Page 3 of Enslaved
Dame Lightfoot tapped her stick decisively. “We shall begin with the language of the fan.”
Diana wondered what in the world that had to do with dancing. When she dared to put the question to her teacher, the dame took on the stance of a military man. Her words came in staccato-like steel-tipped arrows. “The fan is more important than the feet. In fact, all things are more important than the feet: the hair, the eyes, the mouth, the figure, the manners, the conversation, the appetite, the gown.”
“I think the fashion for young women is execrable,” Diana dared.
“Indeed?” replied the dame, the lines of her face seeming to freeze.
Diana almost bit her tongue, but she had begun and she might as well finish. “Skirts are so voluminous they take up the entire seat of a carriage, assuming you can squeeze through the coach door. Powdered wigs are becoming so tall it’s a wonder birds don’t nest in them. My personal favorite is the corset. The whalebone stays are so rigid they stab you in the gut whenever you bend over.”
The dame’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared beneath her wig.“Gutis a word a lady would never use. I can see you have had an unorthodox and liberal education.” The sergeant-major straightened to her full height, gave two raps upon the floor, then vowed, “In spite of everything, I shall make a successful debutante of you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Diana murmured beneath her breath. She was beginning to enjoy herself, however, and decided to thoroughly shock Dame Lightfoot. “In medieval times ladies slept stark naked! The church condemned nightgowns as scandalous obscenities that would tempt men to commit lewd and lascivious acts. Obviously those first night rails bore no resemblance to therespectablegarments I wear to bed … unfortunately!”
Dame Lightfoot reached into her reticule, unstoppered a small bottle, and sniffed a massive dose of hartshorn. Then, as if she would put a stop to such titillating talk, she whapped out a fan, snapped it open with considerable force, then handed it to her pupil.
Before the lesson was over, Diana learned that the best fans had ivory sticks covered with gauze, lace, or painted silk. She learned the meaning of peeping through it coyly, looking over it, or glancing from the side. It was all she could do to keep from laughing in her teacher’s face.
After an hour Dame Lightfoot was satisfied that Diana had learned the art of flirtation.
Comic figures of young beaus flitted through Diana’s imagination. “Now that I have mastered flirtation, with whom do I flirt?”
The sergeant-major stared her down. “I shall allow you to answer the question.”
“I should like to flirt with danger.”
Silence stretched between them. Finally the older woman made an observation. “You have a restless soul, so I shall let you in on a little secret society keeps from unfledged females. Once you have made a respectable marriage and produced an heir, a young matron can have a dashing social life, unconfined by the strictures of an unmarried girl.”
“That is the first inducement I’ve ever heard for the married state,” Diana said, tucking away the information.
Prudence returned to the music room, avid to know what dances Diana had learned.
“You go too fast, Mrs. Davenport. Lady Diana is a diamond in the rough. To make her a diamond of the first water will take a little social polishing. I teach the dance steps at my studio in Mayfair, where we have room to do justice to the minuet, contredanse, and the Scottish reel. Here is my card.” She rapped the floor with her stick. “Be there at two on Monday afternoon.”
Chapter 2
After Dame Lightfoot left, Diana protested, “Aunt Prudence, I didn’t learn anything except how to fan myself. This is a total waste of time and money. The woman is a dragon-faced martinet … a figure of fun…” Diana’s words trailed off as she saw the hurt look on Prudence’s face.
“I would have given anything for a dancing mistress when I was your age, but my physical condition did not allow me such a luxury. I have been a martyr to pain all my life.” Her hand stroked her arthritic hip. “It pains me deeply when you rebel, Diana. It would please me if you would accept dance instruction from Dame Lightfoot.”
Diana felt ashamed of herself. “Of course I shall keep the appointment, Aunt Prudence. I didn’t realize how selfish it was of me to complain.”
“Ah, my dear, it is something you will learn with maturity, to suffer in silence, as I do.”
Diana’s suspicion that Prudence was a hypochondriac only doubled her guilt.What if she really is in pain?“We’re invited to afternoon tea at Emily Castlereagh’s. Do you feel up to it?”
“As a matter of fact I don’t, my dear. I fear I shall be forced to take to my couch this afternoon.”
“I’ll send a note with our regrets.”
Prudence was aghast. “You will do no such thing. Lady Castlereagh is a patroness of Almack’s. The young ladies invited to tea today will receive their vouchers. Bridget shall accompany you.”
Diana knew instinctively that Prudence didn’t feel comfortable with some of the aristocratic hostesses who led society because she had no title. Diana was invited only because Emily Castlereagh had been a dear friend of her father’s. Emily was married to the Marquis of Londonderry and her father was the Earl of Buckinghamshire. Though she was at the summit of the social scale, Diana didn’t find her in the least daunting. In fact she was an endearing eccentric who adopted an oddity of dress.
“You can wear the chocolate bombazine walking dress; it would be perfect for Lady Castlereagh’s tea.”
Chocolate my foot,thought Diana.It’s the closest shade to cat ca-ca I’ve ever seen.
“And I know I don’t need to remind you never to walk along St. James’s Street where the gentlemen have their clubs.”
