Still, Prudence hadn’t spoken. She seemed out of breath and was clutching the door in her thin, pale fingers.
Daphne tried again to peer around her. “I need a word with my stepmother. If you could please open the door…” She was beginning to suspect that the girl was in shock for all the response her words garnered. Daphne looked the maid in the face and asked her to move once more.
Finally, Prudence seemed to accept defeat and skirted to the side to open the door.
Roberta Blanton’s chambers were simultaneously the same and the opposite of her husband’s; the room was a catastrophe of trunks and clothing with all manner things sprawled all about, but where hers differed was in the nature of the room.
She was packing things away.
Daphne took a moment to consider the scene, feet stuck at the threshold. Roberta was fussing about by the vanity and running a brush through her hair. She was entirely aware of her stepdaughter’s intrusion and cared not for whatever words the younger woman was about to speak. She just kept right on sitting, asking Prudence to pull things from the wardrobe and lay them to fold. The maid retreated from the door to Roberta’s side to set about arranging the clothing into the suitcases.
Daphne finally managed to clear her throat. “What is the meaning of all this?”
Both the maid and Mrs. Blanton failed to provide an answer. Daphne could only assume that her stepmother was ignoring her and Prudence appeared to be too distraught to speak at all.
Daphne made her way into the room to count in the number of suitcases and consider the chaos of the space around her. How long had this been going on? This must be nearly complete.
“I asked you a question, stepmother. I would appreciate if it were answered.”
Her father’s wife finally turned to look at her. “It is not obvious, dear Daphne? I am taking my leave.”
“Your leave?”
“That is what I said, is it not?”
Daphne was caught between confusion and panic. Did her father know about this? Was she planning to travel alone? Why had she come to this decision?
Prudence bustled past her, suitcase in tow, leaving the first of the flock in the hallway. This could only mean that a carriage was shortly due to arrive. So many questions left unanswered!
“Where are you going?”
Roberta sniffed and turned back to the vanity. She examined the curls that were pinned to her head. “To London, of course.”
“On what business?”
"That is of no concern to you.”
Daphne bristled. “Would it be of concern to your husband?”
Roberta turned to her, eyes narrowed. “I would hardly think so.”
The words cut across Daphne harsher than a slap. It sounded like a warning. Her father truly had no idea that his wife is departing for London?
“Well, when will you be returning? I am sure he would appreciate knowing.”
“That is, as yet, undetermined,” Roberta said, voice laced with spite. Entirely uncaring, she motioned to the next suitcase that Prudence was to move into the hallway. The maid obliged, fervently avoiding Daphne’s gaze. “When I reach my destination, I will send word.” She pushed past Daphne and into the hallway, snapping at Prudence to hurry and bring her things down the stairs. All Daphne could do was follow along after her, still questioning.
“What am I to tell my father, since I do not suppose you will be bidding him goodbye?”
Outside, Roberta turned on her stepdaughter. “It is of little consequence to me. You seem the creative sort – I am sure you will come up with something.”
Just as the words left her lips, a carriage pulled up at the front of the house. The driver jumped to the ground, nodding at the two ladies and taking the suitcases from the clearly exhausted Prudence. At Roberta’s direction, he stowed them away and set himself atop the carriage again. The entire ordeal was over in just a few minutes.
Roberta took Daphne’s hands in hers, dry and cold. While holding the younger woman’s gaze, she said, “I am so sorry that you won’t be coming to London for the season this year. It truly is a shame.”
With that remark their parting words, Roberta boarded the carriage and sent the driver away. Daphne was left in the dust.
Chapter 2
Hedingham Manor in Essex
Hedingham Manor was one of the largest properties in Essex and had been the home of the Gildon family for generations. Containing over 50 rooms and lavishly decorated in all the finest interior fashions, the gargantuan stone building was finely made and elegantly situated, sweeping into the surrounding land as if it were ordained by the Heavens that it would sit in this very place.
The grand facade stood atop a tall foundation with dual curving staircases on either side, completing the symmetrical aesthetic. These staircases gave way to the cobbled driveway beneath, which was wide enough for four carriages to stand abreast. The drive was circular and headed by a large, bubbling fountain with a rearing horse cresting the spout.
The ground of the estate covered some 90 acres and was comprised of a whole manner of gardens, open fields, forest and paddock. Wooded hills provided a natural boundary for the estate behind the Manor whereas the front was exposed to some miles of flat and lush ground.
