Now, she found herself humming as she ferreted out a comfortable morning gown, hose, petticoats and a clean, front-lacing short stay.
Will His Grace call on me today?
By the time Suzanne brought in her breakfast, Dahlia was dressed and had her writing tools laid out. As she did so, she realized she had left her shabby old morning dress and all her bundles at the Shelthom townhouse. “How careless of me,” she berated her reflection, and thought with a pang of the little travelogue. Well-a-day, I’ll just have to re-read something that is here.
“My Lady!” Suzanne said, startled to find Dahlia already up and dressed. “I had not thought to find you up and about so early. Are you well?”
“Quite well, Suzanne. What have you brought for my breakfast?”
“A lovely pear from the garden, My Lady, some green cheese, griddle cakes and a pot of tea.”
“Suzanne, you are a treasure. Thank you for looking out for me yesterday.”
“Oh, My Lady, please I beg you, if you decide to go adventuring again, take me with you. I was so afraid something might have happened to you.” Suzanne clasped her hands in front of her spotless white apron.
“I am quite all right, Suzanne. And I am sorry for worrying everyone. As you can see, I am back and none the worse for wear.”
Just then, someone scratched on the door. Suzanne when to open it and came back with two bundles and a letter that sported an ornate wax seal. Dahlia reached for the letter eagerly, her face lighting up as she realized that it was from the Duke of Shelthom. She broke the seal and began to read,
My Dearest Lady Dahlia,
Lord Bochil reminds me that you are still remanded to your rooms this day as you are yet recuperating. It is with some trepidation that I leave you in the care of your maid and your inestimable governess. I pray that if you find being mewed up too much to bear that you will leave a breadcrumb trail that I might easily follow.
I shall attend dinner at your home this evening in company of your most excellent brother. It is with great reluctance that I force myself to wait so long before seeing you.
I have sent your bundles and a fine collection of newspapers since I have learned that these amuse you. I trust they will help you pass the hours until the evening repast.
Your most humble servant,
Roger Kingman
Duke of Shelthom
There was another scratching at the door. This time, when Suzanne opened it, Miss Emma came in. “My very dear Lady Dahlia,” she said, “I am pleased to see you looking well this morning.”
“Are you not going to ring a peal over my head, Miss Emma?”
“Would it do any good, My dear Lady? Still you gave us quite a fright. I have come to tell you that your father desires you to dress in your best dinner gown tonight as he has extra guests and a special announcement to make. What is it you have there, my dear?”
Dahlia smiled up at Miss Emma. “I have a letter from the Duke. He has sent me my bundle of things that I had left behind and some newspapers to amuse me.” Dahlia turned the letter to her governess and began opening the bundles.
“He has a fine hand,” Miss Emma commented, “But he writes very familiarly.”
“I have given him the right,” Dahlia said, showing Miss Emma a large notice in the Daily Post.”
“Lady Dahlia!” Miss Emma exclaimed. She quickly stepped to the door and looking out beckoned to the footman who was on duty in the hall. “Jemmy, run down and collect all the newspapers and bring them up at once!”
The governess returned to find Dahlia pouring over the papers with rapt attention. “The post, the mail, the Herald...he has made sure that there is no mistake and that notices are in every one.” Dahlia had a dreamy smile on her face as she poured over the notices.
“And not small ones that would be easy to miss, either,” Miss Emma said grimly. “Oh, child, when your father sees this, he will be furious. Lady Dahlia, whatever have you done?”
“I have given consent to be engaged to a good man.” Dahlia said, focused on one particularly fine notice that featured hearts and flowers.
“One who has run through a fortune in less than two years, My Lady.”
“I will take care of that, Miss Emma. He has admitted to not having a head for business.” Dahlia continued to read through the papers. When Jemmy brought up the ones delivered to the house, she went through those, as well.
“Lady Dahlia, my dearest, you should never marry a man with the idea of reforming him.” Miss Emma’s eyes were wide and her face chalk white.
“Who said anything about reforming him?” Dahlia said. “I spent four hours in his townhouse. It is not the Duke that needs reformed, it’s his staff. There is everything in his residence that is needful for a gracious life, but I do not think his aunt understands how to manage and the servants have grown astonishingly lax.”
“You were gone less than a day, My Lady, you saw so much in the time that you were there?” Miss Emma raised her eyebrows.
“Miss Emma, the dust in the attics had not been moved within the last year at the very least. You would have sworn that my little sister had been raising moths in the cupboards, so badly eaten up were the linens. Or that she had gone in for breeding mice.”
“I don’t think Lady Violet has done that yet. Has she?” Miss Emma looked slightly panicked.
“I don’t think so. Although it is just like her to try it.”
“Thank goodness for small blessings.” Miss Emma set the newspapers aside. “I cannot say that I entirely approve, but it might well serve. With the banns posted, in three days you could get a license providing you had your father’s consent. But I fear this will anger him to the point that he will lock you in the tower room.”
