Trapped in Their Manor, Twin Dukes Keep Me Captive

Chapter 13:Ball-2

In the days preceding the ball, guests arrived one after another at Colleck Manor by carriage.

It was arguably the first time in many years that Colleck Manor had received such a great throng of visitors. The stables, desolate and empty when I first came, were suddenly filled with fine horses of every description. Servants bustled about, unloading luggage from the rear racks of humble two-wheeled “snail” carriages and luxurious four-wheeled closed coaches built for two passengers. Old David and several deputy stewards hurried to arrange chambers for each newly arrived guest.

Only seven men of suitable noble standing had come as guests, yet several of the ladies accompanying them turned out to be rivals Anne had not anticipated, and opponents she could scarcely match on certain terms. Each of these young ladies was chaperoned by her father, uncle or maternal aunt. Viscount Lester in particular brought his three beautiful, marriageable daughters all at once. With astute tact, he secured several suites on the manor’s west wing close to Earl Iain’s private apartments. Knowing the Earl’s notorious fondness for female company, the Viscount’s intentions were unmistakable.

To make room for these distinguished guests, all female attendants except a privileged few such as Beatrice were ordered to move to the rear wing of the Earl’s quarters, forced to give up their original rooms closer to his suite.

An unspoken rule prevailed among the nobility: the higher the standing of a favoured mistress, the more rooms she would occupy, and the nearer they lay to the centre of power. Just as in the court of Louis XIV in France, the king’s most cherished mistresses held the greatest number of chambers closest to the royal apartments, often outshining even the Queen. From my experiences at Ludwigsburg Palace, the Duchess of Württemberg had never been granted rooms adjacent to her husband’s quarters; those coveted chambers were almost always seized by the cultured “bluestockings” from the grand opera house.

With the manor filled with guests, Anne could no longer slip out secretly in the middle of the night to seek me, for which I was genuinely relieved — I still had to rise at five each morning to begin my duties. Unexpectedly, several noble ladies who had brought their daughters and nieces harboured subtle resentment toward the female attendants. Their cold attitude, combined with the maids’ indignation at being displaced from their rooms, united all the female servants in solidarity against outsiders. Even Anne, whom they had once disliked, was accepted as “one of their own”, and the petty troubles they laid upon her dwindled away. One could only sigh: the workings of women’s hearts were truly unfathomable.

On the second day after the last guest arrived, the ball Anne had long eagerly awaited was finally held.

Yet this occasion was more than merely a ball; it combined a grand daytime banquet and an evening dance.

The banquet began at two o’clock in the afternoon. Noble ladies and young misses rose at ten each morning. To preserve their delicate complexions, they would spend one or two hours bathing in warm water mixed with milk to soften and moisten their skin. As a famously beautiful duchess once instructed her daughter: “While we sleep, our skin enters a dormant state and its vitality weakens. Nourish it with milk, cleanse gently with a damp sponge, and a woman may glow like a young maiden — this is the secret of enduring youthful radiance.” It was regarded as the secret to eternal youth, to be tended with the utmost care. After bathing, they would sip coffee with cream, or other beverages favoured by gentlewomen, before taking part in a vital private custom passed from the elegant courts of France to the New World: the morning toilette.

For noble matrons, the morning toilette was far more than a private ritual of dressing. It was a performance, a chance to display their incomparable charm before their admirers — a privilege denied to unmarried young ladies. Every respected noblewoman had her own circle of loyal, knight-like suitors. While her maids arranged her hair and applied cosmetics, she would receive them in relaxed, alluring poses, letting them sit beside her dressing table as she conversed freely. She might even openly display the figure she regarded as God’s finest gift. Originating in the age of the Sun King, this custom spread to courts across Europe alongside the French language, governed by strict etiquette. If a noble lady held a toilette with no suitors in attendance, forced to perform awkwardly before empty chairs, or relying only on her husband to fill the space, it was an unbearable humiliation. It meant her beauty had faded, and she must withdraw silently from high society.

