Chapter Text
“If you please, miss, the Dowager Countess of Ross has arrived and is asking for you”
Hermione sighed as she closed the volume of Miss Edgeworth’s ‘Practical Education’, which she had been perusing in an attempt to keep her thoughts from drifting to her future, especially the knowledge that today she was to leave her childhood home with no certainty of when, or even if, she would ever see it again.
“Please see her into the front drawing room, and fetch a tea tray. I will attend her there” she stated as she lay the book aside and went to check her appearance in the glass over the fireplace.
Seeing that her hair was still neat, and covered by the half-mourning lace cap she wore, despite the time she had spent in the library that morning, she left and crossed the hall to the drawing room to greet her visitor. She had known the Dowager Countess all her life, as that lady had been her mother’s godmother and had kept in touch throughout the trying months since her parents’ unexpected demise the previous winter.
“Well, come along in girl”, came the terse instruction from the Dowager, “let me look at you in the light. You seem very pale but I suppose that’s only to be expected if you will keep yourself locked up in that library as your father allowed you free rein to do.
“Still, at least it means that we don’t need to worry about freckles, and a little Milk of Roses will be all you need rely on, rather than Gowland’s or Denmark lotion.”
“Please excuse me, ma’am, but I’m not sure why my complexion is of such importance?”
“Why child, because you are almost twenty years of age, have no parents and so must look to a husband. You knew you were leaving here today; why did you think I was taking you to Town, if not to find a future for you? After all, the Season begins soon, and you have already had to miss the Little Season as you were still in mourning. Now, let us finish this dish of Bohea then get on the road for I have no wish to be travelling still once darkness falls, nor to find myself constrained to spend the night in a public inn.”
The next morning, Hermione found herself waking to the sound of footsteps crossing the room, and opened her eyes to see a young maid making her way to the dresser bearing a jug of water.
“Good morning Miss Granger. I’ve brought your washing water if you're ready to rise,” offered the maid.
Hermione wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming. She wasn’t used to having fresh water brought to her room in the morning; even though she was the daughter of a gentleman, there had not been the money for many servants, and her mother’s maid didn’t have the time to help Hermione as well in the mornings. Strangely enough, warm washing water was the one thing that so far seemed to point out that she truly was living another life to that she had thought would be her lot.
As she washed her thoughts turned to the previous day, and the journey up from the house in which she had spent her childhood. The travelling coach had been well-sprung, much more so than the barouche she had been used to using when paying calls with her mother, so that although the journey had taken some seven hours, including a stop partway for a nuncheon, she had not felt too badly knocked about when they reached the townhouse in the middle of Mayfair. Still, she had been glad to have been informed on her arrival that she did not need to change for dinner and to be dismissed to her bed soon afterward.
Selecting a delicate lilac muslin with matching ribbons signifying her half-mourning status, she dressed then began the daily battle to restrain her dark brown curls into something close to an acceptable style. The maid rushed to offer assistance, placing pins with a skill that suggested long practise of her own.
“Thank you”, said Hermione, “I’m not used to such help”
“You’re welcome Miss Granger. Lady Ross did say as how I was to act as your abigail unless you wished to use another.”
“Well, I don’t see any need to look for another maid when I have already been gifted with someone who can tame my hair in such a short time. Now, what do I call you, and where did my caps get put when you unpacked?”
“It’s Sarah, Miss, and if you’ll pardon the suggestion, you shouldn’t be a-wearing of a cap. You’re a debutante not a widow or spinster. Miss McDougal, that is Lady Ross’ abigail, was most clear to me about that.”
“In that case I think I’m ready to go downstairs Sarah. Can you tell me where I should go to find the breakfast parlour, and will I find Lady Ross up already?”
“Just go down the main stairs Miss, and the footman will show you the way from there. Her Ladyship is usually up at a good time so you should find her waiting for you.”
Following these instructions Hermione soon found that the maid was quite correct, and the Dowager Countess was indeed waiting in the breakfast parlour, with the footman removing her empty plate.
“Did you sleep well then Hermione? I see that the maid got the instruction to have you leave off those caps at least.”
“Yes Lady Ross, to both questions. Sarah tells me she is to act as my maid, for which I thank you. She has already shown an ability to deal with my hair without making me feel like a hedgehog with hairpins.” Hermione nodded her thanks to the butler as he served her a portion of ham, and spooned mushrooms onto the plate to accompany it.
“Good. McDougal thought she’d suit you, and will ensure she knows everything she will need to if you are happy to use her. If you prefer I can ask the housekeeper to send to the agency for an experienced abigail?”
