Lady Mary Fontaine

March 1853

Kent, England

"My lady, if I may interfere," her maid stepped forward from behind the desk where Lady Mary Fontaine sat writing in her dressing gown, her tea growing ever colder.

"Yes, Agnes, what is it?" Lady Fontaine felt impatient with this whole morning process. Recently married, she was not accustomed to answering all of these notes and cards from well-wishing neighbors.

Becoming Lady Fontaine had forced Mary into a world she had little known. She was the daughter of a curate and had been swept up and away by a passionate love affair with Lord Charles Fontaine of Kent when he had been visiting his aunt in the country last summer.

The son of an earl, Charles was tall and fair-haired with freckles and a ruddy complexion, and he gave Mary butterflies every time she saw him. He was an up-and-comer on the Tory party political circuit and his boisterous voice and sparkling green eyes had drawn in many supporters. Mary's own father had approved highly of the match as he was sympathetic to the Tory beliefs.

And now the newly-married Lady had to answer more correspondence than she had ever seen in her life. Her mother had answered and invited and helped her father run the parish callers with ease, always a smile and a hum on her lips.

Mary would rather be in the crowd of spectators listening to her father, and now her husband, rouse and move a crowd with passion and purpose.

She groaned and let her head fall onto her arms, her hand cramping from the constant writing.

"If I could offer a suggestion?" Agnes asked again.

"What's your suggestion?" Mary muttered into her arms, her eyes focusing on the highly polished desk below her.

"What if I wrote the letters for you?" she asked, timidly.

Mary's head popped up, her chestnut brown curls falling around her shoulders. “You would do that?" She dropped her quill and grabbed Agnes' hands. "That would save me so much time." She took a deep breath. Then a frown crossed her smooth brow. "Can you write?"

Agnes giggled, her hands still in Mary's.

"Yes, my lady, I can write. My mother taught us."

"Oh!" Lady Mary stood and hugged her maid. "You clever girl! I will help you with what to say. Sit, sit." She motioned the girl to sit on the silk cushioned chair.

"Oh no, Miss," Agnes protested. "I can't sit there. I might be dirty." She motioned to the back of her dress.

"Nonsense, Agnes," Mary pushed her into the seat, eager to get this tedious chore over with. "You're not a scullery maid. I daresay your clothes are as clean as mine."

"Oh all right, Lady Mary." Agnes turned and took up the quill. "Who are you writing to now?"

"To Lord and Lady Cecil Bates," Mary replied.

"He's a right tosser," a loud voice boomed across the room. Charles sauntered in. Mary and Agnes met eyes and giggled.

"Charles, you're horrible!" Mary scolded playfully as her husband came over. Grabbing her by the waist he pulled her into a twirl and a deep kiss, his back to the maid.

"Oh! Charles, put me down!" Mary hit his broad chest, embarrassed to be seen by Agnes, who had politely kept her eyes averted on the empty cards in front of her.

Charles gave his wife another slow kiss, pulling her body even tighter into his so Mary could feel just how much he wanted her. She gasped as he slid her slowly down his body. His green eyes sparked and he whispered,

"How about a midmorning sweet?" He growled playfully in her ear and Mary felt her body react in response. Charles knew his way around pleasing her and they'd only been married a few weeks.

"Yes please," she said, biting her lower lip. His grin broadened and he lifted her into his arms.

"Agnes, I'll be back in a few minutes," Lady Mary said, giggling and keeping her eyes locked on her husband's as he carried her from the room.

"Don't count on it," Charles called back. "Just keep doing what you're doing for the lady and I'll bring her back when I'm done doing what I'm going to do for the lady." His eyes held a devilish glint.

Neither of them heard, or cared, if Agnes answered; their attention on other, more pleasurable, activities soon to come.

Teacake Tidbits - Historical Facts

1. The First Pillar Boxes Were Introduced (1853):

   In 1853, England began installing its first red pillar post boxes in the Channel Islands, and soon they spread to the mainland. This marked a significant change in how people interacted with the postal system, making mail more accessible and increasing correspondence, especially among the middle and upper classes. It subtly underscores why Lady Mary might suddenly feel overwhelmed by social obligations and letter writing. Also, thanks to educational reform in the early 19th century and Sunday schools, many young women like Agnes (the maid) were becoming literate.

   
   

2. Chloroform Was Becoming Popular in Medical Practice:

   Although introduced earlier, by 1853 chloroform had become widely accepted, especially after Queen Victoria used it during the birth of Prince Leopold in that very year. It signified a growing trust in science and comfort over suffering, especially among the upper classes, and also reflects the evolving attitude toward women's experiences with pain and dignity.

   
   

3. The Crystal Palace Was Re-erected in Sydenham (1852–1854):

   Originally built for the Great Exhibition in 1851, the Crystal Palace was moved and rebuilt in Sydenham Hill in 1853. This grand structure became a symbol of Victorian pride, industrial prowess, and cultural aspiration. It reflected England's thirst for progress, beauty, and innovation—and its eventual reopening would have been a major topic of conversation among fashionable households like the Fontaines’.

Soul Notes

It’s strange how love can lift us into lives we never imagined and yet leave us floundering for our footing once there. Lady Mary, once a curate’s daughter scribbling sermons for her father, now finds herself suffocated by etiquette, longing for something real amidst the roses and ribbons of polite society. But in the soft offer of help from her lady's maid, Mary glimpses something precious: the quiet camaraderie of women who labor unseen, whether in parishes or parlors. Sometimes the truest partnerships are not bound by rings or titles, but by the shared sigh of women writing the world into order, one envelope at a time.