Blanche clapped her hands. “Oh, I remember my first fancy-dress ball. I wore a tiara that the Empress of Josephine once owned. It was all diamonds and belonged to my grandmother. Do you have tiaras in America?”
“There’s no royalty in America,” Cordelia said patiently. “But my mother has a rather pretty tiara and diamond bracelets that belonged to Marie Antoinette. She often wore them to parties.”
“You must miss your mother greatly, poor girl.”
Cordelia almost said yes, but the truth was far more complicated than a simple yes or no. She’d longed for her mother’s love and approval her whole life. Cordelia was never pretty enough or polished enough for her mother. Every time she’d eaten dinner or even had tea with her mother, it was always a test of her manners, her posture, and her mastery of languages. Perhaps now that she was a countess, she’d finally have her mother’s elusive approval. But Cordelia no longer wanted her mother’s affections or approbation. She wanted nothing to do with the woman who bartered her own daughter for social advancement.
“I miss my home,” she said at last. “And my friends. But I am eager to make new friends here. Lois thought that a small party before the Season would be easier for me to meet people. She even promised to bring a prince!”
“A prince; how wonderful,” Blanche agreed. “I recall meeting the Prince of Wales when I was a debutante.”
“What about you, Penelope?” Cordelia asked, trying to include her in the conversation.
“I’ve never had a London Season.”
“Oh,” Cordelia said, and swallowed. “Well then, this party will be an excellent opportunity for a us both to make new friends before it starts.”
“I don’t have any dresses.”
“We can go shopping.”
“There is no need,” Penelope said stiffly. “I’ll get the paper for the invitations.”
30
Cordelia changed out of her morning dress to a more elaborate dress required for luncheon. She sometimes felt that the majority of her day was spent changing her clothes. The ostentatiousness of it made her uncomfortable. Every time she visited the poor in Petersley with her tins of food, she wore a new glamorous dress, while the ladies she visited wore their same homespun clothes.
The disparity between her life and theirs struck her forcibly each time. She didn’t ascribe to the British aristocracy’s belief that by their noble birth they deserved the finer things of life. The American way of earning status based on work and success didn’t seem to apply here at all. She didn’t know their husbands, but she knew that these women worked very hard taking care of their homes, gardens, children, and often elderly relatives. But it seemed like they were stuck in the same slot they had been born into. There wasn’t the same chance for upward mobility as in America. At least, not without innovation or inventions. And a bit of luck.
Cordelia sat through a very boring lunch without Thomas. She couldn’t help but wonder where he was. The ladies weren’t entirely without masculine company. Mr. Ryse, the rector of Petersley, was there. He gave fulsome smiles to Blanche and she giggled in return. Cordelia wouldn’t have called him her beau, for she didn’t think that her mother-in-law had any intentions of marrying the minister. She would lose her rank and position if she did. But Blanche did seem pleased when he came to dine with them, which was altogether too frequently for Cordelia’s taste.
“Lady Farnham,” he said sycophantically. “Miss Walker has shown me the new books you purchased for the school. They are as fine as you’ll find anywhere but a bit extravagant for a village school.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Cordelia said with a polite smile. “The children in the village deserve the best education they can get.”
“A basic education is good enough for any common child,” Mr. Ryse said. “Reading, writing, and arithmetic. Music and the arts should be reserved for the upper classes whose minds are naturally more receptive to their teachings.”
Agnes must have also told the rector about Cordelia’s music classes on Fridays.
“My paternal grandfather left home with only fifteen cents in his pocket and no formal education at all, but he managed to acquire a fortune of over fifteen million dollars from hard work and ingenuity. One’s station in life does not equal one’s intelligence or possibility for advancement.”
“In the Bible, it talks about casting pearls before swine.”
“And are you suggesting that the village children are swine and books are pearls?”
“Oh! Are we talking about books?” Blanche asked. “We used to have a lovely library at Ashdown, so many beautiful books. But they are all gone now. Like so many of the pretty things in this house—gone.”
Penelope placed a hand on Blanche’s arm.
“Cordelia has brought many fine things from America,” Blanche said. “It’s a fascinating place from all accounts. Did you know many Indians, Cordelia?”
Startled by the question, Cordelia was embarrassed to admit that she hadn’t. “I am afraid not.”
“Did you know any cowboys?”
“I believe there are more cowboys in the western parts of America,” Cordelia explained. “New York is like any European city.”
Blanche shook her head. “New York is too young to be like Paris or London.”
