A Magnificent Match (3 page)

“My father’s extreme disapprobation could not have been anything but a blight against their happiness,” said Megan. “He refused to acknowledge them for months. Yet I do not think that either Celeste or Patrick have ever held it against him.”

“Indeed, their forbearance has been remarkable. However, it would have been so much easier on everyone if Celeste had had the advantage of a London Season and had been courted in the usual way,” said Mrs. Tyler, shaking her head as she recalled those turbulent times. Her thoughts naturally turned into common channels. “What a pity that you have not yet had a Season, Megan, for I believe that you would go off very well.”

“Dear Gwyneth! I think that you harbor greater hopes for my future than I do,” said Megan, smiling at her companion.

“Nonsense! Only see how excited you are at the prospect of a come-out in St. Petersburg,” said Mrs. Tyler, glancing up with a smile. “I do hope that Princess Kirov does well by you. Indeed, I pray that she does. It would be the height of anything were you to meet some eligible gentleman.”

“I had supposed that you might wish to accompany me, Gwyneth. I own, I would feel more comfortable with a friend beside me. But if you prefer to remain here in Ireland with my mother until she returns to London, I shall not be inconsolable,” said Megan.

There was a moment of silence. Then Mrs. Tyler said feelingly, “You are an awful girl.”

“Then you’ll go?” asked Megan.

“Of course I shall, as you well knew,” said Mrs. Tyler tartly. A smile hovered about her mouth. “Perhaps I shall meet a few princes myself.”

Megan hugged the shorter woman. “I knew that you would prefer to go with me! And so I have already persuaded my mother to allow me to outfit us both with proper wardrobes. I envision a perfect orgy of shopping, Gwyneth! You cannot be a respectable chaperone and accompany me to balls and other functions without looking the part.”

Mrs. Tyler chuckled. “I own, it does sound to be rather fun.”

“Good! I intend to leave for England directly after the dress ball. Colin is to escort us over. We shall stay at the town house while we are in London, of course,” said Megan. “I shall write a note to that effect and put it into the post today. I do not know how long we shall be there before we depart for Russia. Indeed, it depends entirely upon the extent of our wardrobe requirements.”

“But do you know of a decent modiste?” asked Mrs. Tyler.

“Indeed I do.” A hint of mischief entered Megan’s smoke-gray eyes. “We are going to visit my mother’s very own modiste,” she said, rising to her feet and going to the door again.

“Isn’t Mademoiselle Rochet rather expensive?” asked Mrs. Tyler hesitantly.

“Shockingly so,” said Megan cheerfully. “And we are to send all of the bills to Mr. Henry for whatever we need. My mother explicitly said so.” Her eyes twinkled. “I anticipate needing a terribly lot, Gwyneth.”

“Oh, my,” said Mrs. Tyler with perfect and dismayed understanding.

Megan laughed and whisked herself out of the parlor.

Once each year during her annual sojourn in Ireland, Lady O’Connell held a dinner and grand dress ball. It was not that she particularly wished to do so or even enjoyed it. In her opinion, nothing which was not done in London was of any interest. However, the dress ball was extremely important to Lord O’Connell and she perforce bowed to his wishes.

Lord O’Connell was one of the few Irish landowners who still had hereditary lands. Once impoverished, he had managed to keep hearth and home together by consistently winning races with his own well-bred stock. Then he had had the good fortune to marry an English heiress and he was able to enlarge his stables. He began to sell racers, hunters, and jumpers.

The annual grand dress ball was not so much an entertainment as it was an opportunity to extol the good points of Lord O’Connell’s stock. Personages from all over Europe regularly journeyed to Ireland for a long house visit at the O’Connell estate. The grand dress ball was the opening gambit of the gathering and was followed by shooting forays, steeplechases, and foxhunting. Through it all, business was conducted. The negotiations were heavy and long, but several lucrative transactions were always completed. Thus was the wealth of the O’Connells generated over and above what the estate might ordinarily bring in.

Lady O’Connell was bored by the incessant talk of horses that pervaded the entertainments under Lord O’Connell’s aegis. She much preferred visiting with her own set in London and Paris, but she knew what her lord demanded of her. Lady O’Connell had always collected acquaintances with ease and frequently these same individuals descended upon the Irish countryside in the dreary winter months. It was the only entertainment that Lady O’Connell could look forward to during her exile from the cosmopolitan world.