At the centre of the estate grounds was a large, natural lake, in which the residents would take to fishing in as a past time, just as they would like to hunt through the woodlands at the property’s rear. The surrounding forest was teeming with a whole manner of fantastic hunting game from pheasants to deer.
The Manor itself sat at the hill’s crest, a position which commanded unrivalled views of the countryside below, and likewise provided some level of natural fortification. It was a place with a grand history, strategically positioned in the Essex hills to command the area and town beneath.
Hedingham was a popular place for visitors of the area as well, charming them with its expansive grounds and beautiful, ornate exterior. Some rooms were open to the public when accompanied by one of the estate staff. It was the opinion of the late Lord Gildon that the family endeavour to connect with the townsfolk in an effort to keep relationships strong.
Hedingham Manor was, in the opinion of the Essex townsfolk, the most beautiful home in the county, an opinion shared by its proprietor: one Lord Benedict Gildon.
The young Lord stood by a window in the dining hall. His favourite vantage point, it overlooked the entire front of the estate from the Manor’s driveway, down the rolling hill and to the lake at its base. From here, he could guarantee that no visitors would be unannounced as he could see them coming for two miles up the road.
As Lord of Hedingham, it was within his charge to ensure that the proceedings within these walls went smoothly. As such, Benedict enjoyed the organisation and, to an extent, the unique pressures that came with such responsibility. It occupied almost all hours of his day and ensured that his sleep during the night was restful; it must be, for he had to repeat the same system of operations each day.
Benedict had only been Lord of Hedingham for a short time. Lord Arthur Gildon had passed suddenly just two years earlier after a hunting incident had him thrown from his horse. He had succumbed to his extensive injuries within a week. It was the darkest period of his life that Benedict could recall. He was torn between mourning his father and the responsibilities that were immediately bestowed upon him as heir to Hedingham. He became Lord the same day as his beloved father’s passing.
During that time, he had taken on the responsibilities with fervour, throwing himself into them as if to make his father proud. It was his only true focus in life at the time. He was not fully schooled in the running of a Manor and all the exact intricacies that were involved in such a task, but it was seen to that he received the best instructors on the matter. It seemed that, by and large, Benedict was doing a marvellous job as Lord of Hedingham.
Across the room, the table was being set for the day’s lunch. Benedict would be dining with his mother, the Lady Vivi
an. She sat at the chair adjacent to the head of the table and was watching her son as the platters were laid out before her.
Benedict would normally enjoy this time of the day, using it as a period of rest and recuperation before his daily ride about the estate grounds. However, with the recent season beginning in London, it seemed that his Lady mother would have them discuss nothing else but the prospects that a new season would bring to the Gildon home.
“I just think you ought to go,” Lady Vivian was insisting. “It is about time you start taking this more seriously.”
Thoughtful quiet pervaded the room whilst the maids finishing laying the setting. This room was one of the most ornate in the Manor, designed especially to welcome and impress the many guests who would find themselves walking through Hedingham’s great doors. The long table was crafted from oak and stained to a black-brown.
It seated twenty people, which would fill out a modest dinner party. Each chair was crafted from the same wood, which complemented the rest of Manor’s architecture. The walls were a pale contrast to the dark accents of the furniture and all around were splashes of colour in the finery and accessories.
Once the maids finished, Lady Vivian thanked them before she turned to her son, who was still staring out the window. “You are already in your twenty-second year. It is time that you began to more earnestly consider the prospect of marriage.”
It wasn’t that such a conversation bored Benedict – it was just that courtship and matrimony were not high on his list of priorities. After all, he was Lord of the Manor and had enough responsibilities as it were. He considered his mother’s words but was more interested in her intent.
Benedict was constantly worrying for his mother, since she was now a widow. He often thought she was lonely for company and wished him to marry so that she had someone else about the property to talk to. His mother was choosy with her company and he did not doubt that she would have quite the opinion on his stepping into the London scene.
She continued on the topic. “I beg of you Benedict, head to London. A marriage promises a future.”
He sighed forlornly, hearing her words but not turning towards her yet. He kept his eyes on the world beyond the window, trailing his gaze from the fountain directly beneath him, down the long drive, to the lake a half mile away. The sky was beautiful today, a perfect blue flecked with clouds. The thought of going outside filled him with want of peace. He treasured his moments alone where he could reflect on what the future held for him in solitude.
But his mother still spoke from behind him. Not wanting to upset her, he turned and joined her at the table. Taking a seat at the head, he examined the abundant spread before him. He was entirely aware, of course, that his mind was wondering to a whole manner of subjects apart from what was currently being discussed.
