Dahlia could scarcely contain her feelings inside her skin.
How dare he! How dare that odious man to critique my behavior.
She felt soiled, as if he had thrown dirt on her. They had enjoyed such a lovely time at the park. Aaron had only a few more days before his term commenced, and she wanted to enjoy every minute of it.
Suzanne, having been alerted by that mysterious below-stairs message system, was waiting for her in her room. Divining her mistress’s mood, the maid helped Dahlia out of the despised blue dress and prepared to help her into her dressing gown.
“I will have my morning gown, instead, Suzanne,” Dahlia said. “I am too unsettled to sleep.”
“Yes, Lady Dahlia,” Suzanne said. “Will you need me to bear you company?”
Dahlia hesitated. That odious man would be staying the night in their home, and heaven knew where he might turn up. It was poor manners to wander about your host’s home, but Lord Goldstone had already shown himself to be wanting in manners.
“I am sorry, Suzanne, for I know it is late. I would ask that you come with me to the long gallery. I need to work off some energy before I retire. Just help me out of this thrice-accursed long stay. I need to breathe.”
“Of course, my Lady,” Suzanne said, looking a little alarmed. Well she might, for Dahlia’s face was white as a sheet, save for two spots of bright color on her cheekbones. “Would you care for a posset, my Lady? Cook sent one up as soon as she heard that you were feeling poorly.”
“Is it the one with wine or the one with cider?” Dahlia asked.
“Cider, my Lady,” Suzanne said, “you said the last time that the wine gave you the headache.”
“And so it does, Suzanne, I just need to walk for a while. I do not think Father will bring his guests to the long gallery tonight. I would take a turn about the ballroom, but they might decide to convene there.”
“I cannot think why they would, my Lady. His Grace has not requested musicians tonight. But I will be glad to walk with you in the Long Gallery. I spent the afternoon mending linens and will be glad of an excuse to exercise my limbs before retiring. Will you have the posset before we go up, while it is still fresh?”
“I’ll have it when I come down again, thank you, Suzanne. Did the cook make ginger biscuits today?”
“He did,” Suzanne said, unlacing the long stay and removing it before helping Dahlia into a simple morning gown of plain muslin. “Wrap this shawl about you, please, my Lady. It is chilly in the Long Gallery at night.”
“Thank you, Suzanne. You are quite right, it is often chilly there.”
* * *
It was more than chilly in the long gallery. Portraits of Dahlia’s ancestors stared down from the shadowy walls. Suzanne had brought a lantern with them, and now she quickly went to the sconces and lit two of the candles that stood in them.
Dahlia strode down the gallery, her skirts swirling about her ankles. Impatient with the yards of cloth hampering her gait, she hiked her overskirt and tied two knots in it, pulling it above her knees. There was no one there to see, and even if there had been, her modesty was still protected by her embroidered petticoat. Nearly running, she walked the length of the gallery twice before slowing down.
At first, Suzanne kept pace with her, but the maid had worked a full day in the house before attending Dahlia and at length she sat in a visitor chair positioned against the gallery wall. After the third turn around the gallery, Dahlia was more than sufficiently warm, and she left the shawl with Suzanne before taking two more laps around the long hall.
Fatigue finally won, and Dahlia slowed her walk, then came back to her maid. “I think,” Dahlia puffed a little from her exertions, “I shall have that posset now. Do you think you can wheedle some of those ginger biscuits from the night cook?”
“I am sure I can,” Suzanne said. “Let me walk you back to your rooms first, if you please, my Lady.”
“I do know the way,” Dahlia said with some asperity. Then, when Suzanne didn’t say anything more, Dahlia queried, “Is there a reason why you think I need an escort?”
“Butler has us doing the rooms two by two, My Lady,” Suzanne said in a small voice. “Just so we can chaperone each other, you know. There are so many gentleman guests this week.”
“Ah,” Dahlia said. “I understand.”
She did understand. It was one of those things not often discussed, but a part of social awareness. “Take Jemmy with you when you go down to the kitchen,” Dahlia said. “I will be fine in my rooms.”
Dahlia saw Suzanne off with Jemmy, the footman on night duty and settled herself by the fire to wait. The posset, which held under a warming cover, was only lukewarm. But the spiced milk and cider mixture was soothing. She sipped it carefully. After a time, she undid the knots in her skirt and let it down properly, so it hid her petticoats.
As she sat, there came a knock at the door. “Who is there?” she called out.
“It is I, your father,” Cottleroy called out.
Quickly, Dahlia stood and undid the latch on her door, letting her father come in.
“How are you, Daughter?” he asked, not unkindly.
“Well enough, Father,” she replied.
“Where is your maid?”
“She has gone to the kitchen to get some ginger biscuits to settle my stomach,” Dahlia said.
“Yet you did not finish your dinner. Daughter, this wild career of yours must end. You will be one-and-twenty in six weeks and I would see you wed and settled with a good man before the year is out.”
