Page 18 of A Foreign Crown
Lady Mallory frowned. “We are late.”
Lady Oppenheim paced the room. “I do hope she’ll not check our hands for their cleanliness.” She was full of energy. To Aribella, she seemed almost like a sparrow, never resting on one surface or another.
Lady Smithing pursed her lips and then scoffed. “And why would she? We’ve got gloves on and are not likely to take them off, are we?”
The other women were considerably older, two of them dowager duchesses, Lady Smithing a younger widow. All had served the Queen for many years and, from what Aribella could gather, had admired Aribella’s mother.
Aribella’s dress puffed up all around her, the corset squeezing her tighter than she was accustomed to. But the feeling made her smile, because it reminded her of her mother. She loved the style Queen Charlotte continued to wear at court. She remembered when her parents had worn the brightly colored dresses and intricately embroidered men’s jackets, her mother’s hair done up in towering heights on her head, her father often donning a white wig. Queen Charlotte ruled the day in her choice for the fashions of court and much preferred those earlier styles. Aribella felt quite beautiful in her soft fabric, her hair styled in an intricate pattern, dotted with jewels. The maid Dorcas, who’d been assigned to help her while she served the Queen, had spent well over an hour on Aribella’s hair alone.
The other ladies were equally stunning in their presentation, and Aribella thought the four of them quite a tribute to the Queen. They matched, in color and adornment, the dress the Queen would wear. Aribella’s dress was blonde Chantilly lace over white satin; the train and body boasted a rich green embroidery. She had a blonde fichu and ruffles. Her headdress was the most magnificent and garish she’d ever worn or seen—full of a plume of feathers, blonde lappets, and diamonds. One of the others had sapphires and diamonds sewn throughout her bodice. The finery of the Queen’s ladies alone was beyond any Aribella had seen in quite some time.
In her book, Aribella’s mother had written,The ladies of the bedchamber, the privy chamber, are as much adornment as anything, as well as the Queen’s constant assistants, her closest friends and confidantes, and as is the case for poor Queen Charlotte, her enemy’s spies.
Lady Smithing sniffed in impatience. “The night shall not be spent in total isolation, at least. I so detest when we sequester away from St. James’s.”
“At least she hasn’t taken off to Windsor. We are close enough.” Lady Oppenheim shifted in place.
Lady Smithing’s small, secretive smile made Aribella wonder if the dowager was thinking of a dalliance or a private conversation with King George’s mother, with whom she’d heard the lady had formed an alliance.
Lady Oppenheim lifted her chin in her own masterful version of the look of supreme superiority. “Lady Aribella, I do hope you will move past your mother’s antiquated sense of loyalty and realize the reality right in front of you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Aribella’s breath caught in her throat. The others moved in closer, and Aribella felt at once surrounded by the poofy fabric of dresses, deeply cut necklines, and the bumping of their skirts awkwardly pressing in against hers. She attempted, in vain, to create some space between them.
“Yes, quite.” Lady Mallory said as though Aribella hadn’t spoken. She looked around before whispering, “You’d be forward-thinking to position yourself well for what’s coming.”
Aribella studied them all and felt an aching kind of pity for the Queen. Even her own ladies of the privy chamber cared more about their own reputations and social positions than they did for the Queen. Was Prince George more powerful? Did he have more influence? He would be the next King, surely, but what did that matter to her? Aribella cared not for any social position or power. The mother-in-law may have liked Queen Charlotte—Aribella had no way of knowing but from her mother’s writings—but Princess Augusta did her best to maintain power in the royal house, including controlling those closest to her son King George. Every decision in which Queen Charlotte inserted her opinion, from the parties the family held to the attendants the Queen chose, were under strict observation and attempted influence of Princess Augusta. No wonder Queen Charlotte kept herself sequestered off and her ladies away from the court at St. James’s or Carlton House, where Prince George spent most of his time.
Aribella stood taller. “Prince George may be the next King, but I don’t have much patience or need for positioning. We are quite far from London in my own estate. Father needs me, and I don’t expect to require many acquaintances in my off-months from court.”
“Oh, but you must!” Lady Mallory fanned herself. “For it will make your time here that much more enjoyable.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling in a sense of ecstasy Aribella found repelling.
“Oh, my dear, no.” She looked away.
Lady Oppenheim shook her head and clucked. “Come now, Lady Mallory, our Lady Aribella is but a new debutante, you forget.”
“Ah yes. Well then, surely you can see the wisdom in an advantageous marriage. May as well marry someone as wealthy as Midas.” Lady Mallory tapped her nose. “Trust us on that one, my dear.”
They all burst into girlish-sounding giggles, and Aribella found herself wishing for some time apart.
Then a woman came running into the room, her cheeks flushed, her smile large. Giggling, she weaved in and around the ladies, ran to the piano at the other side of the room, grabbed a stack of letters, and then ran out the door.
A flustered and bothered woman followed after. “Beg pardon.” She curtsied, then left in a hurry.
“Princess Amelia.” Lady Mallory gestured after the girl. “She’s the King’s favorite. If you ever wonder who rules England... you just saw her.”
The others laughed at Lady Mallory’s wit, and Aribella looked after the princess, hoping for another glimpse of the young beauty.
“She’s being raised to behave in any manner she wishes. Her beauty is her curse, I tell you.” Lady Oppenheim shook her head. “She is not often here, and she has been ill of late, but she appears to be well indeed.”
At last, the adjoining door to the Queen’s chamber opened. Queen Charlotte’s entrance into the room with two of her daughters came as a respite more than anything. “Lady Aribella, you will walk at my side.”
The other three stiffened. To serve as the lady on the Queen’s side was the highest honor. As the Queen’s highest lady, the official court lady-in-waiting, Aribella would have her ear and would be in a position to give opinions on those at court, remind the Queen of names of those around her, run errands, and in any other way serve as the Queen’s companion.
Aribella curtsied. “An honor, Your Majesty. I hope I can be worthy of such consideration.”
The Queen waved her hand as though such things mattered not. “You will join my daughters and me.”
The door opened again, and the King himself stepped into the room, surprising even the Queen, who jumped and then smiled, holding out her hand.
