by P. F. Kozak
“Dear May, no one has died!” Having said that, Peter laughed so hard he nearly snorted. Regaining his composure, he corrected himself. “Actually, that is not true. Someone did die.”
Totally mystified by Peter’s uncharacteristic behavior, Pamela asked, “Have you been drinking, Peter Rennard? You appear as drunk as a sailor!”
Peter came to her and blew his breath right in her face. Pamela blinked as the rush of warm air hit her already burning eyes. “You see, I have not had a drop, my beautiful Pamela Kingston. Or perhaps I should call you what you will soon be known as, Countess Stanford.”
“You aren’t making any sense. Have you gone barmy?”
“Oh, no, my sweet. I have just had the shock of my life. I am an earl!”
“You are a what?”
“An earl! I received the Letters Patent and the Writ of Summons this afternoon.”
“Peter, how is this possible? You are not of the peerage.”
“Oh, yes, I am! According to the Letters Patent informing me of my title, my great-great-grandfather was the second Duke of Dorset. The current Duke of Dorset died several months ago, leaving no heirs. Before they considered the title extinct, the solicitors researched the lineage to find any remaining male heirs. And they found me! They delivered the documents this afternoon. I am the heir to the duke’s lesser title of Earl of Stanford.”
“Peter, this is astonishing!”
“Jack, hand me that envelope.” Jack picked up a large envelope Peter had left on the vestibule table. “Take a look at this.”
Pamela opened the envelope and took out a piece of parchment with the royal seal. “What is this?”
“It is a Writ of Summons. Read it.”
What Pamela read made her weak in the knees.
Her Majesty Queen Victoria by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Our other Realms and Territories, Queen Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith
To Our right trusty and well beloved Earl of Stanford Chevalier Greeting.
Whereas Our Parliament for arduous and urgent affairs concerning Us the state and defence of Our United Kingdom and the Church is now met at Our City of Westminster,
We strictly enjoining Command you upon the faith and allegiance by which you are bound to Us that the weightness of the said affairs and imminent perils considered (waiving all excuses) you be at the said day and place personally present with Us and with the said Prelates, Great Men, and Peers to treat and give your counsel upon the affairs aforesaid,
And this as you regard Us and Our honour and the safety and defence of the said Kingdom and Church and dispatch of the said affairs in nowise do you omit Witness Ourself at Westminster the Fifteenth day of February in the Forty-Fifth year of Our Reign.
Peter asked her, “Do you understand what it says?”
Pamela read it again to make sure she understood. “It is a summons to appear in the House of Lords, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is. The seat of the Duke of Dorset has been inherited by his successor, the Earl of Stanford, namely me! The Queen has called me to service with that writ. I will be introduced and take my oath of allegiance to the Queen on Tuesday next.”
“By all that’s holy, this is manna from heaven! Peter, it is enormous!”
“Oh, yes, Pamela, it certainly is.” Peter took the writ from her hands and handed it to Lucy. Taking Pamela in his arms, he held her tightly against him. “Sir George is winking at you right now, do you know that?”
Pamela smiled. “Is that a fact, my lord?”
“Oh, yes, my lady, it is. His daughter will marry into a peerage.”
Pamela’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, my word!” She pushed Peter away.
“What? You look as though you’ve seen Sir George’s ghost over my shoulder!”
“Perhaps I have. Peter, you will be able to vote on the Married Woman’s Property Act next month. You will be able to support it as a member of Parliament!”
Peter looked up at the ceiling and said, “Sir George, you certainly are determined to get her married, I’ll say that.”
No one said anything for a moment, the indefinite postponement of the wedding rarely being mentioned. May broke the silence with a well-timed pronouncement. “Here we all are standing around like a flock of chickens! Earl or not, you still have to eat. If I don’t get back to it, you’ll be celebrating with a burned roast!” She went back to the kitchen. Lucy handed Peter the parchment he had given her to hold and followed May.
“Master Rennard, the carriage needs tending. I best be getting to it.”
“Of course, Jack.” With that, Jack went out the front door, leaving Peter and Pamela alone in the vestibule.
Peter again took her in his arms. “It occurred to me in the carriage why I am so happy about this.”
Pamela touched his nose with her fingertip. “It did? Please, tell me.”
“I had you at Piccadilly waiting to share the news with me. If that weren’t the case, I doubt the manna would be nearly as sweet.”
“Peter, it truly is wonderful news. You are already an influential man. With a seat in the House of Lords, your prominence will only grow.”
“There is something I wish to discuss with you, Pams. Come, my lady. Let us sit in the library until Lucy calls us for dinner.”
He took her arm and led her through the library door. Together they sat by the fire. The log Pamela had thrown on the fire blazed brightly. “The room certainly is warmer now. I took a chill sitting here today.” Pointing to the window, she added, “Jack may need to replace that window. It is terribly draughty when I work in here.”
