succession of rooms meant to hold six hundred instead of the sixteen hundred invited? And then battling down the stairs again and the long wait for the carriage to make its way through the press so that one spent more time with the gold-laced footmen on the steps outside than with one’s hosts upstairs.
Annabelle was to have her voucher for Almack’s since Lady Emmeline was a great social power and any girl making a come-out under her aegis
must
be good
ton
.
In 1765 a Scotsman called William Macall reversed the syllables of his name to provide a more memorable title for his new Assembly Rooms—Almack’s. Now nearly fifty years later at the height of its fame with a great wave of snobbery sweeping London, it thrived under the management of the haughty, vulgar, and indefatigable beauty, Lady Jersey. Not to have a voucher to one of Almack’s Wednesday nights was to be damned socially and forever. So formidable were the patronesses that one of them, the Countess Lieven, was heard to say, “It is not fashionable where I am not.”
A lady of the
ton
was expected to be fragile and useless and infinitely feminine. But the definition of a gentleman was the exact opposite, Annabelle learned. “An out and outer, one up to everything, down as a nail, a trump, a Trojan … one that can patter flash, floor a charley, mill a coal heaver, come coachey in prime style, up to every rig and row in town and down to every move upon the board from a nibble at the club to a dead hit at a hell; can swear, smoke, take snuff, lush, play at all games, and throw over both sexes in different ways—he is the finished man!” No wonder, reflected poor Annabelle, that Lady Emmeline was increasingly amazed that her strange goddaughter had not tumbled head over heels in love with Captain MacDonald.
But it
was
sometimes exciting, particularly in the evenings from six to eight and from eight to ten when Mayfair came alive with the rumbling of carriages, their flaming lamps twinkling along the fashionable streets, past tall houses ablaze with lights from top to bottom. And the food! Périgord pie and truffles from France, sauces and curry powder from India, hams from Westphalia and Portugal, caviar from Russia, reindeer tongues from Lapland, (olives from Spain, cheese from Parma, and sausages from Bologna.
Sometimes the sheer extravagance of the members of this gilded society seemed overwhelming to Annabelle. Lady Londonderry went to a ball so covered in jewels that she could not stand and had to be followed around with a chair. And her very handkerchiefs cost fifty guineas the dozen. Everything, as the Corinthians would say, had to be “prime and bang up to the mark.”
Despite various discreet requests Annabelle had refused to divulge the name of her dressmaker for fear Madame Croke would discover Annabelle’s alterations to her styles.
To her disappointment she had not yet found a female friend. In the hurly-burly of the marriage mart she was marked down as one of the few who had already succeeded. Members of her own sex who were still out there on the battleground preferred to huddle together in groups, plotting and exchanging gossip.
London was enjoying an unusually fine spell of hot weather so it was possible to wear the delicate lawns and Indian muslins without also displaying acres of mottled gooseflesh. Annabelle was to attend a fête champêtre onboard the Hullocks’ “little yacht.” Mr. Hullock was a wealthy merchant who entertained the
ton
lavishly in the hope of securing titled marriages for his daughters. But the aristocracy drank his fine French vintages and guzzled his food and remained as aloof and patronising as ever.
A long box had arrived from Madame Croke containing Annabelle’s costume for the party. In vain had Annabelle pleaded with Lady Emmeline to be allowed to make her own. What could a country miss know of fashion, Lady Emmeline had demanded.
Annabelle stared at the contents of the box in dismay. Madame Croke
Annabelle was to have her voucher for Almack’s since Lady Emmeline was a great social power and any girl making a come-out under her aegis
must
be good
ton
.
In 1765 a Scotsman called William Macall reversed the syllables of his name to provide a more memorable title for his new Assembly Rooms—Almack’s. Now nearly fifty years later at the height of its fame with a great wave of snobbery sweeping London, it thrived under the management of the haughty, vulgar, and indefatigable beauty, Lady Jersey. Not to have a voucher to one of Almack’s Wednesday nights was to be damned socially and forever. So formidable were the patronesses that one of them, the Countess Lieven, was heard to say, “It is not fashionable where I am not.”
A lady of the
ton
was expected to be fragile and useless and infinitely feminine. But the definition of a gentleman was the exact opposite, Annabelle learned. “An out and outer, one up to everything, down as a nail, a trump, a Trojan … one that can patter flash, floor a charley, mill a coal heaver, come coachey in prime style, up to every rig and row in town and down to every move upon the board from a nibble at the club to a dead hit at a hell; can swear, smoke, take snuff, lush, play at all games, and throw over both sexes in different ways—he is the finished man!” No wonder, reflected poor Annabelle, that Lady Emmeline was increasingly amazed that her strange goddaughter had not tumbled head over heels in love with Captain MacDonald.
But it
was
sometimes exciting, particularly in the evenings from six to eight and from eight to ten when Mayfair came alive with the rumbling of carriages, their flaming lamps twinkling along the fashionable streets, past tall houses ablaze with lights from top to bottom. And the food! Périgord pie and truffles from France, sauces and curry powder from India, hams from Westphalia and Portugal, caviar from Russia, reindeer tongues from Lapland, (olives from Spain, cheese from Parma, and sausages from Bologna.
Sometimes the sheer extravagance of the members of this gilded society seemed overwhelming to Annabelle. Lady Londonderry went to a ball so covered in jewels that she could not stand and had to be followed around with a chair. And her very handkerchiefs cost fifty guineas the dozen. Everything, as the Corinthians would say, had to be “prime and bang up to the mark.”
Despite various discreet requests Annabelle had refused to divulge the name of her dressmaker for fear Madame Croke would discover Annabelle’s alterations to her styles.
To her disappointment she had not yet found a female friend. In the hurly-burly of the marriage mart she was marked down as one of the few who had already succeeded. Members of her own sex who were still out there on the battleground preferred to huddle together in groups, plotting and exchanging gossip.
London was enjoying an unusually fine spell of hot weather so it was possible to wear the delicate lawns and Indian muslins without also displaying acres of mottled gooseflesh. Annabelle was to attend a fête champêtre onboard the Hullocks’ “little yacht.” Mr. Hullock was a wealthy merchant who entertained the
ton
lavishly in the hope of securing titled marriages for his daughters. But the aristocracy drank his fine French vintages and guzzled his food and remained as aloof and patronising as ever.
A long box had arrived from Madame Croke containing Annabelle’s costume for the party. In vain had Annabelle pleaded with Lady Emmeline to be allowed to make her own. What could a country miss know of fashion, Lady Emmeline had demanded.
Annabelle stared at the contents of the box in dismay. Madame Croke
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