The Bal de l'Opéra was created by a royal order that was dated 31 December 1715, and it first took place on the 2nd of January of the new year.
It was understood that Marie-Antoinette herself had attended the ball during her reign, though as everyone was masked it could never be proven. In excess of a hundred years after its debut, the ball still afforded an evening among the masses for those who were not permitted, or able, to show their faces in society. In early days, it had allowed women in mourning to dress and behave in a manner not befitting their grief, and many took advantage of the anonymity the ball offered. The same still applied to the straight-laced ladies who would not be caught dead at a function of this type – unless, of course, they could not be identified from under a mask.
There were traditionally two nights of balls, and Alexander had chosen the second one, as those who felt they must be seen would have shown up in the most outrageous, and often risqué, costumes for the first ball. The second ball, later in the week, was widely known as the one chosen by the more moderate, but still lavish, personalities. After two weeks of wedded bliss, Alexander had no illusions that Charlotte was a prude – he simply thought that the second celebration might be less jarring for her first foray into the unique event that is the Parisian masked ball.
Alexander's stories of the exploits of those who had attended the ball in the past had kept Charlotte entertained for a number of their conversations during the week. As an adventurer, she was thrilled to see what would transpire inside the rue de Richelieu Opera House – at the same time she believed it would remind her how precious her "normal" life was at Heyrick Park.
The dress Alexander had asked Madame Labarge to make for Charlotte was exquisite. Before it was covered by her blue velvet cloak, her husband asked her to do a spin for him, and the skirt blossomed out in shimmering waves of silken fabric with the underskirt of deep blue, and the sheer overskirt woven through with silver threads. Even with her corset slightly looser than it had been when her measurements had been taken, Charlotte's décolletage rose above the neckline of the gown to what she thought was a slightly alarming degree.
"Is this too much?" she asked in front of the mirror, a perplexed frown on her face.
"In Paris?" Alexander said, laughing softly. "No. Not in the least. And to be honest, I am not seeing a remarkable amount more of your lovely soft skin than was evident at the ball in Sanditon." He could not stop himself from leaning down and kissing her, just below her throat.
Charlotte sighed under the touch of his lips. "It may have been my imagination, but I believe I did see you steal a glance or two during our dance," she said, raising an eyebrow.
Alexander's head shot up and he looked her in the eyes. "I challenge you to walk for a moment in my shoes, my love. My governess, for whom I am beginning to have very strong feelings of the amorous type, turns around as I enter through the doors of the Assembly Rooms, looking like this…" he allowed his fingertips to trail lightly across her skin at the top of her breasts, causing gooseflesh to appear, "...and I am expected to remain calm after only having seen her in the most modest of day dresses and pelisses…"
As Charlotte laughed, Alexander shook his head. "You do have the most beautiful eyes, but there was a secondary reason mine were riveted there. I was desperately trying not to look at the rest of you."
She gazed at him with soft eyes. "And now you may look whenever you would like." She pulled closer to him and pressed her lips to his, and he took her into his arms.
"This is exactly what I wanted to do at the ball…" he murmured, kissing her down over her shoulders.
Smiling, Charlotte sighed. "Then you are a man of great restraint," she said softly.
"Yet I was not at the end of the evening at Heyrick House in the drawing room."
"I seem to recall I was not fighting you off." Charlotte closed her eyes. "Oh, that kiss. What a revelation. I felt your passion while we danced, in your eyes. But when you kissed me, the depths of feeling just under the surface… I think I knew then that it would be futile to attempt to resist you."
"And now?"
"Even more futile, for now I know in fine detail what that passion leads to…" she said. "But if we do not stop talking in this manner, I fear this dress will never leave this room." Charlotte reached over to her dressing table and picked up her peacock feather mask held at the end of a beribboned wand. "Am I anonymous enough to behave in scandalous ways?"
"I would hardly know it was you," Alexander said, smiling. "And I?"
He had opted for a forest green jacket that matched the colors in Charlotte's mask, and a silver brocade waistcoat that echoed the shimmering threads in her gown. The cravat he wore was evening blue silk, made by Madame Labarge of the same fabric as Charlotte's gown. His mask was of black leather, which matched the black of his trousers. Together, they stood in front of the mirror and thought they presented quite a stunning pair.
