“Trust me, he will be delighted,” Lady Henrietta said briskly. “Come, ladies, we must go down. The first guests will be arriving at any moment, and we must be there to greet them.”
Ruth reached the Gold Saloon a few steps behind Ginny, who had a sister-in-law hovering protectively on either side of her. From her vantage point, Ruth had a clear view of the faces of all those gathered in the saloon — the chaplain, the secretaries and attorneys, the Comptroller, the steward, various members of the family, and Ran and Ger. Around the perimeter, Brent and half a dozen footmen stood like statues, awaiting a call to action. Every man present stood a little straighter as the ladies came into view. Every face registered some degree of admiration, from the slight lift of surprised eyebrows to the open-mouthed awe of one of the footmen. And Ger was speechless, gazing at his wife as if he had never seen her before.
“She is so beautiful!” Ran said in astonished tones, as Ruth reached his side.
“Indeed she is,” she said complacently. “She always was, but it took a little town polish to make her truly shine.”
It was not long before the first guests arrived, and for half an hour or so there was the business of announcing names, bows and curtsies, introductions and greetings. Ran and Ruth were part of the ceremony, too, since Ruth was unknown to many of the guests. And then Brent announced dinner and there was the dignified procession into the State Banqueting Room. Ruth had wondered whether Ger would want Ginny sitting next to him, but he had said no, she must take the duchess’s chair at the other end of the table, that was her right. The only stipulation he made was that there must be no epergne or candelabrum in the centre of the table to obscure his view of his wife.
The meal passed without incident. Ger smiled constantly, and if he ate little and said less, on account of being quite unable to take his eyes off his lovely duchess, no one minded, least of all the Squire’s kindly wife and eldest daughter who sat either side of him. Ginny herself was perfectly composed, sitting straight-backed in her over-sized carved chair like a bejewelled doll. When the covers had been cleared and only the desserts, fruit and nuts remained on the table, there was a round of toasts before Ginny rose and led the ladies with great dignity to the State Boudoir, where the formality of the dining table was abandoned in a rising tide of feminine chatter and laughter.
There was only one unsettling moment. When Ger led the gentlemen through to meet the sea of satins and silks, sparkling jewels and nodding feathers on beturbaned heads, for an instant he looked utterly panic-stricken. His eyes even rose briefly to one of the pilasters, as if he had forgotten that Ginny was no longer hiding away. But then the sea parted and Ginny moved forward to meet him.
“There you are at last!” she said to him, with her warm smile. “Now what would please you — cards or music?”
At once his panic melted away, replaced by a smile of relief. He raised her gloved hand to his lips, and then tucked it into his arm. For the rest of the evening he never strayed far from her side.
Eventually the last duet had been sung, the last hand of whist played and the last guest had departed. Ruth went to her room, allowed Pinnock to ready her for bed and then went through to her sitting room to await Ran. Already, after just two weeks of marriage, they had their little rituals. She poured his brandy and her own tea, and settled on the sofa. He arrived a few minutes later with a frown.
“I always have the misfortune to encounter your maid on the stairs, and she gives me the most disapproving glare, as if a husband should not be on his way to his wife’s room at this hour. Perhaps my robe offends her sensibilities. I shall need to find a different stair to use.”
“Or you could use the adjoining rooms to mine,” Ruth said sweetly. “This floor is arranged exactly as for you and Ger downstairs. Behind that panel over there is a door to another bedroom and dressing room. You need never bump into Pinnock on the stairs again.”
“What a splendid idea, my wife.”
He settled beside her, brandy in hand, one arm comfortably around her shoulders and she nestled into him with a sigh of contentment.
“That went better than I expected,” he said. “Ger survived the evening without running away, and Ginny… makes rather a splendid duchess.” His tone was surprised.
“I confess, I rather despised her at first,” Ruth said, “but now I can see the natural dignity in her. Even the beau monde will not disconcert her, I feel sure. Did you notice how well she managed after dinner? She played the room with just as much skill as Ger played the instrument. She moved here and there, talked to everyone, drew out even the vicar’s shy daughter, flirted in the most delicate manner imaginable with the Squire and made sure no one was neglected, yet all the while she watched Ger and made sure she was never out of his sight, not for a moment. That was well done of her, and considerably better than I should have done.”
