Tom sighed, “I had gathered that was her aim.”
“Fear not the gallows, Tommy. It isn’t bad enough for the sighing.” Joe patted Tom on the shoulder. “Tell Father I’ll be round at the beginning of the week to talk about the new routes, would you?”
Tom nodded and took Joe’s words to heart about marriage. If he could have a marriage of the quality that Joe had found then that might be bearable. His last glimpse at the women of society had left him doubting that would come to be.
Mistletoe and Etiquette
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The Christmas Bluestocking
Helen Cummins, newly arrived in London for the Season from America, is plunged into an alien world of unfathomable etiquette and hoards of titled English folk of social standing. Caught in a veritable whirlwind of Winter Balls and Christmas festivities, Helen finds her attention wholly snagged by one man.
The Duke of Dolby, known in his circle as Dicky, is once again this Season's most eligible bachelor as Society forces the expectation of marriage on him. Dicky would however rather not. That is until he meets the alluring young American in the peacock blue dress. Helen and Dicky are often together after their first meeting at the Dowager's Winter Ball. Theirs is an evenly matched relationship, quite unlike any of his many interactions with the socialite ladies eying him for marriage. With Helen, he converses intelligently, races on horseback and dances quite passionately.
It was a Christmas like none before for Helen; introduced to the yuletide traditions she had missed out on growing up in America. But it was the promise of seeing one another again on St Stephen's Day following Christmas that had both Dicky and Helen in great anticipation. This was not to be, however and the Duke spent the many weeks following Christmas holding vigil at Helen's bedside.
Join the people of London and Bath, and discover all that the Christmas of 1819 brought for the alluring American belle and the handsome Duke of Dolby. All the secrets, forbidden moments and high adventure of the yuletide season and the week before and after are yours to follow in this Christmas tale, with all its twists and intrigues.
Here is a Taster:
‘Be sure to write us as often as you can,’ Helen’s mother called from the dockside.
It was a bustling day in New York City, and down at the harbour side a myriad of boats and small vessels were preparing for departure.
Helen herself was standing on the deck of the largest ship in port that day, a fine craft christened with the name ‘Enterprise.’ She was waving frantically to her mother, Mrs Eleanor Cummins, a bright light amidst the New York social scene, and next to her, waving a little less enthusiastically was her father, John, who had made a fortune through the gold panning trade in the state of Oregon. He now divided his time between his club and the central apparatus of government, for he had high ambitions in the direction of the governance of the state and was a close personal friend of President Monroe.
It was this wealth which allowed him now to send his only daughter, Helen to London at the request of her grandparents who, with less forward thinking ideas than their now Americanised son who had fully supported the war of independence, had determined that their granddaughter should be exposed to the London scene rather than spend her season amidst the unruly American classes. Those who, in her grandfather’s words ‘drank, shot and cursed without the decorum of an English gentleman’.
And so it was that Helen Cummins, now aged 21 and strikingly beautiful in her own right, found herself on the deck of the Enterprise awaiting departure. Her mother had been desperate to accompany her to England, but the extension of an invitation had not been forthcoming. Mrs Eleanor Cummins was a belle of the south rather than the genteel English lady John Cummins’ parents had hoped he would marry. They had met out west and John had fallen instantly for her charm and wit, the result of which had been passed on to their daughter. But whilst her grandparents had doted on the little child, their attitude towards her mother had remained somewhat cold and steadfast.
For this reason, an emotional farewell had taken place as they had driven in the carriage from their home in the centre of the city towards the docklands. Would Helen be safe as an unaccompanied lady on such a voyage? Who would meet her? What dangers should she try to avoid? But all these questions fell on deaf ears. Helen had the spirit of adventure in her which had led her father on his adventures in the west and, like her mother, she was fiery and independent, assuring them both that she would be perfectly fine on board ship. Her father too had reassured her mother by way of explanation that the captain was an old friend and would see to it that their daughter was safe. And so, with these reassurances, Helen had boarded the ship and was now eager to depart.
‘I’ll write each day, Mama,’ she called back from the deck, ‘Papa, be sure to write me too, y’hear?’
‘I will, my dear, fear not,’ her father called back, ‘send our love to your grandparents and to all who know us in the old country.’
Around them the preparations for departure were almost complete; Helen’s trunks had been placed below deck and the captain had welcomed her on board. Around her, other passengers were waving to loved ones from the deck and it seemed like half the city had turned out to wave off the ship bound for England that day.
‘Prepare to cast off,’ the captain shouted.
‘If there’s anything you need, Darling, y’just write us.” Her mother shouted from the waterside, ‘I shall think of you every day.’
‘And I of you both, too,’ Helen replied.
The great ship now began to cast off out into the water as Helen remained waving to her parents. Her father had put his arm around her mother, her fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a handkerchief dabbing her eye.
‘Be sure to come back to us, Sweetheart,’ her mother cried again.