“Oh, Father!” Dahlia tried to keep the consternation out of her voice.
“Yes, my daughter, it is my will. There are few enough offers for you this year. I have given leave to Goldstone to court you. You will speak civilly to him and consider his suit,” Cottleroy said firmly.
Dahlia dropped her eyes to the cup of posset on her lap. “I hear you, Father.” she was striving for control. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Come, come, my girl,” Cottleroy admonished. “It is not so bad as all that. He will bring to you a title, he has an extensive fortune, and he is not badly put together. He is young enough that you should have no trouble giving him an heir.”
“Are you so eager to part with me, Father?” Dahlia raised her brimming eyes to look at him.
“I will not live forever, my dear child,” Cottleroy said, “and I have two more daughters to see safely wed. Do not be selfish, my dear. Think of your sisters.”
“I do not like him, Father,” Dahlia said, “pray, do not ask this of me.”
“I have but asked you to allow him to pay suit,” her father said gently, “But do consider that he has my favor, and do not try my patience unduly.”
With that, Cottleroy let himself out the door. Carefully, Dahlia set the cup on a side table, placed her face in her hands and wept.
Simply being in the same room with him fills me with revulsion. How can I bear to allow him to pay me court?
Chapter 6
The Duke of Shelthom found very few members of the peerage “at home” since Parliament was not in session and it was the off-season. At most city residences, he found no one in and merely left his card. After several houses, he found that Lady Jane Amory, widow of the late Lord Amory, was being visited by Lady Anne Witley, the Viscountess of Witley, and they were both pleased to receive him.
He was escorted into Lady Amory’s shabby parlor by an elderly butler who moved at a pace scarcely beyond that of a snail. “The Duke of Shelthom,” the butler announced sententiously.
“Do come in,” Lady Amory gushed, “It is so good to see you. I daresay you do not remember me, but I knew your mother well. Such a dear lady. You must miss her terribly.”
“I, um, well, yes, I do miss her,” Roger said, somewhat at loss for words.
“And here you are,” Lady Anne chimed in. “I do believe he grew up very well. I remember you as a solemn little lad,” she went on, “it is so good of you to call on Lady Amor
y.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” Roger wondered if calling here was a mistake.
“You must have tea with us,” Lady Amory gushed. “James, do send the maid in with tea.”
The butler bowed and withdrew, presumably to find the maid and send in some tea.
The room was uncomfortably silent for a minute or two before Lady Witley spoke “How do you find London after your tour on the continent? I’m sure you must find it very different.”
“I do not find it greatly changed,” Roger replied. “A bit dirtier, perhaps.”
“Oh, la!” said Lady Amory, “With all those great factories going in, it is a wonder we can breathe at all. I make very certain to wear my veil when I go out lest I come back grubby as a street urchin.”
The maid came in with the tea, and the ladies busied themselves, plying Roger with tea, crumpets and cucumber sandwiches. Once he was well supplied, the ladies began filling him in on the gossip from the London season that had just ended in June.
“We were invited to Almack’s,” Lady Amory said. “Such a crush. There were so many people, I can scarcely remember their names.”
“But I know that you remember them all,” said Lady Witley. “Remember that delicious scene between that Earl, oh what was his name, and young Lady Dahlia?”
“Quite a pretty girl,” Lady Amory said, “but she has turned up her nose at more than half the peerage. Such a set-down she gave Lord Goldstone at the last party at Almack’s in June!”
“Pretty is as pretty does,” Lady Anne sniffed. “If she is not careful, she shall be an old maid. Why, this must be her fourth season! And does she not have two younger sisters?
“Indeed, she does. No doubt the Duke of Cottleroy is desperate to marry her off. Rumor has it that he favors the Earl. Pity she does not fancy him. She left him standing on the dance floor at the Royal Ball at the close of the Season and made sure her dance card was full thereafter.
“Yes, a pity,” Lady Amory concurred. “I remember what it is like. My own dear father, with three sons and six daughters to set up with a future, brokered me to my husband to get me out of the way for my five sisters. I brought a parcel of land and a good dowry with me. I bless my father’s foresight that he tied up my dowry so that it was mine in the end.”
“I am sorry to hear that you have lost your husband,” Roger said, both fascinated and a little repelled by the elderly woman’s frank accounting.
“Oh, la, I scarcely noticed he was gone. After I gave him a son, he was rarely home long enough to change his boots unless he had run through his funds for the quarter.” Lady Amory paused and sipped her tea. “It was during one of those times that he was carried off one evening by apoplexy.”
Lady Anne raised her eyebrows. “I thought he choked on a bit of fish bone.”
“Oh, and he did,” Lady Amory concurred. “That was after he had railed at the butler for not serving the food hot. It was such a long way from the kitchen to the dining room.”
Roger sipped his tea politely, and after this enlightening exchange between the two elderly ladies, made his escape as soon as he could.
“God’s whiskers,” he muttered to himself as he clambered into the carriage. “Am I about to become a monster?”
