charming for your own good.” But the dowager looked pleased in spite of herself. Not being one to waste time with mere civilities, she inquired, “You know how glad I am to see you, but as you are not one of my regular callers, more shame on you, I surmise you have some special object in visiting me?”

“Mais certainement, Marianne, I do. Though you maintain you have left the ton for a more peaceful existence, I know that you retain as much influence as ever in that select little circle of reputation-making matrons.'' She raised an eyebrow but made no comment. He continued, “There is someone very dear to me, whose life would be a great deal happier were her path to be smoothed for her by someone such as you.”

The dowager did not look enchanted with the idea. She rarely put herself out for anyone. It ruined her image as a crotchety and demanding old town tabby. “And who might this person be?” she inquired somewhat coolly.

“Don't get on your high ropes with me, Marianne. She is someone worthy of your sponsorship in every way—beauty, intelligence, and a handsome fortune.” The comte paused for effect before adding the clincher to his argument. “And, I believe, she has just had a most unpleasant encounter with that haughty grandson of yours.”

The dowager rose instantly to Julian's defense. “He's a good lad who's awake on every suit. If he's a bit high in the instep, it's because someone deserved it.”

“That's as may be,” rejoined the comte, equally hot in the defense of his favorite. “But in this case it wasn't Lady Frances Cresswell, but Vanessa Welford who deserved to be made uncomfortable.”

The dowager's interest, piqued already, was fairly caught at the mention of these two names. “You always were a deep 'un, Maurice. You didn't come here just to get me to put a few good words about this gel in a few well-chosen ears. Now, cut line.”

The count poured out the entire story of the encounter in the park and the subsequent trip to Madame Regnery. “But, Marianne, you know as well as I do that a fashionable appearance is only the start. One must be known to be all the crack, and that's where you come in. If you tell a few of those friends of yours that Lady Frances Cresswell is all the rage, she will be.”

A look of amused comprehension appeared on the marchioness's face. It turned to satisfaction as the tale progressed. “It seems, Maurice, that you and I can be of the greatest help to each other.” As the count looked totally blank, she explained, “I met my grandson in Bond Street this afternoon. He had just been sparring in Jackson's and seemed to have derived singularly little satisfaction from this exercise. In fact, he looked as blue-deviled as I can ever remember having seen him. He was perfectly polite to me, but his replies were completely at random—really quite unlike him. I've seen him furious at women times out of mind. I've known him to despise them, but I've never known him to be in such a rare taking as he was today. Mark my words, your Frances is having a most unusual effect on my grandson. And it's about time someone got beneath that well-controlled shell of his. I'll play your game, Maurice, and if I'm right, and she means as much to him as I think she does, we'll win more than social cachet for your Lady Fanny.''

“Ah, Marianne, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me. Still the same sharp observer of human nature. What a pity we're too old to intrigue on our own behalves. We could teach this namby-pamby generation a thing or two.”

She smiled mischievously up at him. “Too true. But be off with you now. If we're to pull this thing off, I must get to work at once.”

Well pleased with himself, the count bade good-bye to the marchioness and sauntered over to White's to set the second half of his strategy in motion. He stopped to exchange greetings and news with several old friends in the card room, but his eyes strayed to another part of the room, where Bertie Montgomery was listening attentively to a furious debate over the rival merits of two newly discovered opera dancers. “Come now, Forsyth,” admonished one buck. “She may have the figure of a Venus and legs beyond compare, but her face ain't much. It don't hold a candle to Aimee's.”

“There you're fair and far out,” argued Forsyth. “Aimee ain't pretty. She's too flashy by half. Mouth's too wide and her nose ain't nearly so pretty as Babette's.”

“But her eyes, man,” the enthusiast protested. “Have you ever seen such eyes? A man could drown in them.”

The comte expertly detached Bertie from this group without his being aware of it and led him out of earshot. In no time he had this young man's entire attention and allegiance to his cause, through a time-honored method of flattery—the appeal of an older man-of-the-world, to someone much younger and less sophisticated, for aid and advice. The count mounted his attack with a gambit certain to succeed. “I come to you directly, mon ami, because a certain lady has named you as one of her oldest and dearest friends.'' Bertie gave a start of surprise and opened his mouth to blurt out some indiscreet remark. The count forestalled him. “But of course we both know the identity of the charming lady to whom I refer—the daughter of an admired friend. I had hoped . . .” Here the count, with his unerring sense for the proper dramatic touch, sighed gently. “I had hoped that, once in London, she would forget her duties and cares and give herself over to the delights of the Season. To some degree she has. Little by little she has begun to forget here familial responsibilities and certain other serious concerns of her own. I have seen her more often at balls, the opera, the theater, and have been satisfied. I started to relax my vigilance, but now something has occurred that might make her think that her original reading of the ton and all its amusements—as vain, silly, useless, harmful even—was the correct one.” Bertie, who had been frowning earnestly as he followed the thread of the count's narrative, looked up in some alarm. “The Lady Vanessa Welford,” was the count's somewhat cryptic response to the look of inquiry directed at him.

Mysterious as this reply was, it appeared to be enough for Bertie, who remarked with a conscious look, “Oh, ahh.”

“Just so. I have done my best to counteract this unfortunate episode by immediately escorting my young friend to a clever modiste who, with her usual skill, has re-created my young friend's look. But in order for this new image to succeed, it must be carried off with assurance. And that is where you, as an arbiter of taste among the younger set, can help. All you need to do is observe several times, in such discussions as the one I interrupted, that Lady Blank seems to be all the rage. That should be sufficient for young bucks as impressionable as those.”