But now the distance between ship and shore was too great and Helen could only continue to wave as her parents became small dots at the water’s edge. She stood for as long as she could, watching the city in which she had grown up drift further and further away until the buildings were just dots on the horizon and the ship was alone on the vast expanse of water. Shivering a little, she wrapped her shawl around her and went below deck in search of new companions with whom to while away the voyage.
~
The details of the voyage itself will bear little interest to the reader, suffice to say it was uneventful apart from the rough seas off the southern coast of Ireland, the point at which Helen realised she could not suffer sea sickness despite her previous boasts to the contrary. After several weeks of relative comfort at sea, and having made some admirable acquaintances, Helen and the Enterprise arrived in Southampton. It was the 15th of November 1819 and Helen had arrived in a country ruled by a king who was now eighty-one years old, insane, blind and deaf. It was a far cry from the brave new world which she had left, and despite her initial excitement at being told of her trip to England, she alighted from the boat with a sense of trepidation. She had only me her grandparents once when she was much younger, when they had come to visit in America. All she really knew of them was that her grandfather held a high place in the English government, a fact which had caused some dissension when it was discovered that his son was a supporter of American independence, nevertheless the passage of time had mellowed hearts and never had her grandparents been anything but loving in their communications towards her.
~
‘Miss Helen Cummins, I presume?’ a man said as she walked down the gang plank and onto the dockside where her trunks were being unloaded.
‘That’s correct, yes, and who might you be?’ Helen replied, her accent sounding out of place amid the talk of others all around.
‘My name is Granville, Ma’am, secretary to Sir Robert. I have been instructed to meet you here and ensure your safe journey to London, here are my papers.’
And with that he handed Helen a letter bearing her grandfather’s crest and written in his hand, instructing
her to travel with his secretary to their home in London, where her grandmother and he were greatly looking forward to her arrival.
‘Well thank you, sir,’ Helen replied.
‘Do come this way, Ma’am,’ Granville said ‘it is a cold day, but the carriage is at least a little warmer and we will break for the night at a most comfortable inn on the way.’
Helen followed the secretary towards the large black carriage atop of which sat a liveried footman, the driver beside him who had just finished loading her trunks. Granville opened the door of the carriage and made to help her inside.
‘Oh no; thank you, Mr. Granville, I am more than capable of helping myself, why in New York I have my own carriage and driver to take me where I please,’ Helen said.
‘As you wish, Ma’am,’ Granville said, climbing in beside her, ‘you may very well find English customs a little different to that which you are accustomed.’
‘I’m sure I shall get used to them, and no doubt you will help me if I slip up,’ Helen said.
~
The carriage drove away from the dockside where the Enterprise stood awaiting its return voyage. Helen sat back and thought about her mother and father in America, no doubt they were wondering whether she had arrived. She resolved to write to them as soon as the opportunity presented itself; she’d tell them about the funny secretary with his airs and graces and the picturesque countryside through which they were now passing.
The journey to London was broken by the promised inn which was, as Mr. Granville had said, most comfortable. After the limitations of life on board ship, Helen relished the opportunity of a warm fire and a well cooked meal, as well as the chance to bathe and make herself ready for her arrival in London. That night they dined on roast partridge in the cosy lower rooms of the inn and Granville explained some of the intricacies of life with Sir Robert and Lady Anne.
‘With Christmas approaching,’ he said, ‘you’ve really arrived at a most wonderful time. Your grandmother has arranged for you to attend a good number of balls and parties and you will see London at its best. I can’t tell you how excited they are about your arrival, it is all your grandmother has talked about for weeks; it’s just such a shame your father decided to remain in America.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Helen asked.
She’d always known her father and grandfather didn’t see eye to eye on many issues but she had no consideration of herself as belonging to England. This was a foreign country to her and its ways already appeared somewhat backward. She wondered whether the promise of balls and parties would simply turn into a dull comparison to the life which she enjoyed in New York.
‘Oh, merely that your grandparents would have preferred him to have returned to England, and taken a job of state. By all accounts, your father enjoys great acclaim in the new world,’ Granville said.
‘That he does, Mr. Granville, but he met my mother and the rest is history. She has told me all about my grandmother’s attitude towards her, but be assured, if my grandparents are expecting me to be different from her, they will be disappointed. My mother is a fine woman and I am most like her in so many ways,’ Helen said.
‘I meant no offence, Ma’am,’ Granville said, cutting vigorously into his partridge.
~
The next day, after a fortifying breakfast, though the coffee was beneath the standards to which she was accustomed, the coach departed for the final leg of its journey to London. Helen and Granville sat in silence for much of the journey, the latter reading a book as Helen gazed out of the window at the pastoral landscape unfolding around her. At length, the scenery changed and the outer areas of the capital came into view, it was at this point that Granville put down his book and began to point out to Helen some of the capital’s highlights.
‘There Ma’am, is St Paul’s cathedral, designed by Sir Christopher Wren, you will no doubt attend divine service there as Christmas approaches, and of course we are close to the Thames and you will see the boats traversing,’ Granville said.