Chapter 7
Dahlia woke with a raging headache. Rather than ring for Suzanne, she decided to dress in a simple muslin, then slip down the backstairs as she used to do as a little girl and see if she could make her own tea.
Father will be exceedingly wroth if he catches me.
But just at that moment, she had little care for her father’s wishes, save to avoid a confrontation.
The kitchen staff were already up and stirring about when she slipped in. One cook’s helper was up to his elbow’s in a floury dough, while the cook himself was directing breakfast preparations, waving a wooden spoon as if it were a baton. He caught sight of her as she entered.
“My Lady!” he exclaimed. “We were just about to prepare your tea. Would you like to have it sent up to your room?”
“No, no, I will just take it here at the small table by the fire. Nothing special, just tea and toasted bread.”
“Very well, Lady Dahlia. We are always glad to have you visit, just have a care that you do not land us all in hot water.” He chuckled, to show that it was a joke, but they both knew that the Duke of Cottleroy did not approve these forays into servant territory.
“I will not stay long,” Lady Dahlia promised. “I just want a little while to catch my breath.
The cook soon had her tucked up beside the fire with her tea, toasted bread and butter and a pot of strawberry jam that he knew she favored. The warmth from the great hearth was soothing. A spit boy turned a huge roast on a spit and bubbling pots hung on hooks above the flames.. The hustle and bustle of the kitchen around her reminded her of the long-ago days when she would come below stairs with her mother.
“Dahlia,” the late Duchess had said on more than one occasion, “the nobility of the house should not get in the way of the staff, but you should always know what is going on below stairs. Listen to your maid, the butler and even the bootblack. You will learn amazing things.”
By the time the tea was gone, Dahlia began to feel a bit more like facing the day. She quietly climbed the servants’ stair, then slipped into the hall facing the stateroom.
She was just closing the door when she heard a sort of huffing squeak and turned to see Lord Goldstone strike the little bootblack with the heavy riding boot he held in his hand. The boy cringed, holding the other boot against his stomach as a sort of shield.
Dahlia dashed between them, protecting the child from the next blow. “Stop, my Lord, I pray you, stop!”
Lord Goldstone caught her by her upraised arm. “What is the meaning of this, girl? You will not interfere with discipline! Keep to your place.”
Just then Aaron stepped from his room. “Unhand my sister, Goldstone!”
Lord Goldstone paused. “Your sis…Oh, Lady Dahlia! A thousand pardons! I would never have spoken so had I realized . . .”
Dahlia’s eyes blazed. “No, but if I had been the maid you thought me, you would have harmed her as you have already hurt Tommy.” She kept her body between Lord Goldstone and the little bootblack. “Are you all right, Tommy?”
“Yes, my Lady. Twarn’t nothin’. Jus’ the wind knocked out, that’s all.”
Aaron carefully took the boot from Lord Goldstone’s hand. “What seems to be the trouble, sir? What offense has the boy given?”
Lord Goldstone point to the offending piece of footwear. “Look at it! Just look at it! There is a huge smear on the side and it looks as if the top has been chewed.”
Aaron moved to place himself between Lord Goldstone and Dahlia. “Well, sir, I think you have the wrong culprit,” he explained mildly. “I am training a pup from my prize hunting bitch. I am afraid he is of an age to be less than discriminating about his toiletry, and he does love a good boot to gnaw.”
Lord Goldstone sputtered.
“No, no, Goldstone, I shall make it all right,” Aaron went on “I will send the boots to my cobbler and have them replaced. Meanwhile, I think we are of a size, and I can lend you something.”
Lord Goldstone’s face turned red, then white, then red again. “That will not be necessary,” he ground out between his teeth. “I have another pair.”
“Truly, I insist,” Aaron said. “I patronize an excellent shoemaker, and I shall take better care that my young dog does not get out in the hall at night.”
“Give me my boots!” Lord Goldstone snarled.
“As you wish,” Aaron shrugged, handing back the slightly mangled piece of footwear.
Dahlia held out her hand to Tommy, who handed over the mate. As he did so, she noticed that something white seemed to be sticking out of the top of it.
Now is not the time to comment on such things. She handed the boot to her brother, who then handed it to Lord Goldstone.
Lord Goldstone tried to
school his face into something approaching civility, entered his room and closed the door with exaggerated firmness.
The brother and sister stared at each other momentarily. Then Dahlia turned to the bootblack. “Go to the cook, Tommy, and get a cup of tea. Then go have the stableman put some liniment on the bruise you are sure to have.”
The little lad gave as much of a bow as he could manage. “Yes, m’ Lady,” he said, and scuttled away below stairs.
“Brother, I need some air,” Dahlia said. Two high spots of color shone on her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with anger.
Suzanne came hurrying up from the servants’ stair. “Oh, my Lady!” She exclaimed. “Your arm!” Sure enough, a large purple bruise was starting to form on Dahlia’s forearm.
The Hazardous Gamble of the Alluring Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 4