Dining With The Beaumonts

Dinner with the Beaumonts

Dressing Room

Crenshaw House

Mayfair, London

March 1st, 1880

"Thank you," said Maddie, watching her maid gather a brown dress with eyelet embroidery and a ruffled trim with long sleeves and a smocked neckline. The dark-haired woman stood in her white undergarment shift, which reached almost to her ankles, and gave herself a good look in the mirror. Her pale hands lifted the underside of her bosom and she squished them. She was the tallest of the Watson girls, and she despised the size of her bosoms as she took in the young woman before her in the full-length mirror. Although they were not large like Lotte's nor nearly flat like Abbie's, Maddie couldn't help but wince as breathing was suddenly so much harder with the corset on. The bones were biting into her waist and smothering her chest.

She was utterly grateful that they did not have to go far for this dinner party. They were simply next door. The Beaumonts were cordial and a little cold, but nonetheless, it was a party Mother insisted that everyone needed to go. Good manners and having respectable relations were a must, even if Mother and Father had no plans to marry one of them off to the Beaumont heir.

What was it that her father had said? Maddie mused this as a maid helped her into a rich chocolate brown dress. Ah, now she remembered! He had said, "I will not have my daughters dishonored by the likes of that boy! I would rather my daughters not marry at all!"

"Harold!" her mother had shrieked then. "You cannot say those words!"

"Their drowries are no small fortune. The girls will live comfortably even after we are gone," her father reassured her. "Our boy will take care of his sisters even if they do not marry."

The last thing Maddie could remember hearing was the whimpers her mother made as Maddie quietly stepped away from the door, taking slow leisurely steps to the library.

Beaumont Dinner Party

Wickham Manor

Mayfair, London

March 1st, 1880

Dinner was quite the affair, Maddie supposed. Countess Warwick provided so many jellies, vegetables, custards, puddings, five types of meat and game, while the soup was green pea soup. The green color itself was murky, dark, and reminded her of vomit, with the little pieces of ham sticking out as her spoon stirred the thick liquid inside the porecelain bowl. Not that she was surprised, but the soup was more tasty than it appeared to be. Her father was sitting to the right of Lady Beaumont, who was sitting at the head of the table, while her mother was sitting to the right of Earl Warwick.The marriage season was about to begin and this dinner party was the first of many to come. Their new neighbors had inherited the manor when Old Man Jenkins passed away, leaving his belongings to his next of kin, who happened to be the current Earl of Warwick.

The small dishes of cheese and salad were finished before being cleared away for dessert, which was a mix of nuts, fruits, sweetmeats, and vanilla ice cream. Not that Maddie was particularly interested in the sweets, but her mind kept wandering over to the drawing room where there was a piano... She wondered if it had been tuned properly. Not that she would play, of course. Mother had already informed her that "there shall be no playing tonight lest something like Paddington happens again." And so she aimlessly resigned herself to the fact that her greatest amusement tonight was going to be a book.

Countess Warwick led the group of ladies over to the drawing room. The drawing room was very large, with four tall windows overlooking the front street, with soft, elegant furnishings and exquisitely carved furniture, and there was a piano nestled to one side of the room with a harp perched next to it. The weaved carpet looked newly installed, as did the flower wallpaper and the rich velvet curtains and drapery. Countess Warwick must have had her new drawing room renovated and the white marble fireplace restored.

"Miss Isabella, I hear you are quite an accomplished harpist. Perhaps you can play a piece later..." suggested Countess Warwick, fanning herself as she took a seat on the cushioned sofa. She wore a blue muslin dress with white lace detailing. "Viscountess Grinstead, you are so blessed with so many talented and beautiful daughters. I do wish I had a daughter. Now that we are neighbors, I am very glad that we have gotten to know each other much better. Are they all out in society?"

Lady Grinstead grimaced just the tiniest bit, but bit back her scowl as she smiled as kindly as she could. "Not all. My darlings, Isabella and Sophia, are still not out yet, but come April, Isabella will be presenting herself to the Queen."

"How exciting!" Countess Warwick smiled gently, snapping her fan closed as she reached for her cup of tea. The Countess was a beautiful woman with soft blonde hair and light blue eyes. Her smile was always polite, gracious, and detached. "George is also getting older... he needs to make a match this season too. George is always so charming, polite, and he always has a way with words."

Oh, Maddie could already feel it in her bones where this conversation was going. She resigned herself to the bookshelf, searching for anything that might suit her needs for the time being. Agnes Grey. That would indeed suffice. Her long, spidery hands grabbed the novel easily, and she returned to her spot on the couch. Her sisters were playing cards while listening to the matrons speak about the season. She opened the novel and read, "All true histories contain instruction; though, in some, the treasure may be hard to find, and when found, so trivial in quantity, that the dry, shrivelled kernel scarcely compensates for the trouble of cracking the nut."

The crisp condition of the novel suggested that the book was hardly read as her gloved finger turned the page. The governess, Agnes Grey, was a creature in no position of power, and the story itself was very simple. It was not even an exciting story, to say the least, but there was a power bound within the words. A simple honesty with little reservation and tranquility. And as the night grew later and later, Maddie could feel the cushion beside her sink, but that was not enough to draw her attention as she continuedher novel. Her sisters' chattering got louder and louder, but it was hardly bothersome.

"The book must be fascinating," George Beaumont, Viscount Rothbury, heir to the Earldom of Warwick, said, exuding all the goodness he could muster in his person. His warm eyes settled on the hunched young woman as a kind smile curled on his lips. He looked almost apologetic as he turned from sister to sister, eliciting sympathetic looks and glances collectively. Naturally, he returned his attention back to the young lady beside him. Despite his good facade, what he really thought was, "How dare you ignore me," and "Ugly little beast with no manners."

It was most likely a universal truth that every family in possession of moderate wealth must have at least one young lady who was both plain and stupid, and it was truly a godsend that this girl beside him confirmed his very astute knowledge. From top to bottom, she was careless with her looks. After all, that bonnet was utterly hideous and, dear he say it, it looked like something he would have already seen two Seasons ago. His dark eyes then traveled down to her boots which had little smudges of dirt around the edges. The dress - George couldn't say it was an ugly dress - it was in a shade of brown that didn't look like dirt, and it was actually a rather nice dress.

Seeing no response from the young lady beside him, Lotte sheepishly smiled and gently nudged Maddie. Maddie's calm eyes looked up at her sister and said, "Yes?"

"Maddie, Lord Rothbury is addressing you," Lotte gently explained, prompting her younger sister to close the darn book already.

"Oh, please call me George," insisted the laughing viscount. His eyes crinkled with every gentle laugh and exhale, catching the light, and it almost appeared as if his eyes were indeed twinkling.

Blinking like a wriggling fish pulled out of water, Maddie solemnly turned to the Lord beside her and said, "Lord Rothbury?"

Her tone was quiet. George couldn't help but notice the commanding stare that could even be compared to that of the coldest tsarina. The look pricked at his ego. He felt as if the woman beside him was looking down on him like a little boy before the head abbess. George smiled graciously, swallowing the tiny little lump that was lodged in his throat. He would not cower before this woman who was demanding his reverence. The indifference reflected in her cold blue eyes stung more than George would have liked to admit. And so he said, in a very sweet and low tone, "How do you like your book?"

"It's fine."

The girl then exhaled sharply and thumbed the cover of the book in her hand. The young lady's look of impatience was half-heartedly masked as he noted Viscountess Grinstead looking over with her terribly overt stare. A real smile of pleasure sickingly crossed his face as he supposed he could allow the young woman to go back to her book. After all, she was one ugly amongst beauties.

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