"These ensembles would have every head turning in Sanditon," he said, smiling. "Tonight, we will be considered conservative."
"I think we look perfectly lovely," Charlotte said. "I wonder if we could commission another painting from Charles in addition to the family portrait. This one we could hang in our bedroom."
Alexander turned to her, his eyes full of love. "I will ask for a painting for every room if it pleases you…" He leaned down and kissed her gently. "I continue to search for the words to tell you how happy you have made me."
She reached her hand up to his cheek. "When you find them, do let me know, because they would be the same words I struggle to conjure."
They stood for a moment simply gazing at each other in the mirror, and then Alexander squeezed her hand. "Are you ready for The Bal de l'Opéra, my love?"
"I am ready for anything," she said, her eyes sparkling.
Alexander pulled the cloak around her shoulders and found his hat and gloves. "Off we go," he said grandly. "Our carriage awaits!"
My dearest Drew,
Leonora fell out of a tree today. It was bound to happen sooner rather than later, the way she scampers after squirrels and crawling things. We were lucky she was on a lower branch, and that she seems generally to be composed of hard rubber, but she still managed to break her wrist, poor thing.
She was playing with the Parkers' children in plain sight of Mary and Mrs. Wheatley having tea in the garden, and the commotion that ensued when she tumbled to the ground brought me out of the house from where I was reading in the library window seat.
We had Dr. Fuchs sent for, and as he happened to be tending to an actor with a strained knee rehearsing Midsummer Night's Dream at the Royal, our dear Arthur Parker arrived with him.
You will perhaps recall that it was a Leonora misadventure that originally brought Charlotte to Heyrick Park, that time because she was nearly trampled by a horse — so I cannot be entirely sorry for my cousin's recklessness. That mishap changed all our lives so much for the better that I can only wonder what gifts may be in store this time.
My uncle and Charlotte will be arriving home the day after tomorrow, so we will keep this news to ourselves and not put a damper on their honeymoon. In any case, there is nothing they could do but worry, and other than her wrist, she seems none the worse for her fall.
Dr. Fuchs is helping to pioneer a new method of setting broken bones that is being used in London and elsewhere – that of dipping strips of linen into the plaster used for sculpting and forming it around the affected limb. When it dries, the hard plaster cast thus immobilizes the limb until the bone can heal without further injury. I must admit it was fascinating to watch, and I could only think how much you would have enjoyed it and how many questions you would have asked.
In truth, Leonora seems delighted to have so obvious a badge of her injury, and she waves the cast around like a banner for all to see. Turk is welcoming new teeth and has taken to chewing on it, which leaves it soggy and ragged, and the cast's rather violent appearance seems to please Leonora even more, as if she gained it in a terrifying battle of some sort.
I do find myself wondering what she will be when she is my age. I cannot for the life of me see her transforming into a lady, but I am certain stranger things have happened. And speaking of age, my nineteenth birthday is close to the time that Alison gives birth, and I understand from one of Charlotte's letters that we will all be visiting Ireland at that time. It still feels like such a long wait before I see you again, but if I know one truth, it is that time passes, always and inevitably.
Do you know that at this point we have been apart more than we have been together? That we have conversed more in letters than we have face-to-face? I am told by all that this is the best foundation for an enduring relationship, and well that might be – but it does not make it any easier. I know from your letters that you feel the same, which is some small comfort.
And as you know, I am not one to sweep important moments under the carpet and be coy, so I would like to acknowledge your closing on your last letter. Using the word "love" for the first time was not lost on me, so I shall reciprocate in kind, as that tender feeling is shared by me for you as well.
I am your loving,
Aggie
Arthur sat back in the carriage and rapped smartly on the roof with his knuckles. He marveled again at the vastness of Denham Park and wondered how it was possible for a woman to have everything imaginable in the way of good fortune, riches, and advantages, and to still be so desperately unhappy. His face transformed from sadness to joy in the knowledge that his own precious happiness stemmed from none of those things, but instead from a fulfillment of his dream, his heart's desire – that of running his own theater.
Oh, and having dear and irreplaceable friends and family, of course.
