return from a visit to town.”
“You know of course that the Prince was declared Regent earlier this year?” Olivia looked at her doubtfully.
“Yes, dearest. Papa takes The Times. I am aware that trade has been bad, because of Napoleon’s blockade of Europe, and that unemployment is high. I didn’t mean that sort of news…a little gossip perhaps, something that is setting the Ton by its ears?”
Olivia gave a little giggle, her face losing some of its strain.
“Oh, that sort of news…what can I tell you? Oh yes, apart from all the usual scandals, there is something rather exciting going on at the moment…”
She had taken off her outer clothing now, revealing a pretty travelling-gown of green velvet.
“There is a new French modiste in town. She is the protégée of Madame Marie-Anne Coulanges, who was herself once apprenticed to Rose Bertin—who, you must know, was a favourite dressmaker to Queen Marie Antoinette.” Olivia paused for effect. “They say Madame Coulanges was once a friend of Madame Félice’s mama, and that is why she has taken her up—anyway, she presented her to her clients, and Madame Félice has taken the town by storm.”
Beatrice smiled as she saw the glow in her sister’s eyes. Her little ruse had worked, and Olivia had lost her shyness.
“How old is Madame Félice?”
“Oh, not more than two-and-twenty at the most, I would think. She has pretty, pale hair, but she keeps it hidden beneath a rather fetching cap most of the time, and her eyes are a greenish blue. I think she might be beautiful if she dressed in gowns as elegant as those she makes for her clientele, but of course it would not be correct for her to do so. Though no one really knows much about her…she is something of a mystery.”
“How exciting. Tell me, dearest, is she very clever at making gowns?”
“Oh, yes, very. Everyone, simply everyone, is dying to get their hands on at least one of her gowns—but she is particular about who she dresses. Would you believe it? I heard she actually turned down the Marchioness of Rossminster, because she had no style! She will dress only those women she thinks can carry off her fabulous gowns. Of course they are the most beautiful clothes you have ever seen. No one can touch her for elegance and quality.” Olivia dropped her gaze. “She was very nice to me. I have one of her gowns and she was to have made a part of my wedding trousseau…” Her cheeks fired up as she spoke. “I have the gown she made for me in my trunks. I will show it to you later, if you wish?”
“I would like very much to see it,” Beatrice said. “If it is as smart as the one you are wearing…it must be lovely.”
She had been about to say that her sister would have little opportunity to wear her beautiful clothes now, but bit the words back before she was so cruel as to remind Olivia of all that she had lost.
“We shall talk of other things later,” she said. “There is much to talk about, Olivia—but we have time enough.”
“Yes,” Olivia said, losing the sparkle she had gained when telling her sister the news about Madame Félice. “Of course, London is thin of company now. I believe the Regent is to leave London for Brighton at the end of this month…Oh, that is today, isn’t it?”
Her mouth drooped as though she were remembering that she would no longer be a part of the extravagant set that surrounded the Prince Regent and privileged society. However, the arrival of the tea-tray and the delicious cakes that Beatrice had spent the morning baking brought her out of the doldrums a little.
“These are delightful,” she said, choosing from the pretty silver cake-basket and chewing a small, nutty biscuit. “Quite as good as anything I have tasted anywhere.”
“Beatrice made those for you herself,” Nan said. “They are Bosworth Jumbles, but Beatrice adds her own special ingredients to the recipe, which some say was picked up on the battlefield at Bosworth in 1485, hence its name. Your sister will make some lucky gentleman an excellent wife one day.”
“Did you really make them?” Olivia stared at her. “You are so clever. I have never cooked anything in my life.”
“I can teach you if you like, and there is a very good manual by Mrs Rundle, called Domestic Cookery,” Beatrice said. “I know it may seem tedious at first, Olivia, but living in the country has its compensations. We have nut trees and fruit from our own orchards, berries from the kitchen gardens, and we make our own jams and preserves. It can be a rewarding way to pass the time.”
“Yes, of course.” Olivia lifted her head, as though wanting to show she was not above such things. “Yes, I am sure I shall soon settle in…”
Chapter Three
Beatrice took her sister up to her room half an hour later. She had offered to help her unpack her trunks, being reasonably certain that Olivia had never had to do so for herself before. Olivia had accepted and was now showing her some of the lovely clothes she had brought with her.
“These are only a few of my gowns,” she told Beatrice. “I left some of the more elaborate ones behind. I shall scarcely need the gown I wore to be presented to the Regent at my coming out…or most of my ballgowns. Lady Burton did say she would send them on…” Olivia blinked rapidly to stave off the tears gathering in her eyes. “She was kinder than Lord Burton…she said she would be prepared to forgive me, but that he was adamant the connection must be cut.”
“Well, perhaps he will relent in time…”
“No.” Olivia’s lovely face was pale but proud. “I do not wish to return to their house…ever. What I did was right, and I shall not grovel to be forgiven.”
The subject was dropped, for Beatrice did not like to see her sister so upset. Instead, she exclaimed over the gowns they were unpacking, especially the one made by Madame Félice, the extraordinary French modiste who had suddenly arrived in town some months earlier.
“It is very lovely,” she said, holding it against herself. The jewel green of the fine silk actually became Beatrice very well, setting off the colour of her hair, and was, of course, far more stylish than anything she had ever made for herself. “No wonder everyone is so anxious to order from her—but does no one know where she worked before she came to London? Was it in Paris?”
“No one seems to know anything about her before she set up her shop…but they whisper that she is the mistress of a very rich man.”
“Oh, why do they say that?” Beatrice looked at her curiously.
“They say she brought money to Madame Coulanges’s salon. It stands to reason. She must have a protector—where else would she get the money to set herself up in a fashionable establishment? If she had no money, she would be desperate to take any order…”
“Yes, I see the reasoning behind such gossip,” Beatrice replied. She frowned. Her education had been to say the least unusual, and her opinions were strong in such matters. “But I do not see that the money must have come from a protector. Why cannot a woman be successful for herself, without the aid of a man? Why must everyone always assume the worst? There could be other reasons why she was able to bring money to Madame Coulanges. Perhaps she inherited some from a wealthy relative, and used it to set herself up in business. She might even have won