He can try. But I found the secret stair and stole the key for it long ago. I’ll live in poverty rather than be wed to a bullying mad man.
Chapter 18
As the day was sunny and not yet greatly advanced, Lord Bochil invited Roger to go riding that they might speak more freely. “While I would not accuse our staff of doing anything so imprudent as listening at keyholes,” Lord Bochil said, “I think we are more likely to be able to speak in confidence a-horseback. At the same time, I will be able to show you a flock from the home farm that I keep in Green Park so that you can judge their quality for yourself.”
“I’m afraid,” Roger said, “that I am far from knowledgeable when it comes to sheep. I can tell you a great deal about horseflesh, including whether a mount is likely to stand when you are taking aim and firing, but of the usual denizens of a farm I know very little.”
“It is not so different,” Lord Bochil said, “You look for clean coats, healthy young and droppings that are firm yet not hard. Sheep do not require as stringent an attention to pasturage as do horses or kine. Indeed, you can pasture sheep or goats after your other cattle, but not the other way around. They make fine beasts for lawn care because they nibble the grass down to the roots. But if you let them, they will nibble the roots all the way below the ground.”
“They sound almost as devastating to the landscape as swine,” Roger said, remembering a herd of pigs that had managed to get into the estate’s oats. Feeding his horses had cost him very dear for the entire twelvemonth until a new crop could be grown.
“They can be,” Lord Bochil agreed. “The trick is to always have your sheep with an excellent shepherd and to move them to new pasture before the old is destroyed.”
“How come you to invest in sheep instead of horses?” Roger asked.
“Now, you see, sir, that’s the thing. Gentlemen are always investing in horses, so there is a fair overpopulation of horseflesh about. Not everyone can afford a horse. These fine creatures require a stable, good feed, and a groom that understands them.” Lord Bochil patted the neck of the bay he was riding, “Do you not, pretty Apple?” The little mare arched her neck and gave a little prance at the attention and the sound of her name.
“Go on,” said Roger.
“But now you see, everyone wears clothes and it would be a scandalous thing for anybody to do without them. More than that, you can harvest the fleece from a sheep over and over with no harm to them because they profit from their hides being cooler in the summer.”
“So, then I am guessing that you can sell many fleeces from one sheep and have the added possibility of spring lamb in season. I am not wholly ignorant of how these things work. But it does not seem to me that you would make a fortune from it.”
“You would do better than you think. But no, selling ordinary fleeces to common folk would hardly a fortune make. But I chanced to see a shipment of breeding stock come to harbor from Spain, and I persuaded my stockman to buy a breeding pair. He was reluctant, saying that he knew nothing of the strain. But I think you will see the difference.”
By now, the two young gentlemen were riding along the bridle path in Green Park. They came upon a field where the grass had been grazed quite low, but not grazed away. There, brown, white and black sheep dotted the green. The shepherd and his boy, along with a brace of sheep dogs lounged near the edge of the flock.
“I’m afraid I know little of sheep,” Roger reiterated.
“Don’t worry about that,” Lord Bochil assured. “We will leave the horses here. Some of this flock is a bit skittish, and something as large as a horse might startle them. No need to make added work for the shepherd.”
They hitched their horses to a post along the edge of the path and proceeded onward on foot. As they approached the flock, Roger’s nostrils were assailed by the odor of sheep. Although he had seen plenty of flocks on the home farm, this was possibly the closest he had been to this many sheep. While the odor was not wholly displeasing, it was strong, combining a smell similar to lanolin, along with wet wool and animal dung.
The shepherd rose from his recumbent position near the sheep, as did the boy, and both dogs sat up, looking alert. The man and boy both bowed. “How are you, John Shepherd, and how are the sheep?” Lord Bochil asked.
“Well enough, My Lord,” the man said. “The bell ewe dropped her lamb a sennight ago. Out of season, as always.”
“That is fine, John,” Lord Bochil said. “Perfect in fact. I want to show the Duke the quality of the wool. Could you bring her over?”
To Roger’s amazement, the shepherd did not stir from where he was, but gave a piercing whistle and a series of complex hand signals. One of the dogs put nose low to the ground and snaked through the herd, not disturbing them at all. He then chivvied a single sheep that was followed by a gamboling lamb over to where they were standing.
Instead of the usual curly coat that Roger was accustomed to seeing on sheep, this one had long, silky fur. She was white with soft brown spots, and the little lamb was all black. The baby bounced up to them, aquiver with curiosity and not the least bit afraid. But then something seemed to frighten it, and it dashed off a little way, then plunged back to take comfort from its mother’s teat. It was charming and altogether adorable.
For a moment, Roger wished that Lady Dahlia had been able to come with them instead of being mewed up in her room. In fact, he found that the lamb reminded him of her, as it danced among the flowers and startled when a butterfly landed on its nose. The ride would have been greatly improved if it had been the sister instead of the brother who was showing him the sheep.
