Realms of Fire

by Sharon K Gilbert

  “Oh, yes, please! I’d so like to find my true self again. How long would the process take? Could it be finished in time for this evening—say, if I decided to visit the theatre?”

  The nurse sighed. The poor girl was in love with her physician. Winstead had seen it before, and the end was never a favourable one. She’d have to remind his lordship that young ladies’ hearts were tender, and that his kindness and supportive affections might be misconstrued by an impressionable, dependent personality.

  “Yes, I think it can be finished in time for this evening, Miss. Leave it to me, but careful about setting too much store by invitations to parties and such. His lordship is generous with his time, but he is also a high-ranking peer. I’m not judging, mind you. Just stating a fact.”

  Violet knew what the woman was saying, but tried not to take offence. “I promise not to set too much store by it, Mrs. Winstead. Thank you for your wise words.”

  Satisfied, the nurse left the apartment, and Violet began to hum softly to herself. For some odd reason, she pictured herself in a gilded theatre box, sitting beside a handsome escort. However, the man’s features weren’t those of Henry Salperton. Rather, they were of a far different man—one with intensely blue eyes and long chestnut hair.

  Someone named Stuart.

  Chapter Eight

  9:18 am – Haimsbury House

  Elizabeth Stuart Sinclair sipped peppermint tea as she sorted through the morning post. The master apartment’s drawing room fire blazed cheerfully, and the newly installed radiators warmed the air. Despite these conveniences, the duchess felt a decided chill and pulled her dressing gown’s belt tighter round her waist. “Esther, whilst you’re in there, I wonder if you’d bring me the little blue shawl with the roses? The one my husband gave me,” she asked Alcorn.

  The former housekeeper stood in a large cedar closet, instructing a lady’s maid trainee on how to select the appropriate items for special occasions. She poked her head out of the interior for a moment.

  “Are you cold, my lady?”

  “Not terribly, but the room has a distinct chill, don’t you think? These heaters never seem to work properly in here. I don’t know what the problem is. They work perfectly well in the rest of the house.”

  “Aggie,” Esther whispered to the twenty-one-year-old maid, “the blue shawl’s folded in the topmost drawer of that cedar chest. There on your right.”

  “I don’t see it, Mrs. Alcorn.” Agatha MacGowan said, standing on a foot stool to search the built-in chest. “Will this do?” she asked, producing a scarlet shawl embroidered with yellow flowers.

  “Take it and see,” answered Alcorn, who began to search the chest herself.

  Aggie curtsied as she approached Victoria Stuart, who was reading a French newspaper. The spinster glanced up. “I’ve not seen that shawl in a long time. Didn’t Seth give you that last Christmas?”

  Beth turned round from her work. “I’d forgotten about that shawl. Yes, it was a gift, but not from Seth. Paul gave me this. That’ll do nicely, Aggie. You’re going to make a fine lady’s maid. Is Ada feeling better?”

  “A mite bit, my lady,” answered MacGowan brightly. “The doctor reckons the measles left her run-down. It’s kind o’ you ta keep her on, e’en though she canno’ work.”

  “We’re happy she’s here, my dear,” Victoria assured the girl. “Your family and Ada’s have a long history with the Stuarts. Tell me, do you have plans for Christmas?”

  “Aye, my lady, I do,” the young woman said, breaking into a wide smile. “My nan’s asked me ta spend a week wi’ her in Glasgow. Nanna raised me as her own after my folks died, and she’s gettin’ older now. If I’m ta become your new lady’s maid, Yer Grace, then it’ll get harder ta visit. I was hopin’ Ada could go with me, but as she’s still ailin’, I’ll be goin’ on me own, I reckon.”

  The girl curtsied and returned to the closet.

  Victoria began to tap her foot in annoyance. “Already past nine! Beth, you should finish sorting through that mail later. We need to leave soon, and you’re not even dressed.”

  “I’m very nearly done,” the duchess argued.

  Someone knocked, and the door to the parlour opened a crack. Baxter’s wide face appeared. “Is it safe to enter, my lady?”

  “As safe as it ever is,” Tory laughed. “Do come in, Mr. Baxter. Are those the London papers?”