With effort, he met his mother’s eyes at last. “I have no interest in such things, mother. My day to day life is complex enough without adding an unnecessary romance.”
She tutted at this. “My darling, the romance is not the necessary part. Your father – may his soul rest easy – would want to see his lineage continue. I would like to see his lineage continued. Your responsibilities to this family and to Hedingham do not start and end with this Manor.”
He knew that she spoke the truth, and that having a family was of the utmost importance. It was the role of any citizen in any society, was it not? To create and rear children, to maintain the family and further the line? Especially when the Gildon’s position was of such importance to society. But the thought of all that goes into raising children, the time he would have to spend away in order to engage in all those things leading to an adequate marriage – it all seemed so exhausting, and a distraction when there are so many others things he would rather be attending to.
“A sensible marriage is one that brings security; security, good title, sociability and a healthy lineage. It is just the way of life, my dear.” His mother paused as food was served. She took a sip of wine before going on. “I know you are young, but I hope you can understand the importance of your position.”
Benedict nodded at her. “I can; I do.”
He does, of course he does. He had learned of his title and what the position meant when he was young. He had been groomed for his father’s succession since the day he was born. Title and appearance were everything in this world of aristocracy. The Gildon’s had a certain perception to maintain, and it was Benedict’s sole responsibility to maintain this alongside Hedingham itself.
As the only child of Lord and Lady Gildon, there was no other person the family could turn to; there was no other way around it. Whether he enjoyed the idea of marriage or not, and whether he was ready for such a life commitment, was irrelevant, and certainly not the concern of Lady Vivian. Duty was paramount.
They ate in silence for some time with Lady Vivian allowing her son to ruminate on the suggestion she made to him. It was not her wish to overwhelm her son, but there was so much he had yet to show any interest in. That was a concern of hers, for though as a man he was granted the natural gift of time, securing a marriage would bring relevance back to the family.
The Gildons had not so much between the topic of conversation in Essex since the passing of her husband, and that was so long ago already. It was important to show the townsfolk that the Gildons still commanded respect and were a family worthy of their attentions.
This season in London presented new opportunities and it would be such a pity for him to miss out. Who knew what chances could pass him by if he were to stay on at the Manor? His responsibilities were many, but he owed the family just as much as he owed the home. He felt this pressure every day. There were certain things, certain necessities that he took in his stride, but the proposition of marriage, of courtship, just did not seem to be one of priority at this time.
As a man he had the luxury of time; he played into this fact whenever Lady Vivian broached this subject. All he wished for was more time, which for Benedict didn’t seem so enormous an ask. Evidently, his mother seemed to feel very differently on the subject.
“Imagine how much life a child would bring into this home. Oh, now imagine more than one! Perhaps that is exactly what the Manor needs, Benedict: new life. You must be the one to keep Hedingham alive.”
She allowed the silence to stretch while they continued on with the meal. Benedict was appreciative of the spread before him, but it did little to whet his appetite. Normally such talks of responsibility would take place later in the evening when all of his other daily duties had been attended too. There must have been something in the air today to make all the day’s proceedings so different. He attempted to keep lunching, each time working hard to allay his mother’s concerns for the welfare of their family.
Mercifully, the butler made a sudden entrance. He bowed before announcing the arrival of one Miss Daphne Blanton, a proclamation that caused Benedict to get at once to his feet. If only he had been standing by the window! He would not have been so surprised by her arrival. Not that he at all considered her stopping in to be any kind of inconvenience, quite the opposite in fact – he thoroughly enjoyed the company of his oldest and dearest friend.
She entered then and it was immediately apparent that she had walked the distance to arrive here. Why had she not taken a carriage? Why had she not sent word for Lord Gildon to arrange one for her? Perhaps the goal was for this excursion to be a surprise for Benedict and his mother. If that was her intention, she had succeeded on all fronts.
“Ah, Miss Blanton!” Lady Vivian rose alongside her son to greet the girl. Her own affections for Daphne were long and genuine, having had much to do with the girl since her childhood. In fact, she considered herself a caretaker of the girl in many ways, particularly since the death of dear Mrs. Blanton.
Lady Vivian stopped short of her advance to take the full measure of Daphne’s appearance: the hem of her skirt was soiled, likely due to the long walk she had taken to get here. Her hair was windswept, giv
ing her a wild look. The girl’s normally even complexion was flushed from effort. She had every appearance of a girl who look chased by something.
Mending the Duke's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 30