“No thank you, Lady Ross. If you don’t mind, I think I’d prefer a maid close to my own age as I’m not used to any help getting dressed. Sarah did refer to me as a debutante earlier; do you mean to have me presented at Court? I don’t feel at all ready for such a thing - it was never my expectation as a child.”
“In that case you will need to change your expectations. You are an heiress now my child, albeit not such a one as to attract the worst of the fortune-hunters. Thankfully your father was sensible enough to employ a good solicitor, who will continue to act as your trustee until such time as you find yourself a husband of whom both he and I approve.” Lady Ross raised her eyebrow at the face Hermione pulled at this thought, before sipping from her cup. “Now, do you want some more ham, or have you enough to sustain you through the shopping we must begin? You know you will need a complete new wardrobe as you must come out of even half-mourning, although if you wish you can keep to muted ribbons and other trimmings? Nothing else to drink my dear? Then away and find your pelisse, for we should endeavour to arrive at Mme Fanchon’s establishment before she is engaged with another.”
Even as early as it was, when they reached Mme Fanchon’s shop it was to find it already full of bustling assistants and twittering girls looking over the latest fashion plates from Paris. It didn’t take long though for Mme Fanchon herself to come forward to greet the Dowager Countess, and look appraisingly at Hermione.
“Milady, I am zo pleased that you ‘ave chosen to bring your ward to my atelier. I zink she will be a plaisir to dress. Please to come to my private room and we will begin hein?” The mantua maker ushered the two ladies through the throng, gesturing to an assistant to bring refreshments as she went. “Now”, she began as the door closed behind the assistant leaving them free from prying eyes and ears, “we can be ourselves, yes?”
“Quite.” stated the dowager, “And please do leave off that silly so-called French accent now Matilda Malkin. I know perfectly well you were born in Essex!”
“Yes, I know Milady, but you know that most of the ton wouldn’t dream of patronising an English dress-maker, at least for their gowns for the Season. So, for them I am Mme Fanchon, a couturier who fled the Terror.” She gestured to the tray of refreshments, silently offering both ladies a choice of Madeira or orgeat. “As I ventured to mention outside, I am pleased that you have brought Miss Granger to me, for I do believe that she will wear my creations well. She has no need of stays or other aids to the figure, and I dare to hope that we could possibly achieve such a look as to set most other girls quite in the shade. If you are in agreement Milady, we shall dress her in the simplest of silhouettes, and allow her natural grace to outshine those who must rely on frills and bows to attract the attention of those around them. The waistline has risen again this season, and only the finest of figures can take such a line with no balance at the hem you know. I notice you are wearing half-mourning Miss Granger. Is this required going forwards or will you allow me to choose your colours?”
“I would prefer to keep to muted colours, but am more than willing to be guided by those with more knowledge than me of such things as fashion” replied Hermione, somewhat surprised to have been consulted at all given the way the dressmaker had been addressing her remarks solely to Lady Ross to that point.
“I quite agree my dear”, replied Mme Fanchon, “In fact, I would suggest that we shall use only the palest of blue, rose-pink and primrose muslins for your day dresses, and of course your gowns shall be nothing but purest white. Now, you shall need at least two in silk, and I have a beautiful satin just arrived that will do admirably for your Court dress. That will need more decoration of course, and I think this Chantilly lace will provide just the required detail without overpowering the overall effect...”
Hermione felt herself losing track of the details as the afternoon moved on; so many bolts of fabric had been held against her to check their hue against her complexion. She had seen two apparently identical shades discussed in detail for minutes at a time until one was rejected, while such nuances as Bishop-sleeves, and the choice of satin or grosgrain ribbons seemed to be the subject of almost more consideration than surely the Duke of Wellington had given to his tactics at Waterloo the previous year. Her attempts at refusing to order more than a few dresses and one evening gown were peremptorily dismissed by Lady Ross, who made it clear that no thought of such vulgar behaviours as economy were to be entertained. Indeed as she would be paying for the whole and found no cause for concern in a day dress of twilled cotton costing over twenty guineas then neither should Hermione.
Eventually, even two such determined ladies as Lady Ross and Mme Fanchon had to admit that they had covered all they could in that visit, and that all that was left was to select two day dresses from those partly made up to be finished as soon as possible in preparation for Hermione to begin making and receiving calls. A fine pale lavender muslin, and a twilled cotton in palest green were duly chosen, and an assistant called in to pin and mark the alterations required to make them complete for use. Then Hermione and Lady Ross made their way back to the waiting carriage to make their way back to the townhouse, safe in the knowledge that the completed dresses would follow shortly in readiness for the next day.