“Your social skills are unequalled,” he said with a slight frown. “Do not disparage yourself, my love.”
“It is honesty, not disparagement. Mingling in company is easy for anyone raised to it, as I was, but she is a natural, and I could never, ever have reassured Ger in that way. I shudder still to think that I almost married him. He would never have coped with evenings like this with me by his side, and I—” She stopped, hesitant even now to voice her thoughts.
As if he could read her mind, Ran said softly, “He would not have made you happy.”
“No. Ger is a good, kind man, but he has his own burdens, and he would never have loved me as he loves Ginny. I should have been so dreadfully alone, Ran.”
“You will never be alone again, darling.” His arm tightened around her as he spoke.
“I know. Even when we are apart, I know that you love me. It is glorious to be married to you, my dearest.”
He gently kissed her forehead. “It is rather splendid. Marriage is such a wondrous invention.”
“Not marriage, precisely, for Ger and Ginny were happy enough without it,” she said.
“Having someone to love, then,” he said. “Even dukes and their brothers need someone to love.”
“Ah, yes. Loving and being loved. That is what brings me such joy, my husband — being loved. I had no understanding of it… no idea how much I needed it… until that night you kissed me. Then I knew that I could not live without it.”
“Then I must fill your life with love and kisses, beloved one. My dearest, most adored and delightfully kissable wife. Enough of talking.” He set down his brandy glass and reached out to cup her cheek. “We have better things to do.”
She laughed and raised her face eagerly for his kiss.
THE END
That is the end of the story of the ill-fated Brig Minerva and those who found their lives changed by the tragedy. I hope you enjoyed uncovering the final mysteries and learning how the Duke of Falconbury and his brother found happiness with the ladies of their heart. If you still have questions or comments, feel free to email me.
The next series is called Strangers, and you can read a sneak preview of chapter 1 of the first book, Stranger at the Dower House, after the acknowledgements. You can find out more at my website.
Thanks for reading!
If you have enjoyed reading this book, please consider writing a short review on Amazon. You can find out the latest news and sign up for the mailing list at my website.
What’s next? This is the final book of the Silver Linings series, and therefore the end of the story of the Brig Minerva, of those who survived its foundering and the families of those who lost their lives. There will, of course, be another series, filled with more characters whose lives change, for good or ill, and who have secrets to hide and dreams to cherish. There is a famous saying attributed to John Gardner, that there are only two story plots: a stranger comes into town, or a person goes on a journey. My next series, Strangers, is based on the first of these ideas — in every book, a stranger will arrive to disrupt the lives of the existing residents. I hope you will enjoy it.
Family trees: Hi-res version available here.
A note on historical accuracy: I have endeavoured to stay true to the spirit of Regency times, and have avoided taking too many liberties or imposing modern sensibilities on my characters. The book is not one of historical record, but I’ve tried to make it reasonably accurate. However, I’m not perfect! If you spot a historical error, I’d very much appreciate knowing about it so that I can correct it and learn from it. Thank you!
About dukes: This is the first book I’ve ever written featuring a duke as a central character, and my beta readers raised some interesting questions:
1) Isn’t it rude to address a duke as ‘Duke’? Shouldn’t it be ‘Your Grace’, always?
Answer: No. The lower orders always address a duke or duchess as ‘Your Grace’ (never ‘my lord’!). Their social equals, however, address them as ‘Duke’ and ‘Duchess’. There’s some debate about what constitutes the social equal of a duke, but I’ve taken it to mean the whole of the peerage and their families. So Ran can call the Duke of Orrisdale ‘Duke’, and so could Mr Willerton-Forbes, who’s the son of an earl (but he’s not used to his rank, so he usually forgets). Captain Edgerton, being a commoner, would always use ‘Your Grace’.