Arthur was traveling back from having left Dr. Fuchs with Lady Denham, who was complaining again of the ague. He had finally gotten up the nerve to ask the doctor if he did, in fact, have a first name, as he was known far and wide as simply Dr. Fuchs. He had been met with elation, and was told that no one in all these months had asked – and for that reason, he would be honored if Arthur would call him Günter.
The ride from Heyrick Park to Denham Park had thus been highly amiable, filled with talk of Leonora's robust health and how quickly she would mend, and on the other end of the spectrum, of Lady Denham's malaise and how it no doubt contributed to her ongoing bodily complaints.
"She steadfastly refuses to see the side that is bright," Dr. Fuchs intoned in his thick German accent. "Can you imagine what great happiness the cost of the furnishings from even one of her well-appointed rooms would give to the family of a workman in Sanditon town? They should be fit for the whole of their lives and thusly unendingly grateful, and I do wonder if she even sees all the rooms in her magnificent house."
"You could not be more on the mark, Günter. I say we clear one of them out, sell the contents and give it to that family you speak of – and then wait on tenterhooks to find if the Lady notices."
Arthur was surprised to hear a full belly laugh from his companion, and he wondered if he had ever heard the doctor laugh before. He found it was quite infectious, and he began to laugh with him.
"Mein Gott," Dr. Fuchs said, still quivering with laughter. "One room at a time, until all the workmen are living in fine style, and suddenly Lady Denham says, "And where has all this furniture gone?"
"It might take her fully years to discover!" Arthur said, holding his stomach in his mirth. "And Lady D complimenting Tom on how the town seems to have miraculously risen in style and affluence…"
"Oh…oh my…" Günter said, looking slightly crestfallen that they were pulling into the drive in front of Sanditon House. "Mr. Parker, I can say this has been one of the most delightful carriage rides I have enjoyed in recent memory."
Arthur gave him a mock frown, "Now Günter, you cannot think to have me call you by your Christian name while you continue to be so formal." He tilted his head and smiled. "You must call me Arthur, and I will hear no refusal on that point."
Dr. Fuchs smiled self-consciously and sputtered, "Ah, yes, well, then… Arthur." He gathered his hat and cane and pulled his coat around him in preparation for exiting the carriage. "And may I say, Arthur, how very pleased I am to see you in such salubrious health. You are quite transformed from the man I first met a year past."
Arthur beamed at him. "It is happiness, my dear man…" Then, realizing that he may have insulted the doctor in not acknowledging the ministrations from the year prior, he amended, "...in conjunction with your own good work, of course."
Laughing softly, Dr. Fuchs said, "No, my friend, what I see in you cannot be brought on by medicine or doctors. It lives inside, in your heart, and now it is on display for all to see."
Quite taken aback, Arthur was silent for a moment while he digested this lovely compliment. Suddenly he said, "Günter. Have you yet attended The Merchant of Venice at the Royal? I do not believe I have seen you there."
Shaking his head ruefully, Dr. Fuchs said, "No, I have not, as I have been so busy with my exploration into the new medical methods that are rushing by at an inconceivable speed. But I shall make the time. Soon."
Arthur nodded. "When you do, I hope you will join me in my box at the theater. It will afford you a fine view of the performance, and it seems that no one is more deserving of that pleasure than our beloved town doctor, who keeps us all fit as fiddles and in thriving good health."
"I should like that very much, Arthur," Günter said, his cheeks flushing with appreciation. "Perhaps Tuesday?"
Arthur inclined his head. "Tuesday it shall be. Your seat will be waiting."
They had parted with a handshake and Dr. Fuchs had turned at the massive front door and waved. Arthur waved back and found himself in a very fine humor. He decided to pay a visit to Georgiana and Charles.
Arthur thought this might be the best time for Charles to sketch him, as he suddenly felt quite confident and unnaturally sure of himself.
Journal Entry:
Sunday 17th June 1821
Paris, France
I hardly know where to begin.
As I write, I presently have my feet up on a very soft chair, as I have been on them all night and they are worn down to nearly nothing. I do not recall dancing more at a ball or enjoying more lively company in my entire life.
