That, Francesca thought, was the true horror of aristocratic efficiency.
“Have you ever hosted a dinner?” Lady Upton asked.
“Of course,” Francesca said, “but never one so prestigious.”
“No matter. Political dinners are merely ordinary dinners which require precise seating arrangements and excellent wine.”
Francesca bit back another smile.
Lady Upton went on. “I shall consult Upton about the list, of course. He will have opinions. Men enjoy opinions, especially when they believe them to be invited. Are there any particularMembers of Parliament whom you regard as essential to your cause?”
The question, for once, was not absurd.
Francesca immediately thought of Harcourt, which annoyed her. He was polished to the point of danger and agreed with her too readily to be wholly trusted. Yet if the dinner were to be shaped around reform as something intelligent rather than alarming, he would be of use. She thought, too, of younger gentlemen in the Commons who had spoken cautiously on wages, corn, and manufactory discipline—gentlemen without glamour but perhaps with conscience enough to matter. She could not name them impulsively. “I should like to consider,” she said slowly, “and consult with Sir Percival.”
Lady Upton nodded at once. “Excellent. He will know who can be trusted to dine without becoming tiresome.”
Lady Upton, perhaps sensing some shift in her protégée’s silence, did not press. Instead, she rose with sudden, alarming energy and crossed to the bell-pull. “There. That is settled.”
“Settled?” Francesca repeated.
“The guest list is not, but what comes first certainly is.”
“What might that be?” Francesca was afraid to hear the answer.
Lady Upton pulled the bell with the firm conviction of a woman summoning not a servant but destiny. “Your wardrobe.”
Francesca blinked. “My wardrobe?”
“Yes. Your toilette must beà la modeif you are to host important ladies at table without allowing them to think you have inherited only money and no judgement.”
“Surely what I say will matter more than what I wear?”
Lady Upton turned and looked at her as if such innocence ought to be preserved in glass. “My dear,” she said, “what you wear determines whether they are prepared to hear what you say.”
That was, Francesca thought grimly, probably true. Truth was forever lending itself to dreadful causes.
The butler appeared in answer to the summons.
“Send for the carriage again,” Lady Upton said.
Francesca rose more slowly than her preceptress had done. “Now?”
“Immediately. We must beat the rush.”
“Rush?”
“Modistes are reserved years in advance. Years, Francesca. Births, deaths, and marriages may all be uncertain, but a lady of purpose secures her fittings in advance of what is certain. Thankfully, Madame Monique is always willing to oblige me.”
Francesca had seen enough in the last fortnight to believe that the whole of London must be willing to oblige Lady Upton, no matter what she required.
“Do not look so startled. It was a matter of silk, diplomacy, and another lady’s appalling taste. I resolved it to the satisfaction of all involved and, in addition to my customary standing, was promised eternal gratitude, which I shall now claim in muslin and silk.”
This was said with such calm authority that it became impossible for Francesca to resist smiling.
“I begin to think that no one in London does anything without owing or being owed in some form or another.”
Lady Upton’s eyes gleamed. “At last, my dear, you are learning how to go on.”