2) If Ran’s older brother hated the idea of being a duke, couldn’t he just relinquish the title? Or his father could have made Ran his heir instead?
Answer: No. It’s just one of those quirks of the peerage that the eldest legitimate son inherits the title and that’s the end of it. There are very, very few exceptions to that rule. The King or Queen can abdicate, but a duke can’t. He doesn’t have to take his seat in the House of Lords (Parliament) or even use the title if he doesn’t want to, but legally he is still the duke.
Isn’t that what’s-his-name? Regular readers will know that characters from previous books occasionally pop up. Lawyer Mr Willerton-Forbes, his flamboyant sidekick Captain Edgerton and the discreet Mr Neate have been helping my characters solve murders and other puzzles ever since Lord Augustus. The Duke of Camberley’s heir, the Marquess of Ramsey, made a fleeting appearance in The Earl of Deveron, and became an improbable suitor in The Betrothed. The relations of Lord Randolph Litherholm, previously seen in The Lacemaker, include his uncle, Lord Arthur, his aunt, Lady Anne, and his sisters Lady Henrietta Redpath, Lady Alice Winne, Lady Elizabeth Litherholm, Lady Narfield (Georgiana). Lady Charlotte Litherholm and her timorous companion, Camilla, of Durran House, were last seen in The Apothecary. Mr Jonathan Ellsworthy, survivor of the Brig Minerva, and his particular friend, Miss Ginny Chandry, were previously seen in The Clerk and The Orphan. Ginny’s brother, Mr Michael Chandry of Pendower, appeared in The Clerk. Lady Ruth Grenaby made a fleeting appearance in The Orphan, helping the distressed Violet Barantine.
About the Silver Linings Mysteries series: John Milton coined the phrase 'silver lining' in Comus: A Mask Presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err; there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.
Ever since then, the term ‘silver lining’ has become synonymous with the unexpected benefits arising from disaster. The sinking of the Brig Minerva results in many deaths, but for others, the future is suddenly brighter. But it’s not always easy to leave the past behind…
Book 0: The Clerk: the sinking of the Minerva offers a young man a new life (a novella, free to mailing list subscribers).
Book 1: The Widow: the wife of the Minerva’s captain is free from his cruelty, but can she learn to trust again?
Book 2: The Lacemaker: three sisters inherit a country cottage, but the locals are surprisingly interested in them.
Book 3: The Apothecary: a long-forgotten suitor returns, now a rich man, but is he all he seems?
Book 4: The Painter: two children are left to the care of a reclusive man.
Book 5: The Orphan: a wilful heiress is determined to choose a notorious rake as her guardian.
Book 6: The Duke: the heir to the dukedom is reluctant to step into his dead brother’s shoes and accept his arranged marriage.
Any questions about the series? Email me - I’d love to hear from you!
About the author
I write traditional Regency romances under the pen name Mary Kingswood, and epic fantasy as Pauline M Ross. I live in the beautiful Highlands of Scotland with my husband. I like chocolate, whisky, my Kindle, massed pipe bands, long leisurely lunches, chocolate, going places in my campervan, eating pizza in Italy, summer nights that never get dark, wood fires in winter, chocolate, the view from the study window looking out over the Moray Firth and the Black Isle to the mountains beyond. And chocolate. I dislike driving on motorways, cooking, shopping, hospitals.
Acknowledgements
Thanks go to:
All those fine people in Albany, Australia who restored the Brig Amity and gave me the germ of an idea.
Allison Lane, whose course on English Architecture inspired me.
Shayne Rutherford of Darkmoon Graphics for the cover design.
My beta readers: Charles Crouter, Quilting Danielle, Barbara Daniels Dena, Amy DeWitt, Megan Jacobson, Rosemary Paton, Melanie Savage, and the readers of Rachel Daven Skinner’s Romance Refined
Last, but definitely not least, my first reader: Amy Ross.
