"Brambridge is dull," admitted Frances. "The only excitement is going to Mass."
"So that is the same, is it. Do they still lock the door of the chapel when Mass is celebrated?"
"Yes. And apart from that it is all so quiet. Lessons every day and a little riding in the park and we don't know many people because most of our neighbours are Protestants and Mamma and Papa won't allow us to know them."
It was Maria's turn to be mournful. "Oh, lucky Frances!" she sighed.
A happy phase of her life was over; a new one was about to begin. She would have to learn to adjust herself to life at home as she had in Paris—and at least she had succeeded in comforting Frances.
The house in Brambridge seemed smaller than she had been imagining it. Perhaps, she thought wryly, she had compared it with Versailles. On the journey back they had passed through London and an excitement had touched her then, for the capital city reminded her of Paris. Perhaps this was because in Paris there had been a craze for all things English and the Parisians had been copying the English style of dress ... masculine of course. The men wore severely cut coats and white cravats and riding boots; and shops were advertising le the as drunk in England. Maria had felt excited by the big city, but of course they could not linger there. And when they had at length arrived in the beautiful county of Hampshire and passed through Winchester on the way to Brambridge and the carriage took them up the avenue of limes she felt a certain emotion, for this after all was home. Yet she did remember that the Mother Superior had embraced her with affection when she had left and had told her that if ever she wished to return to the Blew Nuns there would always be a welcome for her, implying that Maria Smythe would always remain one of the favourite pupils.
There was the house—a country mansion, the home of a squire and his family. Mamma was waiting to welcome her and embraced her, then held her at arms' length. "Let me look at you, Maria. Why, how you have grown! Who would have thought that this was my little Maria?"
"Oh, Mamma, it is so good to see you."
"And you have been happy with the Nuns?"
"They were very kind to me."
Mary Smythe smiled. Who would not be good to this charming young creature? How wise they had been to send her away. She had poise and charm and of course she spoke French like a native. Consequently they had a beautiful, intelligent and educated girl to launch on society.
"Come into the house, daughter. You will have forgotten what it looks like after all this time."
Arm in arm, mother and daughter entered the house and there were the boys waiting to give her a boisterous greeting.
"Be careful, boys," cried their father, "you will harm Maria's Paris coiffure."
John reached up and tried to pull down the golden hair which was piled high on Maria's head.
She jerked away from him, laughing. "We all have to wear it high because Madame la Dauphine has a high forehead and wears hers so. It's the fashion."
"And a most becoming one," said Mary.
"I'm so pleased you approve, Mamma."
"Come, my dearest, to your room. I have had a larger one prepared for you. It overlooks the lime avenue. I trust you will like it."
"Oh, Mamma, I am happy to be home."
"I feared that you would not wish to leave the nuns."
"Nor did I. But I wanted to be home, too"
"You are fortunate, my dear, to have so much that you enjoy. I hope Frances will feel the same."
"But of course she must, Mamma."
Mary smiled, well pleased with her daughter. The boys were merry but inclined to be too boisterous and a little selfish. And Frances? Well, they would see. But perhaps there was only one Maria.
Later Walter and Mary discussed their daughter.
"She is charming," said Mary. "And a beauty. Her hair is quite lovely and her eyes ... that lovely hazel colour! Her complexion is quite perfect. It is like rose petals."
"You are a fond mother."
"Can you deny what I have said?"
"She has my nose. It would have been better if she had yours."
"What nonsense! It adds character to her face. I think an aquiline nose is so attractive. Without it she would be insipid."
"You are determined to eulogize your daughter, Madam."
"Well, Sir, tell me if you can see one fault in her."
Walter looked dubious and Mary cried triumphantly, "There, you cannot. You are as proud of her as I am."
"I admit to falling under the spell of our Maria. She has returned from France even more delightful than when she went."
"Even the King of France was delighted by her."
"Oh, those sugar plums. He would have behaved so to any child."
"I don't agree. He saw her, was enchanted by her, and wished to make her a present."
"I do not like to think of that man's making gifts to our daughter ... even though he thought of her as a child."
Mary nodded. "A sad state of affairs. No wonder the French are displeased with their king. Maria was telling me that he never goes to Paris at all because the people dislike him so much. They feel differently towards the Dauphin and his young Austrian wife. At least our King leads a good life, although there have been rumours about his early indiscretions. Did you know, I heard the other day that he had kept a Quakeress before his marriage and had even gone through a ceremony of marriage with her."
"Rumours, Mary, to which it is unwise to listen and more unwise still to repeat."
"Well, here's a more pleasant rumour. I have heard that he is inclined to be tolerant to religious minorities. The Quakers for one."
"So here we are back to the Quaker rumour."
"Well, is it not important to us? If he is lenient towards Quakers why not to Catholics? I think we are lucky to have such a king and he will do something for us. Oh, Walter, it infuriates me to think we have to go almost stealthily to Mass and lock the door of the chapel."
Walter checked this flow by bringing the subject back to Maria.
"Our beautiful daughter is seventeen. Is it not time that we looked for a husband for her?"
Mary sighed. "It's true, of course, but I wish it were not so. I should love to keep her with me for a little longer."
"Well, there is no hurry, but we have our duty to her, you know. She will not have a big dowry."
"Her dowry will be her beauty and her charm, and have you noticed Mr. Smythe that she has in addition to these the sweetest of natures?"
"Your daughter is a paragon, I doubt not, Madam. Therefore, in spite of her small dowry I am sure she will make a most satisfactory marriage."
"But who is there here in Brambridge?"
"No one worthy of her, I agree. That is why I have come to discuss with you the possibility of sending her to your rich brother at Red Rice for a visit. I am sure he will be eager to do all that is possible for his charming niece"
Maria's parents were right when they said that Henry Errington would be delighted to welcome his charming niece to his mansion in Red Rice. He had heard accounts of her beauty and when he saw her he was impressed.
He would invite some wealthy and eligible young men to the house if he could find them. That was the problem. He had wealthy neighbours with eligible young sons, but they were Protestants and the most important quality the bridegroom must have was that he must be of the approved religion.
Still, he would do the best he could and he would invite his old friend Edward Weld to come and stay that he might ask his advice. Edward's first wife had been a daughter of Lord Petre, and although unfortunately she was dead, Edward did entertain now and then at Lulworth Castle. Henry knew he would be pleased to help.