I have never danced to a full orchestra of ninety musicians before, and it quite does one in to have the magnificent strains of Mozart waltzes and Argentine tangos echoing from the impossibly high ceilings of the rooms of the opera house. The experience, when added to the sublime gaze and unquestioned grace of a partner such as Alexander, is absolutely transporting.
The number of candles that glowed, flickered and reflected on mirrors and gilt panels were beyond counting. I can only imagine that there are industrious French boys whose sole employment is the lighting and snuffing of all those candles, and once they complete one task, it must certainly be time to go back and begin the other. The luminescence lent an otherworldly radiance to the entire proceeding and made us feel as if we were moving through a dream.
It would be hopeless for me to attempt to describe the various costumes, appointments, ensembles, regalia and accessories worn by the revelers. I will simply make note of one to give a flavor of the whole. There was a spectacularly beautiful woman whose hair, enhanced with multiple wig-pieces, was shaped in the form of a bird cage, and inside, singing cheerily as if glad to be invited to the party, was a living nightingale. Alexander and I, dressed in our finery, simply could not compete, nor did we wish to. It was enough to be able to blend in and watch what was quite possibly the most entertaining gathering I have ever witnessed.
Before the food was served, a magnificently decorated replica of the grand sailing ship "Bucentaure," complete with masts and full sails, entered the hall on a wheeled pallet, carrying twelve of those deemed the prettiest women in Paris to the accompaniment of six Venetian mandolin players. I will refrain from describing what the women were wearing, but will only say that little was left to the imagination. I turned to Alexander to gauge his reaction and he only smiled at me and said, "You are far lovelier than any of them, my Charlotte."
At that point a phalanx of waiters entered in single file, each carrying a tray high above his head and depositing it with great flair onto a set of tables along the far wall of the ballroom. The food was as elegant, as exotic and as plentiful as could be imagined. Every type of roasted meat and fish, tomato aspic in highly detailed animal shapes, sweet and savory pies and tarts, vegetables either pickled or drowned in rich butter sauce, assortments of honey and plum cakes, French bread and brioche, saffron and caraway seed soups in ramekins, and wine and champagne enough to slake an army's thirst. And all of it presented in such a grand way as to resemble paintings, sculptures, buildings and seascapes. I am afraid my meager powers of description will not suffice. Let me only say it was all exquisitely delicious. If I wanted a taste of Paris, I was fully satisfied tonight.
And now, in our sweet Montparnasse flat across from me, my husband lies in bed reading a book on French cheese making – written in French. As this is our last night in Paris and we shall be riding tomorrow by carriage to Calais where we will stay one night in a small inn at the seaside, I will need to cease my scribblings. I long to cross the room and to snuggle in next to him under the covers.
Alexander was fully the most handsome man at the ball, and the one that cut the best-looking figure. Remarkable, as there were hundreds of gentlemen, all reputed to be the smartest and most attractive in five countries – yet my husband, my Alexander, with his natural charisma and stunning bearing, was the man turning heads. I could only think that I was the lucky one who was privileged to take him home.
And as this is our final night in Paris with the windows open to the music from below and the cool breeze blowing in on the moonlight – I mean to enjoy it fully with the most handsome man at the ball.
Charlotte put down her pencil and smiled at Alexander's rapt attention to his book. "I wonder if Eva should be nervous that you will commandeer her kitchen for cheesemaking when we get home."
Alexander dropped the book slightly so that he could peer over it at his wife. "I am sorely tempted. Do you know that there are well over a thousand distinct types of cheeses made in this country, and that each has their particular region, specific type of milk used, and method of producing and curing? I could begin with Abondance from the Haute-Savoie and work my way through Valençay from Centre-Val de Loire and by the time I finished, there would likely be a thousand more," he said, his voice rising in excitement.
Charlotte smiled with affection at him. "Well, you have a brother-in-law who raises goats, sheep and cows, and I seem to recall that Lady Denham waxes poetic about the milk from her asses…"
At the last statement, Alexander laughed out loud. "Oh, save me, I do not think that Eva would stand for ass-cheese being produced in her kitchen. What an idea!" That finally made him put down the book and look across at Charlotte.
"You were the belle of the ball tonight," he said, his eyes soft.
"And I was just writing about how lucky I was to be able to come home with the most handsome man there," she said.