Sneak preview of Stranger at the Dower House: Chapter 1: The Dower House
MARCH
The post-chaise made a violent turn, throwing the ladies within against the squabs. Louisa gritted her teeth once more, and for about the hundredth time that day wished with all her heart for her own carriage and her faithful, and very gentle, coachman. The chaise made a final lurch before stopping so abruptly that Marie was thrown almost from the seat.
Peering through grimy, rain-spattered windows, Louisa said, “We appear to have arrived.”
“Dieu merci!” Marie muttered, through the lavender-scented handkerchief held to her mouth.
“Courage, Marie. No more journeys for a very long time.”
Unseen hands turned the outer handle of the chaise door, then rattled it and finally, as if in desperation, heaved it open with a crash. An unknown footman peered in. Hers, Louisa supposed, hired three days before from the agency in Shrewsbury. Well, he looked respectable enough, and he had an umbrella open, so he was not unintelligent.
She stepped down onto a weedy gravel drive, and looked at her new home. “Oh… Palladian. Not bad at all.” The classical lines and symmetry, the pedimented door with its fanlight and the arched windows suggested it was no more than fifty years old. “Not the old ruin I was expecting.”
“C'est très petit,” Marie said under her breath.
“Well, yes, it is small, but it is mine, Marie. Only mine. Not to be shared with anyone else.” It would do, she thought. It would suit her purposes.
The house looked well-kept, with not a shutter askew or a tile missing, and nothing else amiss that a dab of paint would not fix. The gardens were another matter. Long, desiccated grass stems had been flattened by winter rain, so that the lawns looked like an abandoned hayfield, and beyond it were an orchard on one side and a collection of overgrown shrubs on the other, dank and dripping in the drizzle.
Several figures stood awaiting her at the top of the steps. A maid in a neat cap and apron, also from the agency. A man in an atrociously unfashionable coat and knee breeches — the attorney, she supposed. Crossley. He had said he would meet her here. And two ladies in black. No idea who they were.
She ascended the steps unhurriedly, so that the footman and his umbrella could keep pace with her.
“Welcome to Great Maeswood, Mrs Middlehope,” said the older of the two ladies in black, with a neat little curtsy. “I am Miss Saxby, and this is my sister, Miss Agnes Saxby. We bear greetings from our mother, Lady Saxby, who is indisposed today, but hopes to invite you to d
ine with us very soon. You know Mr Crossley, I think?”
Louisa reassessed the two ladies. She had not taken much notice of whose dower house she was to inhabit, but clearly these two were from the local big house. The elder was above twenty-five, at a guess, with undistinguished features and a dowdy appearance. The younger, about twenty, was dressed with more opulence but less taste, and was perhaps the plainest girl she had ever seen, poor child.
Nodding politely to the attorney, she said, “Thank you for your diligence, Mr Crossley. Good day to you all, and thank you for your welcome. I would invite you in, but I fear I have nothing in the house to offer you.”
“Oh, but there is,” said the younger Miss Saxby brightly. “We brought some supplies for you — tea, coffee, sugar, bread, that sort of thing. Oh, and a cherry cake and a lemon cake.”
“How very kind of you,” Louisa said. “Then I shall be able to offer you tea and cake, but for myself, I think I need brandy after the way the chaise careered through the gates. I brought a bottle with me, and a few other odds and ends, but forgot most of the staples.” And wine, she realised. How was she to manage without wine?
“Yes, but do come in,” Miss Saxby said. “Mr Crossley has all the keys for you, and then may we show you around? Or would you prefer to be left alone? Travelling is so upsetting to the system, is it not? Mama is always quite overset by it, so we will quite understand if you wish to rest and not be bothered by company.”
“Company is never a bother to me,” Louisa said firmly, “especially when it comes bearing cake.”
The entrance hall was small, and with herself and Marie, Mr Crossley and the two Saxby sisters, not to mention the servants and the boxes now being unloaded from the chaise, it felt uncomfortably crowded. It was the work of a few moments to dispatch Marie upstairs to unpack, the maid downstairs to make tea and Mr Crossley off the premises altogether, his work done once he had surrendered both sets of keys.
The Duke (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 6) Page 31