Helen looked in awe at the cathedral towering over the shabby buildings below. The carriage drove on through the city, parts of it could have been New York yet it did not have that sense of home which she knew. She felt a stranger in a foreign land, and her mind turned wistfully to the place in which she had grown up.
‘We’re here now, Ma’am,’ Granville said, jolting Helen from her day dreaming.
‘Here’ was a long street of fine town houses, the outsides brightly white washed, black railings with gold painted, spear ended tops running neatly in front of them, broken by steps leading up to a shining black door with an overly polished gold letterbox and knocker. They were outside number 26 and despite Granville’s haste, Helen opened the door herself and leapt down onto the pavement, looking up with awe at her grandparent’s home. The brass plate to the side of the door read ‘Sir Robert Cummins’ and the steps appeared as if they had been scrubbed almost to the point of shining (which indeed they had).
Mr. Granville, having reasserted himself, now stood beside Helen looking up at the house.
‘Oh, it’s lovely,’ Helen said, ‘not at all as imagined.’
‘What did you imagine, Ma’am?’ Granville asked.
‘Oh, a sort of spooky old manor house or a castle, I don’t know really, not this that’s for sure.’ Helen said.
‘Well shall we go inside, Ma’am? The footman will see to your trunks, this way please,’ Granville said.
He led her up the steps and knocked on the door, 1,2,3 times. Momentarily it was opened and a lady in a long black dress ushered them in. She curtsied to Helen and introduced herself as Mrs Harlow, the housekeeper, who would aim to make Helen’s stay with them as comfortable as possible, for which Helen thanked her most graciously.
The hallway was dimly lit, though Helen could see that it was richly furnished. Stairs led from it up to a gallery above, past walls hung with portraits. The floor was of marble with black inlay and had recently been polished, in fact the whole house appeared as if it had been recently cleaned and made ready for her arrival. The darkened hallway was contrasted by a merry glow emanating from a room off to the right and from which a figure emerged momentarily. It was Lady Anne Cummins, Helen’s paternal grandmother and here she appeared smiling radiantly, her arms outstretched to welcome her only granddaughter.
‘Oh, my darling, how wonderful to see you, we have been expecting you at any moment. Your grandfather is out on business, but he’ll return soon. Look at you, a picture of beauty, and the look of your father when he was your age,’ the lady said, embracing Helen warmly.
‘How was your journey?’ she continued, ‘We must send word to your father that you’ve arrived here safely with us. You must be exhausted, it is such a long way to travel for a young lady. The servants will see to your things, come with me and get warm by the fire. Mrs Harlow, would you send some tea up for us please?’
And with that Helen was swept away into a cosily furnished sitting room, where she sat in a chair close to the hearth in which a fire was crackling merrily. Momentarily one of the maids brought in the tea tray and Helen, more used to the New York coffee houses than the traditions of her English forebears, experienced the first of many English cups of tea, fashionable as it had become amongst the upper classes.
‘And how was your journey?’ her grandmother asked once the tea had been poured.
‘Oh, it was uneventful,’ Helen replied, ‘but just such a long way from home.’
‘You’ll soon settle in with us, dear, don’t worry. There is so much to see and do whilst you are here with us. Why, in just a few days, we attend the Dowager Duchess of Dolby’s Winter Ball, it is always held on the first day of December and is a highlight of the season in the run up to Christmas,’ her grandmother said.
At that point there was a commotion at the door and the sound of Sir Robert returning from his business. Momentarily he appeared at the door of the sitting room.
Helen’s grandfather was a fine looking man, still handsome, despite his age, with a shock of white hair and a curled moustache, his twinkling blue eyes observing the scene before him.
‘My dear, I’m so glad to see you have arrived safely,’ Sir Robert said, advancing into the room and embracing his granddaughter who was now standing by the hearth.
‘No doubt your grandmother has already interrogated you about your journey and so suffice to say you are most welcome here and we have so looked forward to your arrival. I trust Granville looked after you on your journey here from Southampton?’
‘He did indeed, Sir, and he was most gracious in pointing out to me the many wonderful sights which we passed as we came into London,’ Helen said.
‘Good, I’m glad to hear it,’ Sir Robert said.
‘Was everything in order in town?’ his wife asked.
‘Oh yes, I just had some business at the club, that’s all,’ Sir Robert replied.
‘Business at the club’ was the shorthand way for Helen’s grandfather to admit that he had spent the afternoon at Almack’s, pouring over the papers and drinking whisky alongside his contemporaries, after indulging in a lavish lunch including his favourite pudding of Boodle’s fool. With parliament currently not in session, Sir Robert had little to do except entertain himself about town. This duty, he performed as officiously as he undertook the business of governance, yet despite his powerful position and the weight of responsibility which he carried, Sir Robert had remained at heart a family man, and was secretly overjoyed to have his granddaughter with them for the coming season.
A Most Congenial Lady Page 9