Lord O’Connell had no objection to his wife’s friends. They were potential buyers, after all. Nor had he any objection to the wife of his bosom fleeing to London as soon as spring announced its coming. He was content as long as he had an efficient hostess for the fall and winter months when he entertained the world and sold his horses.

His lordship’s heir, the Honorable Lionel O’Connell, had embraced the horse-based economy of the estate with a passion that was nearly equal that of his parent. He pursued a possible transaction with the tenacity usually reserved for a lover in pursuit of the object of his affection. His wife, Sophronia, had good reason to know that she was not particularly important to her husband’s comfort. Thus she rather monotonously complained about the advent of the guests and gleaned all that she could about each personage’s personal limitations in finances in order to prick her husband’s hopes of making a good deal.

Each year Captain Colin O’Connell made his annual pilgrimage to his parents’ home. His presence was acknowledged not with fondness but with satisfaction. He was wanted solely for window dressing. There were not many who could equal him as a rider. He made the horses look and perform at their best. If it were not for his sisters, Celeste and Megan, he would have stopped coming back to Ireland altogether.

Megan was regarded in much the same light as her brother, Colin. She had light hands and an unexceptional seat on any mount. Her erect, graceful carriage on a horse enhanced its good points. During company, she was always tricked out in the finest of riding habits. Indeed, she practically lived in that attire year-round, preserving her best habits for the annual houseparty and wearing her old ones for everyday use.

There was little place in Megan’s life for an extensive wardrobe, since she rarely went anywhere but to the parish church or on an occasional jaunt to her elderly aunt and uncle in England. She therefore possessed but a handful of day dresses and other necessary additions to a female’s wardrobe. She had only one ballgown, commissioned two years before. It did not occur to Lady O’Connell to wonder whether her daughter’s ballgown was still sufficient for the upcoming grand dress ball. Nor had Megan thought about it, except in a fleeting manner that had always been superseded by more pressing concerns.

That evening as Megan tried on her old ballgown, she had cause to regret her lack of forethought. The ballgown had been let out once the previous year. There was therefore no allowance left to accommodate the maturing of her form into more womanly curves.

Megan tugged on the inadequate bodice with dismay. “It is impossible, Gwyneth,” she said.

“I own, it leaves much to be desired,” said Mrs. Tyler dubiously, regarding the younger woman standing at the mirror.

Megan looked at her companion’s reflection. Her lips twitching on a smile, she said, “That is not in the least amusing, Gwyneth, when I am all but spilling out of the top of the thing.”

“Oh! Quite so,” said Mrs. Tyler, flushing and yet laughing over her inadvertent pun. “Perhaps a shawl would help. I have a lovely Norwich silk that you may borrow.”

“I suppose that it might do,” said Megan hopefully.

Mrs. Tyler left the bedroom to retrieve the shawl. When she returned, she said, “Here you are, my dear. I do hope that it will do the trick.”

With her maid’s help, Megan tried the shawl in various positions. She soon shook her head. “It’s no use. It simply won’t do. I look like a noddy with it tied up around my throat and if I drape it, it is likely to slither loose at the most inopportune time.”

“Yes, so I see,” said Mrs. Tyler.

Megan turned around and sighed. “I cannot go downstairs in this gown, Gwyneth. It is positively indecent. And yet, what can I do? My father will be highly displeased if he were to be informed that I will not make up one of the company. His lordship likes me to talk up the horses to the ladies.”

Mrs. Tyler shook her head sympathetically. It was indeed a dilemma. Lord O’Connell was insistent that every member of his family be available during the houseparty. Even Celeste’s present condition did not absolve her from what his lordship perceived as her duties toward the family fortunes. If Celeste was well enough to abide under his roof instead of her own, then she was well enough to comply with his wishes.

Mrs. Tyler thought for a moment, then rose to her feet. “Wait here, Megan. I shall be back presently.”

“What have you got in mind?” asked Megan hopefully.

“I shan’t say just yet, for I don’t know whether I shall be successful,” said Mrs. Tyler.

Megan watched her companion leave the bedroom for the second time. She looked at her maid. “I hope that Mrs. Tyler is able to provide a solution, Betty.”