Anne had once complained to me that Earl Iain would only attend Beatrice’s morning toilettes, granting no such favour to anyone else. Not even a junior male servant would attend her own grooming, leaving her the target of quiet ridicule among the female attendants. She swore that one day, she would make the Earl appear in her dressing room at dawn.

Men faced no such rigid customs. If they chose not to grace a lady’s morning toilette, they could play cards, read newspapers or go hunting. Still, I suspected none of the gentlemen who had travelled to Colleck Manor had brought their female companions, sisters or daughters merely for sport.

The banquet lasted from two until five in the afternoon, far larger and more opulent than any private dinner the Earl had hosted alone. A massive candelabra bearing forty large wax candles lit the banquet hall brighter than the daylight outside. Gilded Indian tapestries shimmered on the walls, while copper heating pipes hidden behind flowers filled the hall with heavenly warmth, shielding guests from the cold and silently demonstrating the master’s immense wealth. The strains of a harp played without pause. Smarting from the failure of the previous feast, Chef Frigoules was determined to excel. Exquisite pastries, desserts and savoury dishes were continuously served upon fine silver tableware. Surrounded by the Earl’s diverse, lovely female attendants and dignified noble lady guests, the sea of beautiful women in splendid gowns made one feel as though they had stumbled upon a feast of the Olympian gods.

Earl Iain stood unquestionably as the centre of this divine banquet, cheerful amid the throng of beauties. Among all the female guests, he showed particular fondness for Viscount Lester’s third daughter. The maiden possessed enchanting lavender eyes and golden ringlets, paired with a bold, forthright temperament. While other young ladies picked delicately at grouse wings, prioritising graceful bearing over flavour, she boldly remarked that roasted goldfinch ought to be seasoned with subtly spicy beetle powder rather than bland lemon glaze. Her fearless comment instantly captured the Earl’s full attention.

Beatrice formed another focal point of the banquet. Curiously, she seemed entirely unconcerned by the threat posed by young Isabella Lester. Her quiet condescension greatly irritated Viscountess Lester. No one could tell whether her anger stemmed from Beatrice’s dismissive attitude toward her daughter, or her own inability to outshine Beatrice as the centre of attention. From the start of the banquet, the Viscountess subtly assumed the airs of the manor’s hostess, as if she were the chief host of the gathering. Though her children were fully grown, she appeared no older than eight-and-twenty, even though official records listed her age as thirty-four. Her passionate ambition had never cooled — a common trait among noble matrons.

Anne navigated this gathering of competing beauties with perfect poise. She neither faded into the crowd nor waded into the fiercest silent rivalries. She wore not the elaborate gown she had prepared, but merely the plain standard dress of a female attendant. The girl knew clearly that the daytime banquet was only a prelude; the true contest would unfold at the evening ball. She could walk calmly past Erika, undisturbed by the disrespectful signals the girl sent toward Baron Robert with her silk fan.

The banquet stretched on for three full hours. As time passed and the men drank more wine, the orderly atmosphere gradually dissolved. A young footman, overcome by drink, suddenly climbed onto a chair and shouted, “Praise the Almighty! Long live the House of Hagens!” Chaos erupted, and servants struggled to drag him down. Shortly afterward, Viscount Ducan stumbled playfully into the arms of a baroness, mistaking the lace trim on her gown for blooming flowers and sparking peals of laughter. Cold plates were cleared away, and new delicacies arrived on platters of mother-of-pearl, silver and gilded metal. Gradually, tense hidden rivalry gave way to relaxed, harmonious joy. The feast of nobles transformed into simple mortal merriment, and even Viscountess Lester succumbed to the cheerful mood, growing light-headed with wine.

It was a curious wonder of high society: many guests seemed thoroughly intoxicated and incoherent by the end of the banquet, yet at seven o’clock, every single one reappeared in the ballroom energetic and composed, showing no trace of earlier indiscretion. Perhaps this was a peculiar talent unique to the upper class.