  The butler carried three freshly pressed broadsheets on a tray. “The Times, Gazette, and Star, my lady. I cannot fathom why the duke wishes to read that East End rag,” he complained as he laid the papers on the nearest table. “Nothing but innuendo and lies, if you ask me.”

  “The duke takes it to keep track of those lies and innuendo,” Elizabeth told the impeccably dressed butler. “Is the house ready for tonight?”

  “We are right on schedule, my lady,” Baxter answered proudly. “The footmen are moving the chairs into the receiving hall as we speak. The Christmas trim is finished, and we’ve only to set the tables. I’ve told Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Paget to plan for fifty. Is that number still correct?”

  “I’ve no idea,” replied the duchess. “Lady Victoria’s in charge of the guest list.”

  “Thirty-four at last count,” the Scotswoman told him as a small dog came flying into the bedchamber. “Samson! Whatever have you been into?”

  The brown and white terrier’s wiry coat was mired in mud, and his muzzle looked as though he’d spent an hour jumping through piles of wet leaves. Baxter deftly managed to avoid the dog as he collected empty teacups from the tables. “Shall I see he gets another bath, Lady Victoria?”

  “Yes, please, Mr. Baxter,” replied Stuart. “We cannot have him spoiling anyone’s clothing tonight. But I’ll carry him down. I’m used to my dog’s adventures.”

  Aggie emerged from the closet and picked up the filthy terrier. “Might I do it, my lady? Samson and I’ve become real good friends. I’ll scrub him up. If it’s all right with Mrs. Alcorn, o’ course. I shouldn’t wish to leave my lessons without permission.”

  Esther laughed merrily. “It’s not the usual job for a lady’s maid, but it makes a change, I suppose. Go on now, and when you’re done, come back up to help me pack the duchess’s things for tomorrow’s trip to Branham.”

  “Very good, Mrs. A.,” she said, leaving with the muddy dog in her arms.

  Baxter stared at the mud-spattered wool carpet. “It’ll need a scrub,” he mused aloud. “Shall I send up a maid right away, my lady, or do you prefer us to clean the rug whilst you’re at the funeral?”

  “Later is fine,” Beth replied. “We can avoid stepping on the stained areas for the present—besides, there aren’t too many. If you’d place a towel down, that is sufficient. Dogs will be dogs, Mr. Baxter. Which reminds me, where are Bella and Briar?”

  “With Lady Adele in the conservatory, my lady. She is studying her geography lesson, I believe. May I bring you another pot of tea?”

  “I’m quite full from breakfast, Baxter, thank you. Esther, have I any black dresses that still fit me?” she asked the former housekeeper.

  Along with Baxter, Esther Alcorn had now moved to Haimsbury House permanently, but as the home already had a housekeeper, Alcorn had taken over as temporary lady’s maid to the duchess. Alicia Mallory, the young woman she’d replaced, had left the duchess’s employ to live with her newly widowed and heavily pregnant sister in Brighton.

  “You’ve a lovely dark blue that should fit. There are two black ensembles, my lady, which are quite presentable, but the waists are a tad smaller than you are at present. No corsets, remember? Dr. Gehlen’s orders.”

  “I wouldn’t wear one anyway,” the peeress answered, noticing her aunt’s disapproving glare. “Oh, I shall need an entirely new wardrobe soon, I imagine. These children grow faster than thistle in a Scottish meadow!”

  Baxter should have left by now, but
he rather enjoyed the company of these pleasant women; Alcorn in particular. He busied himself by placing towels across the spoiled carpet and then checking the duke’s bedchamber to make sure he’d left no teacups or whisky glasses the previous evening. Haimsbury and Drummond had talked long past midnight, which meant tables filled with empty glasses. Baxter inspected the chamber maid’s work on the bed, running a gloved hand along each surface whilst listening to the women talk next door. He checked the locks on the window shutters, and then straightened the letters and papers on the duke’s desk in the adjoining study. Finally, the amiable butler could find nothing more to occupy his time, and he returned to the parlour to bid the ladies a good morning.

  “Our Baxter’s a treasure, is he not, Mrs. Alcorn?” noted Lady Victoria once he’d gone.