The shepherd took hold of a collar with a great bell affixed to it that was around the ewe’s neck and led her a little closer. The lamb trotted after. “This ‘un’s daughter to the first ewe Lord Bochil bought, Your Grace,” the man said with some pride. “We crossed her with a black Welsh sheep, and then outbred to one from Herdwick. They’s heartier than the stock from Spain, but have a pretty, long-staple coat. The little’un is too late for shearin’ this year, but we’ll teasel it. We get a pretty penny from the lace shops for lambswool.”
“What do you mean by teasel?” Roger asked.
“It is like combing your hair,” Lord Bochil replied. “The loose wool is combed out, and the spring fleece is all the finer for it.”
“Interesting,” Roger said. “Might I touch the ewe?”
“O’ course, Your Grace!” the shepherd said heartily. “She’s the bell ewe and easy with people.”
The ewe’s wool was soft and springy, with an odd oily feel. Roger was familiar with grooming horses, and even aware of the feel of an ox’s hide, but this was something different. The ewe smelled like a cross between mutton chops and a wet wool sweater, with a bit of good hand soap thrown in on the side.
“So, this is what has brought you extra income, Lord Bochil?” Roger asked.
“She and her sisters,” Lord Bochil replied. “Oh, I can’t take full credit. John is a fine sheep man, and my man of business is clever at finding small, but well-paying markets. As I am sure you know, having had charge of troops, one of the secrets of success is to find good people and to encourage them to do well.”
John said nothing to this, but grinned and ducked his head at the praise.
Just then, the lamb gamboled up and butted Roger’s thigh, demanding his share of the attention. Roger scratched behind the little creature’s ears, just as he might a favorite hound, and the baby leaned into his hand. The wool on its head was soft and fine, almost silky. The trusting little thing latched its mouth onto Roger’s thumb and slurped at it.
Roger gave it a little more attention, then said to Lord Bochil, “I think I have a man on the home farm I could interest in this. He has a small flock, but I will wager none so fine as this. But are you prepared to set me up as a rival?”
Lord Bochil grinned. “I think there is plenty of market. We sold out this year, with an abundance of orders still pouring in. There were several we had to turn down simply because we had not enough wool.”
Roger retrieved his thumb, wiping it on his handkerchief, and the lamb bounced off to investigate a butterfly. “I will own it would be nice to see the family fortune grow instead of shrink. I will have my man of business discuss this with the shepherd on the home farm and get with your man of business.”
“Excellent! I will tell my man to expect your man to call on him. Now, we should probably be getting back if you plan to dine with us. I left word for my father that I would be bringing a guest to dinner but I did not mention your name.”
As Roger rode back to his townhouse to change into dinner clothing, he felt the tiny tingling of an unfamiliar emotion. It had been so long since the world seemed to hold anything good that it took him a moment to recognize it. The emotion was hope, and right after it was the tiniest little wellspring of happiness. It had been such a long time since he had felt either, that he almost didn’t recognize them.
He found himself looking forward to seeing Lady Dahlia again. Little did he know that what lay ahead of him would be nearly as harrowing as the last two years.
Chapter 19
Dahlia did not leave her choice of dinner gown to Suzanne. She selected a high-waisted under gown of soft spring green silk that flattered the faintly golden tone of her skin and brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes. It acted as the perfect foil for her golden hair.
Over it she wore a soft, white muslin embroidered with tiny yellow rose buds. The soft folds of the muslin were caught at her bosom by a single yellow rose taken from her mother’s solar – one of the few flowers that still blossomed there. The sleeves were short, revealing the rounded shape of her arms. Her gloves extended well above her elbows were snowy white with three white buttons at each wrist.
Her dainty feet were clad in slippers of soft, black kid, tied at the ankle with dark green ribbons. Suzanne did Dahlia’s hair up in knot of curls that tumbled down her back, emphasizing the graceful column of her slender neck. She wore no other ornaments, allowing the roses and her own curls to be sufficient.
“When I was below stairs getting your hot water, I heard that there are some special gentlemen to be at dinner tonight, My Lady. Cook is all in a pother about the extra places and get
ting up a proper menu tonight,” said Suzanne, putting the last touches on Dahlia’s curls.
“Don’t gossip, Suzanne,” Dahlia said, but two high spots of color appeared on her cheekbones.
“Yes, My Lady. I mean, no, I will not. But it must be nice to wear fine clothes and have gentlemen paying you so much attention.” Suzanne’s eyes sparkled with excitement, anticipating a lovely evening for her mistress.
“Sometimes,” Dahlia admitted, “but at other times it is a dead bore. Tonight, though, tonight just might be special.”
“You are just beautiful, My Lady,” Suzanne said, admiring the full effect of the gown, hair and flowers. “I can’t think what gentleman in the world wouldn’t have you.”
The Hazardous Gamble of the Alluring Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 13