The
Bodice Ripper
by Seraphic McAmbrose
Author of “The Tragical
Tale of Aelianus of England”, “The Widow of St. Pierre”, etc.
PART 1
Chapter 1
'Oh, fie,
mademoiselle', said Prudence, tossing her powdered locks with a
smile. 'I cannot see how reading Livy will prepare me for adult life.
It is all right for Mama as she is a blue-stocking, but Livy does not
interest me'.
Mademoiselle
Blanche, seated by the fire in the pleasant painted schoolroom,
clapped shut the yellow leather book.
'Ma chère
Prudence,' she said with a sigh. 'You know very well that your father
wishes you to be a fit companion one day for a man of sense. Besides,
you never know—God forbid!—you may one day have to make your own
way in the world. If the current terror in my beloved France teaches
us anything, it is that life is uncertain and anything can happen.
Indeed this lesson is taught by Livy, too. Consider poor Lucretia'.
'I care not a rush
for revolutions,' cried Prudence, 'for we have more stability in
Scotland now than we have ever had before. Nothing will happen to
King George. Why, not even Papa is a Jacobite anymore, and although I
have my doubts about Uncle Hewbert, what can one man do? Meanwhile, I
will never have to make a living because Mama's fortune is huge, and
besides I am terribly pretty'.
'O mon Dieu,
Prudence, you must not say such things,' said Mademoiselle Blanche.
'If you did not know that you were pretty, you would be even
prettier, so the best policy is to try to forget that you are'.
But it was too
late. Prudence had bounced up from her ornate chair and rushed to the
large looking glass at the end of the schoolroom. There she beheld a
beautifully slim maid of sixteen with sparkling blue eyes and thin
dark eyebrows under lightly powdered chestnut hair. Her complexion
was that of an apple blossom, and her small full lips resembled a
rose bud in May. Prudence wore a white and blue calico dress trimmed
with ribbons, and as she curtsied to her own image in the glass, it
was clear that she had studied with the finest dancing masters in
Edinburgh.
'May you have this
dance?' she asked an invisible partner. 'I don't know, Lord
Balustrade. Let me consult my book. Ah, here is your name for the
cotillion. Very well then'.
And rising to her
toes, Prudence began the steps of the dance.
'O fie,' she said
to the invisible man. 'Lord Balustrade, you should not say such
things. Your fortune does not tempt me. I shall marry an Indian
officer and go to India where there are elephants. I have always
wanted an elephant; it is my principal ambition'.
'Is it indeed?'
sniffed the governess. 'Last week your ambition was to marry a great
composer like your papa and travel to the Austrian court. The week
before that your ambition was to marry a Highland lord and keep
sheep. And the week before that you wished to marry an officer in the
Household Guards, principally because of the uniform'.
Prudence concluded
her dance with a curtsy that would have brought a sigh of delight to
the lips of Monsieur Pétain,
her dancing master du jour.
'That is true,'
she admitted. 'My ideal gentleman changes, but I have always wanted
an elephant, you know. I do not care who I marry, just so long as he
is young and handsome and gives me an elephant'.
'And what is all
this?' demanded a manly voice. 'This, I believe, is the hour for
Latin, not for dancing'.
Mademoiselle
Blanche stood and swept the newcomer a gentle curtsy, her heart
beating rather fast. Although five and forty winters had besieged
his brow, the Earl of Grunstane was a very handsome man. He retained
the slim figure of his youth, and although thoroughly masculine, he
was just as graceful as his daughter. Indeed, where looks were
concerned the Earl was an older, male version of Prudence. He might
have been mistaken for an older brother, not her father, were it not
for the grey in his hair, which was today concealed by the latest
fashion in wigs. His blue eyes were usually merry, but today they
held a stern light.
'O Papa.'
exclaimed Prudence. She tripped lightly across the floor and sank
into an exaggerated obeisance. 'Papa, you will be so proud: we have
reached the story of Lucretia, and I did not need my dictionary more
than thrice per line'.
'Thrice per line,
eh? Alas, my daughter, despite the heroic efforts of Mademoiselle de
la Curtain, I do not think we will make a scholar out of you .
However, do not be downcast: I have not come to scold but to tell you
to look sharp. I expect you down to supper tonight.'
Prudence gasped.