Alexander sighed. "I would very much like it if you would come over here, but I have promised my wife that I would not disturb her writing, for if the cheese-making does not offer a reasonable source of income, perhaps your best-selling novels will do the trick…"
Charlotte blew out her candle and stood, stretching, cat-like. "Are we in need of a second income? Shall I offer myself as governess to another family with a complicated and stern unmarried Master?" she teased.
"You dare not," Alexander said, reaching out his arms to her. "For there is not a man alive who can resist you when you unceremoniously enter his study with mollusks in jars…"
Charlotte walked across the room and took his hands. "Or willfully compels him to cease his work for picnics…"
Alexander drew her into his arms. "Or shamelessly steals his heart, body and soul…" His lips found hers and he pulled her down next to him, wrapping himself around her warmly. Charlotte moved closer, her body responding immediately to the nearness of his.
"This is our last night in Paris," she whispered, her heart beating faster. She moved her kisses slowly down his throat to his chest as he lay back and closed his eyes.
"I suppose we should make the best of it…" he said on an exhaled breath.
Alexander allowed the candle to burn on as Charlotte rose up and pulled her nightdress over her head. He watched in wonder as the light flickered across the pink softness of her skin.
His heart filled with her completely. "How dearly I love you," he said, reaching up and gently pulling her lips toward his.
"Tell me…" she said softly. And to the distant sounds of Paris outside, he did.
Alexander and Charlotte rose early and packed their cases, leaving enough time for one last coffee on the terrace as the sun climbed into the azure Paris sky. Then they made their way downstairs and into a carriage for the long ride to Calais.
For a while, they traveled in companionable silence, and since it was a private carriage, Charlotte was able to remove her shoes and lay back against Alexander's chest in great comfort. As he watched the French countryside go by through the window, he toyed with a curl of her hair affectionately, and as always of late, he was in awe of his capacity to feel so much happiness.
They were both lost in contented thoughts of the week that had flown by, and of the pleasant homecoming ahead with the girls, Eva, Samuel, Georgiana and their many friends. Stories to tell, gifts to give, and above all, the welcome hugs and dear familiarity of home.
"Alison said that Drew is still writing to Augusta daily, and that their affections seem not to be lessening with the distance, but increasing," Charlotte said, smiling up at Alexander. "We are fairly awash in engagements these days."
A frown creased his forehead. "Certainly not with Augusta. She is far too young for that."
Charlotte looked at him from under her lashes. "So you continue to say, but saying it does not make it so. She is of marrying age, and you cannot hold back the clock, no matter how you see her in your mind's eye." She reached her hand up to touch his cheek and give him solace. "Drew is a good man, and believe me when I say that it is as difficult for me to conceive – the fact that he is a man – as it is for you to see Augusta that way. But you should be prepared, when we visit Alison, to have a request from my brother to speak with you privately."
Alexander sighed deeply. "This world of parenting is far beyond my ability to master. Just as I become accustomed to one stage of the process, it transforms and becomes something else. Even you must admit that I am years too young to become a grand-uncle."
Charlotte sat up and slipped her shoes on again. She ran her fingers affectionately through Alexander's curls and moved closer.
"The fact that Augusta was adopted by the Markhams as an older child did set you on that path a bit early. I will admit to thinking of Augusta more as a younger sister than as a daughter, and I know she concurs." Charlotte smiled. "My relationship with her is inexpressibly dear to me, and if she were to marry my brother, she will become an actual sister, which gives me great joy. And remember how many brothers and sisters that will offer her, an only child." Shaking her head, Charlotte leaned on Alexander's shoulder. "Our lives keep expanding outward, all due to love."
Alexander pulled her closer. "I cannot bear to think that we nearly let it pass us by." He kissed her on the forehead. "Though I cannot imagine we would have in any case. I had already worked through that Lennox was manipulating me by the time you left for Willingden. I was quickly reaching the point where I would have come to you if you had not come to Sanditon." Alexander shook his head lightly. "I was not prepared to live my life without you."
"Nor I," Charlotte said, gazing out of the window. "And now… Colonel Lennox is gone. It is hard for me to fathom what his last weeks were like. I wished him ill for a short time, but never would have wished that end for him."