The maid bobbed her head in agreement. “Aye, miss.” She eyed the outgrown ballgown with disfavor. She would not voice it out loud, but it was a terrible crime that her mistress was reduced to such pitiful straits as these.

When Mrs. Tyler returned, she brought with her Lady O’Connell’s dresser. She gestured at Megan, who was still attired in the inadequate ballgown. “Now see, Simpkins. It is just as I have described to you,” said Mrs. Tyler. “Can there be anything done?”

“You should not have bothered Simpkins,” said Megan with a reproving frown. She was embarrassed that the haughty dresser had been brought in.

“It is quite all right, miss. Mrs. Tyler explained the problem and it would be odd, indeed, if I thought myself to be above the challenge,” said Simpkins. “Now let me see what must be done.”

Megan had no choice but to accept the situation. She stood docilely while the dresser poked and pulled and frowned over the ballgown. Finally the dresser shook her head and stepped back. “Even I cannot make that gown appear decent, miss,” she pronounced. “I could hobstitch a length of deep lace around the borders of the bodice, but it would be an obvious addition and scarcely adequate, besides. I recommend that the thing be given away or put into the ragbag.”

Megan looked at the dresser, then at Mrs. Tyler. “But then what is to be done, Gwyneth? I haven’t got another gown.”

“Oh, dear. I had so hoped that Simpkins—” Mrs. Tyler cut off the rest of what she was about to say. She made a determined effort to smile. “It is very bad, of course, but we shall simply have to make the best of the situation. I shall convey your regrets to Lady O’Connell with an explanation and hope that you are not missed too soon.”

The dresser cleared her throat. Her expression as haughty as ever, she said, “If I may make a suggestion, miss? I have in my possession a gown that may prove adequate this once. It is a style that will be simple to alter to your figure.”

“I am very willing to put myself in your hands, Simpkins,” said Megan. “But will not my mother take exception to me wearing a gown that she commissioned for herself?”

“The gown is one that Lady O’Connell took an unreasoning and sudden dislike to while we were still in London. I believe that her ladyship saw one of her acquaintances attired in something very similar,” said Simpkins woodenly.

“Oh, I see,” said Megan. She smiled suddenly. “Thank you, Simpkins. I should like to try the gown.”

The dresser nodded and let herself out of the bedroom. In short order, she returned, bearing a cascade of silk in her arms. She shook out the folds of the gown and addressed the maid. “You there, girl. Get that dress off and then help me throw this over your mistress’s head.”

Megan’s maid nodded, not daring to say a word. The two servingwomen tossed the gown over Megan’s head and smoothed it down her body. The maid hooked it up the back swiftly while the dresser began to pleat and pull at the fabric.

“Yes, I think that it can be managed,” said Simpkins thoughtfully. “If we take a tuck here and here, and a third one here, the extra fullness will not be noticeable. What do you think, miss?”

Megan critically looked at herself in the mirror. She was standing in a ballgown of watered ivory silk that enhanced her red hair and fair coloring. Puffed at the shoulder, the long sleeves of the gown tapered over the hand. The bodice was cut low, but even so was not as revealing as her old gown, and the waistline was high. Rows upon rows of frothy bows and point lace decorated the bosom of the dress and the skirt.

“It is lovely, except for these bows,” said Megan, touching one of the offending frills at the bosom.

The dresser nodded. “Quite right, miss. But that is a simple matter to remedy. I took the precaution of bringing along my sewing basket.” As she was speaking, she brought out a pair of small sharp shears and began snipping off many of the bows. When she was done, she looked critically at the ballgown. “Aye, that will do. Now we’ll simply take it in and you will be suitably attired for the evening.”

Megan watched the dresser work her magic with the gown. In a matter of half an hour, the ballgown had undergone a subtle transformation. The busy look of the bows had been reduced to discreet touches. The voluminousness of the skirt had disappeared. Megan could not quite believe how sophisticated she appeared. “You are a wonder, Simpkins,” she said quietly.

The dresser’s face reddened, but she merely nodded.

Megan turned to the dresser. She was touched by the dresser’s ministrations, for she knew that the discards from a lady’s wardrobe always became the property of the lady’s maid and actually constituted part of the tiring-woman’s income. “I cannot thank you enough, Simpkins, especially when I know that you have sacrificed this gown for me.”