'I?'
'Yes, you. No,
no—don't crush my coat; it is new. If my tailor could see you he
would swoon. Your mother and I have decided that it is high time you
left the schoolroom and took your first steps in society. Your
mother'—here he coughed a little—'is under the impression that
perhaps you are too young yet to be thinking of marriage, but my
feeling is that in these still uncertain times it would be well to
yoke you to a man of sense'.
'Goodness' said
Prudence. 'Yoke is a frightening word, Papa. It makes me feel like a
prize heifer'.
'Yes, well, it is
in both the Bible and the Prayer Book, and for heaven's sake don't
say things like that at supper. Our only guest will be the Reverend
Hewbert Robinson, but even there—perhaps especially there—you
must be careful'.
'Oh', said
Prudence, disappointed. 'Just Uncle Hewbert? I mean'—for she saw
the flash of steel reappear in her father's eyes—'that will be
lovely. Thank you, Papa'.
'Yes, and as you
are old enough now for supper parties, you might want to stop calling
Uncle Hewbert, “Uncle Hewbert.” He is not really your uncle, you
know, but my dear friend of Oxford days'.
'How funny it will
be to call old Uncle Hewbert “Mister Robinson”, but I will
endeavour to please you, Papa. Goodness, how handsome we look in the
looking glass. Look, Papa, I am a miniature female version of you.
How funny that I look so much like you when my brother Egbert looks
so much like Mama'.
'Yes,' said the
Earl of Grunstane. He looked in the glass and smiled wryly as he
thought of his plump blond son now away at Eton.
'However did you
come to marry Mama anyway?' asked Prudence. 'I mean, I love Mama. She
is the most wonderful mother in the world, but she has never been
pretty, and everyone says that you are the most handsome man in
Edinburgh and environs'.
'Lady Prudence!'
gasped her governess.
'I'm just asking,'
said Prudence, pouting.
'Your mother is a
woman of good sense,' said the earl as his eyebrows joined
threateningly over his straight nose. 'Beauty is only skin deep. Any
man of sense would say the same. It is not youth and beauty that
count in a marriage, although they don't hurt, of course. What count
are character and the ability to inspire both respect and affection
in the bosom.'
He took a turn
around the room gesticulating with one hand while he held the other
behind his back. Perhaps it was unusual in a gentleman to be an
artist and a composer, but the earl was an unusually expressive man.
'When I met your
mother, it is true that at first I was inclined to overlook her for
her more beautiful friends. However, I was much struck when, during
a dance at the home of the late Lord Hailes, I overheard her debating
David Hume in the most natural and friendly fashion. At the time I
was so frustrated by the insipid remarks of my dance partner that at
the first opportunity I secured a dance with the learnèd
Miss Fairfax and asked her to do me the honour of becoming my wife.'
He smiled at the
memory.
'She was very
surprised, of course, but being a woman of good sense, she told me
that she was inclined to favour my suit but that I must ask your
grandpapa.'
'Did he jump at
the chance?' asked Prudence.
'Prudence,' gasped
Mademoiselle Blanche, but the earl merely laughed and dusted off the
embroidered cuffs of his coat.
'What do you
think?'
Prudence clapped
her hands and danced around the room.
'What a romantic
story, Papa. I hope I can one day tell my own daughter something
similar'.
'So do I, my
child, and thus I hope you will comport yourself in a way that will
render not only your looks but your mind and conversation of interest
to a man of good sense'.
'I will, Papa, I
will!'
'Very good,' said
the earl and prepared to leave. 'Just one last thing. I believe your
mother has purchased in town a beautiful new bodice for you. I think
you should wear it'.
With that he left
the schoolroom, tramped down the stairs to the enfilade and then
strode along it to his suite.
'And a new bodice,
too,' said Prudence, again clapping her pretty hands. 'How excited I am,
though it is of course only supper with Uncle Hewbert. Still, it is a
start, and soon I will be able to bid adieu to Latin forever.
Good-bye, Lucretia, good-bye!'
©D
Cummings McLean 2015
And we're back! Hooray!
ReplyDeleteBrava! I've missed The Bodice Ripper. Hoping for more installments.
ReplyDeleteCheck back on Sundays. It will be a Sunday serial until I get it done.
ReplyDelete