  “Mr. Baxter’s a perfect butler and a perfect gentleman,” Alcorn answered diplomatically. “Now, if you’re not ready to dress, my lady, I’ll go have a quick cup o’ tea with Mrs. Anderson.”

  “Thank you, Esther. Enjoy your break. I should be ready to dress in half an hour or so.”

  Alone with her niece, Victoria chose the Pall Mall Gazette to begin reading. Elizabeth sat at the same writing desk used by her husband that morning to commence his new journal. Victoria occupied a soft armchair near the fire. The maiden aunt lit a cigarette, exhaling thoughtfully.

  “I hear you’ve been annoying Charles’s cooks,” she said casually.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied the duchess, reading through a letter from one of her lawyers. “Why would I annoy them?”

  “I’ve no idea. You’re the one doing it.”

  “Then, it’s my business, isn’t it?”

  “Is it? I refer to that cake-baking nonsense yesterday. Trying to learn how to beat egg whites and master proper folding techniques and all that. Honestly, I don’t understand you sometimes! You’re a consummate musician, a respected hostess, linguist, and horsewoman. Must your horizons also extend to cakes?”

  Elizabeth reached for the next letter in the stack, but looked up briefly. “For the record, Tory, Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Paget are also my cooks, and I’ve not been annoying them. Rather, they were kind enough to help me with a small project. And I do not seek to expand my horizons, as you so cleverly put it. I’m quite content with my life, if you must know. Charles and I are very happy. As to horseback riding, that pleasant pastime is unavailable to me until next fall at the earliest.”

  “Yet you still spend time in the stables, my dear.”

  “Checking on our new foals, that is all. I shan’t ride again for a very long time. Tory, have you come up here with the sole purpose of irritating me? I really do have work to do.”

  “Do you work?”

  “Of course, I work!” Beth exclaimed. “What utter nonsense! I’ve been working since I was eleven years old, and you know it. Why are you being so very annoying this morning?”

  The Scotswoman laughed as she puffed on the French cigarette. “I’m pleased you’ve risen to the bait, my dear. Your demeanor has been far too pale and submissive lately. Much too obedient. Not like yourself at all. I’d worried your new husband had somehow extinguished your fiery temperament.”

  “Shall I unleash my fiery temperament on you? Honestly, Tory, I don’t have time for your pointless games. If you’re bored, then find someone else to entertain you. It’s nearly half nine, and the funeral’s at eleven, which means I have to finish these letters quickly and dress.”

  “Perhaps, your secretary should be doing that.”

  Elizabeth was reading a letter from an estate agent, only half hearing her aunt’s confusing diatribe. “Yes, yes, you’re probably right.”

  “Am I?”

  Beth glanced up from the page. “Very well, I’m listening. You’ve clearly come to offer advice. What is it?”

  “If it’s not wanted, then, I shall be happy to offer my very sound advice elsewhere,” the elder woman pouted.

  “I’m sorry, Tory. Perhaps, my temperament remains fiery, as you put it. Forgive me.”

  The spinster set aside the paper. “No, you’re as pleasant as ever. I’m being combative, but it isn’t out of boredom. I love you and only want the best for you, Beth. I can see how tightly wound you’re becoming. The cake-baking is merely a way to escape from a self-imposed trap.”

  Putting down the letter, the duchess stared, her eyes round. “Trap? Surely, you don’t mean my marriage! Tory, I love my husband. No one has ever made me happier. No one could. Why would you use so hateful a word?”

  “I didn’t mean your marriage, my dear. I adore Charles, and I can see how happy you are. He’s always been your great love, and it’s God’s merciful plan to bring you together. But despite your joy, the constraints of your pregnancy hang about you like a soft chain. You grow restless and look for ways to channel your energies. Cake-baking is a distraction; nothing more. You need an all-consuming project, not pastries. What about this hospital you mentioned last month? Have you thought any more of how to accomplish it?”

  A look of fierce determination crossed the duchess’s heart-shaped face and she rose to fetch a small box file from a carved oak, Flemish cabinet. Inside the file, were several large envelopes. She handed the collection to her aunt.

