Page 33 of Lady for a Season
“Your bath is ready, Your Grace,” said Joseph from the doorway.
Edward left in silence. Maggie made her way to her room, where the dressing room was full of steam. A vast copper bath had been filled more than halfway. Soaps and three jugs filled with more water were on the table, while two large linen cloths lay nearby ready to dry her when she was done.
Feeling shy, Maggie undressed and at a nod from Celine, cautiously climbed into the warm water and lowered herself into it. The level rose as she did so, covering most of her body. The sensation of being enveloped in warm water was extraordinary and Maggie could not help letting out a sigh of delight.
Celine giggled. “Now the soap.”
The room’s air took on the scent of lavender from the soap, then of rosewater which Celine added to the large jugs of warm water to rinse Maggie’s hair. Wrapped in one of the large cloths as Celine used the other to dry her hair, Maggie admired the new underclothes laid out for her, with the brown woollen dress she had chosen to wear. It was a fine weave, trimmed at the hem and the end of its long sleeves with a pleated brown silk, worn with a chemisette with frills about the neckline.
The new clothes required the help of Celine, Maggie realised. It would be impossible to dress by herself from now on, since most of the items fastened at the back. This was why ladies had a personal maid. It made Maggie feel helpless not to be able to even dress herself. Even the youngest children at the Hospital had been encouraged to put on their own clothes as soon as they were able, the older ones assisting them only if necessary, with staff poking fun at them if they could not quickly learn to manage alone.
“Your hair,” said Celine, just as Maggie was certain they were done.
“What is wrong with it?”
“You cannot wear plaits; they are for children.”
Maggie would have protested, but she supposed Celine was right. She submitted to having her plaits undone, her hair brushed and pinned up at the back.
“When we go to London you can have your hair cut,” promised Celine, speaking through hairpins held in her mouth.
“Cut? I do not want my hair cut!”
“Just at the front,” soothed Celine. “I will curl it for you. It looks odd without curls at the front. Every lady of fashion has her hair so.”
“I should go downstairs, Edward will surely be waiting,” fretted Maggie.
Celine laughed. “A gentleman’s grooming takes every bit as long as a lady’s,” she assured Maggie. “And Joseph has been waiting to dress His Grace properly for some time, he will not skimp. Take a moment to look at yourself.”
The looking glass showed a lady, there was no doubting it. Hair pinned up at the back, a ruffled chemisette, the dress altered to suit her size and height, the new boots. Maggie felt as though she were staring at someone else, one of the lady visitors at the Hospital perhaps.
“I found a pelisse and some gloves,” said Celine. “They are not new, but they will do.”
The pelisse was a dark blue while cream kid gloves fitted comfortably if slightly too large on Maggie’s small hands.
“It sits a little long,” fretted Celine of the pelisse.
“It does not touch the ground,” Maggie reassured her. “It will not drag in the mud.” Anxious to be with Edward, she made her way down the stairs, every step feeling odd in the new clothes and boots.
But there was no sign of Edward in the drawing room, only the Duchess, who observed Maggie in icy silence.
“Will I do?” asked Maggie at last, as much to break the silence as to get the Duchess’ seal of approval, which did not appear to be forthcoming.
“You look like what you are supposed to be, a poor relation,” said the Duchess. “It will do for now.”
Maggie could not imagine how her warm, beautiful clothes could possibly make her look poor, but she held her tongue and was glad when Joseph appeared in the drawing room doorway, his face bright with an odd mixture of pride and pleasure as he announced: “His Grace.”
Maggie stared. She had never seen Edward in anything but his baggy woollen suits, always in dull browns. Now he stood before her transformed. A well-cut jacket in dark grey, beneath it a silk waistcoat in dove grey. His shirt was an immaculate crisp white with a high pointed collar and a cravat, expertly tied. Beneath it all, perfectly fitted black breeches and high polished boots. The fitted clothes drew attention to his height and neat waist, but also lent breadth to his shoulders. His hair, she was glad to see, had not been cut short, perhaps he had refused, but the unfashionable length had always suited him and now, set off with his new finery, he was both elegant and handsome, his pale skin seeming brighter next to the white linen of his cravat.
The Duchess stared at him for a few moments, then gave a small nod. “At least now you look passable.” She walked past him and out of the room.
“I think you look more than passable,” said Maggie. “You look very elegant. How do you feel?”
Edward rolled his shoulders. “Uncomfortable,” he said. “I never did like all the fuss of these kinds of clothes, it’s the only thing the doctor did for me that I agreed with, putting me in those baggy suits like a labourer.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Well, we both have fine new feathers.” She indicated her new outfit with a shrug and a smile, as though they were absurd, although a part of her hoped he might compliment her.
He gave a half smile but did not comment on her new clothes. “At least now my mother will allow us the freedom of the grounds.”