Alexander turned and looked at her. "We never spoke of what happened up on the balcony." He raised an eyebrow and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "You cleverly turned it around and told me you needed to know why I was behaving so erratically, and then when I did tell you… our kiss… "
Charlotte remained silent, but he saw a look of pain, and then loathing, move through her eyes.
Alexander frowned. "What? I asked you what he said, but you never answered. I assumed he had continued to tell stories of my treachery…" he tilted his head. "But that was not it, was it? Can you not tell me now?"
Charlotte looked down at her hands and spoke softly. "I did not tell you because I feared what you would do."
Now Alexander's eyes narrowed and she looked up to see embers of fire in them. She nodded and touched his temple gently. "Yes, this. This is what frightened me. That you would go after him and… and… challenge him to a duel or something."
His eyes narrowing further, Alexander said, "Which would mean it was a matter of honor. And if I had not yet done it, there was nothing of his deception with Lucy that could compel me – but you…" His eyes softened as he saw Charlotte's pain. "If he had done something to you, then yes, I might have been rash…"
"So I did not tell you. Because already I knew that I loved you. And I needed no defending. I defended myself," Charlotte said softly.
"From what?" Alexander said, visibly working at calming himself and taking a deep breath.
"He asked me to marry him." She raised an eyebrow and sighed. "Well, one could hardly call it a proposal. He offered to release me from my desolate, empty and squalid existence as a governess so that he could place me in a seaside manor while he marched off to save the world. And when I gave him a firm no, he told me to remember my station, and be mindful of his, and he…"
Alexander was remaining remarkably quiet during this recounting, and now he asked through clenched teeth, "He what?"
Charlotte looked down, still remembering the anger and violence of his assault. "He caught me off guard. His hand came around my neck and he forced a kiss on me. I tried to fight him off, but he was strong. I managed to free myself and I made my way down the stairs as quickly as I could. That is when you saw me…"
Alexander's immediate reaction was anger – but as he saw the distress on his wife's face, his rage dissolved into his deep love for her, and he pulled her to him, holding her head against his chest, as if it could erase the memory of what she was recounting. "Oh, my sweet Charlotte. You were right not to tell me, because I would have scaled that staircase and laid him out without a thought."
She pulled away and looked into his eyes, and then she kissed him tenderly. "I have no doubt you would have, and it would have come from what I see now – love for me – but in that moment it would have seemed a revisiting of the archery contest – of me, caught between two men who had far greater battles to wage with each other."
Charlotte watched as he worked through what she was saying, and finally, he nodded slowly and sighed, closing his eyes.
"Of course you are right," he said softly. "And it is certain that I would not have been able to explain what those battles were to you that evening. You would have been justified in turning on your heel and calling me a lost cause."
Charlotte smiled and kissed him again. "No. Never. I would still have asked you to tell me who you were, because I was already in love with you. But it would have taken longer." She sighed and took his hands in hers. "And I would never have left the girls…"
"Unless I unceremoniously fired you…" Alexander said, shaking his head. Then he turned suddenly, remembering the subject of the conversation. "He did not hurt you?" he asked passionately, cupping her face with his hand.
Charlotte smiled. "Only my pride," she muttered. "He intimated that I had been scheming all along to extract a proposal from him, when in fact, I could not have been clearer how committed I was to not marrying."
Now Alexander smiled, and without a word, he gently lifted her left hand and kissed the ring on her finger.
Charlotte laughed. "Well, I suppose I was committed to not marrying Colonel Lennox," she said, her eyes twinkling.
Alexander put his arm around her and held her tightly against him as they both looked out of the carriage window at the French countryside going by.
He spoke softly. "And now he is dead, and you are my wife." He paused for a moment and exhaled deeply. "My better self will feel earnest pity for him, and profound gratitude for my own good fortune."
"We both will, my love," Charlotte said, her face cushioned on his coat. She breathed in the scent of him, and tightened her arms around his waist, suddenly overcome with feeling. "I love you so deeply, Alexander," she said almost in a whisper.
Encircling her with his arms, he felt her words melt into his heart. "And I, you…" he said, closing his eyes as the carriage took them toward the sea, and home.