  “Not only have I thought of it, I’ve begun it,” Beth said. “These papers form the seed for that very project. My solicitor, Mr. Winterton, is setting up a charitable fund which will underwrite the hospital. We’ve already held three meetings with estate agencies, and Grandfather’s helping secure benefactors. That letter,” she continued, pointing to a typed document on blue paper, “is from Lord Gilford. He’s contributing glass for the windows. And behind it, is one from Lord and Lady Merton. They’re donating mattresses. Behind that is a list of other individuals and businesses who’ve shown an interest. I’m determined that the Haimsbury-Branham Teaching Hospital will be free for medical students and patients alike. Does that sound as if I’ve been idle?”

  Victoria laughed. “I suppose not. I thought you’d planned to call it the Branham Hospital.”

  “Originally, I had, but it’s important that Charles’s name be included. Not only because it is one of my names now, but because Haimsbury is part of our children’s inheritance.”

  Victoria exhaled a thin stream of silver smoke and tapped ash into a bowl decorated with a trio of leaping frogs. “You keep saying children. My dear, if you are carrying twins, then...”

  Beth stared at her aunt defiantly. “Tory, consider it as fact: I am carrying a boy and a girl. Twins.”

  “If you and Charles believe this...”

  “We know it, Tory.”

  The Scotswoman stubbed out the smoke and leaned against the back of the chair, her dark eyes on her niece. “If true, then how will it all work? Legally, I mean? Twins can be tricky business, as our own inner circle records indicate. Both children cannot inherit your titles. You may have to choose.”

  “Their order of birth will determine inheritance, I should think,” the duchess replied as she used a letter knife to open the next envelope. “If Robby’s born first, he’ll be heir to the Haimsbury and Branham titles and all that’s entailed to them. If Georgie’s born first, she’ll one day become Duchess of Branham, and her brother the Duke of Haimsbury.”

  “I see. There are so many ‘ifs’, aren’t there?”

  “Tory, why are you cross-examining me this morning? I love you very much, but I’ve had a dreadful night’s sleep, and I’m simply not up to your usual banter.”

  The duke’s youngest sister grew serious. “It isn’t my intention to cross-examine you, my dear. You are happy, I hope?”

  “Very happy,” she answered. “Charles makes me happier than I’d ever imagined. He’s thoughtful, loving, and attentive. I doubt there’s ever been a better husband.”

  “Then, why the poor night’s sleep?”r />
  Elizabeth sighed. “Nausea is partly to blame, but once that settled down, I had a quite awful dream. I’d hoped to talk to Charles about it this morning, but he left before I awoke.”

  “What sort of dream?”

  “Just a nonsensical one,” Beth said. “I’d rather not talk about it. Besides, most of it’s gone now. Oh,” she said, changing the subject, “did I tell you Seth Holloway will be joining us for Christmas?”

  “Now, that will make for a very interesting holiday,” answered Tory with a grin. “Did he write? No, wait! Isn’t he part of that expedition or project or something? The one for those blackbirds, or black rocks.”

  “Blackstone,” the duchess corrected. “It’s a scientific society. You remember, Seth and Paul helped me sort through all the legal tangles. The survey finishes this weekend, and Seth’s promised to stay over a day or two before he goes back to Cambridge.”

  “He doesn’t live at Torden Hall?”

  “No, he’s teaching at Trinity,” she told her aunt. “I think he and Charles will get along very well. They’re both Cambridge men, and both are curious about the world.”

  Laughing, the Scotswoman picked up the paper once again. “You hope they’ll get along, my dear, but I rather doubt Charles will enjoy meeting the man you very nearly married!”

  “That’s not true,” she insisted.

  “It is true. Or should have been. How many times did poor Seth propose? Two dozen? Three? Honestly, Elizabeth, I’d have married him in your shoes. Even Dolly thinks him a catch. Broad-shouldered, fair-haired, and those blue eyes have such a lovely sleepy look to them. It gives that boyish face an air of mystery.”

  “Seth and I are good friends, Tory. Nothing more.”

  “How often do friends kiss you?”

  “If you’re going to be difficult, I won’t say anything more,” Beth answered icily. “Now, if you’re finished teasing me, I need to change. Grandfather will be here soon. Is Paul picking up Della? Someone should make certain she’s ready to leave. Knowing the earl, he’ll be in a rush.”