“I will have him look at it tomorrow.” Peter’s mood had shifted. “Pamela, I want to discuss our wedding.”
“Peter, we have been through this so many times…”
“I know we have. But you have to realise, we are approaching the end of waiting, one way or another.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the vote for the Property Act is next month. You know I will continue to work for its passage, now more than ever. But we have to be realistic about this. It may not become law.”
Pamela stood and went over to Peter’s desk. “I have nearly finished the ledgers. I am up to November and should be able to close the books for the year by week’s end.”
“You are quite capable. I knew you could manage it.”
“Peter, this is so unfair!” Pamela’s already watery eyes filled with tears. “I understand my holdings and should be able to legally manage them. It is my right.” She ran her hand over the ledger pages. “I shouldn’t have to choose between you and my inheritance.”
Peter came behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “And if you do have to choose?”
Lifting his hand to her lips, she kissed his palm. “We cannot continue living as we have been for nearly two years.” Pamela turned to face him. “I want to have children with you and a normal life. I want to share your bed every night, not keep separate rooms as we are now. If the law does not pass, I will still marry you.”
“My darling Pams, you know you will still manage your inheritance, no matter what the law dictates. I will honour your decisions on matters that concern your inheritance.”
“You are an honourable man, Peter Rennard. I know you mean what you say. But what of our daughters and their right to what we give to them? Not all men are as honourable as you.” Pamela laid her head on Peter’s chest. “It is all so very wrong. It has to change.”
“And it will, Pamela. If not now, soon.”
“You don’t think the law will pass, do you?”
“It is impossible to know. The debates have gone on longer than anyone thought. The convictions are strong on both sides. It helps that the Prime Minister supports the passage, but many conservatives are opposed.”
“Will your voice make a difference?”
“It might, if they give me the floor in my first weeks as a member.”
“You have a reason for speaking up. I think you’ll get their attention.”
“I expect I will at that. I’ll have one month to the day. The vote is scheduled for the Ides of March.”
During the intervening weeks, Peter’s schedule changed. In order to accommodate his new responsibilities in the House of Lords, he left Piccadilly earlier and returned later. He assured Pamela that the longer hours were only temporary, until he established a daily routine and balanced his responsibilities. Pamela missed him terribly the days she had to dine alone, preferring the kitchen and May’s company to the empty dining room.
They had more visitors calling. Pamela forfeited more than one weekend tea with Peter to colleagues and well-wishers. There were also more invitations to social events, all of which were addressed singularly to Peter. As far as the world knew, he remained unmarried and uncommitted.
Many of the invitations came from well-placed families with unwed daughters. Peter declined all but a few, but had to attend some for the sake of appearances. It became apparent to her that they would have to announce their engagement soon. If Peter continued to avoid socializing, curiosity about their living arrangement would surely fuel more rumors. Not to mention the thought of Peter escorting one of those husband-hunting prigs during a dinner party made her jealous as a barbary pigeon.
The morning of March fourteenth, Pamela saw Peter just before he left Piccadilly. She came up behind him as he put on his coat to leave. Adjusting the collar of his coat, she reminded him to stay warm. “It’s terribly cold today, Peter, and windy. Wrap your scarf around your neck so you don’t catch your death.”
“You worry too much.” He turned around and hugged her tightly. “You realise, of course, it is indecent for you to be downstairs in your dressing gown.”
“Had I stopped to dress, I would have missed you. Good heavens, Peter, it is only half past six!”
“I have work to do before today’s session. If I am to take the floor today to speak in favour of the vote tomorrow, I must be clear as to what I will say.”
“Do you think they will permit your speech?”
“Fortunately, Pamela, I have many years of court experience that most of these chaps do not. I am able to hold an audience when there is reason to do so.”
“Thank you, my darling, for being my champion. Now I understand how ladies of years past felt seeing their knights joust for their hands.”
“Is that what I’m doing? I thought I’m simply arguing for passage of a law.”
“A law that will give me my freedom. Dear God, it has to pass!”
“There are signs the tide may be turning. I must leave now, Pams. I will see you this evening.”
“Late, I suppose.”
“Most probably. By the looks of it, the weather will be unforgiving today. I suggest you also stay warm and close to the fire.”
“Yes, my lord.” Pamela kissed him and then backed away. With an elegant curtsy, she said, “I bid you adieu until eventide.”
Peter smiled. “My lady, you give me ample reason to make my way home as soon as I am able.” Wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck, he left for the day.
Pamela spent her day distracting herself. She made sure the new ledgers were current, she knitted, she played the piano. When the dinner hour approached and there was still no sign of Peter, she wandered into the kitchen.
“May, it looks as though I will be eating alone again.”
“I figured as much, missy. He told me this morning not to expect him.”
“He did?”
“Said he would be courting votes this evening, whatever that means.”
Pamela smiled. “I know what it means.” Walking over to the stove, she asked, “What are you cooking? It smells delicious.”
“I made you some chicken and dumplings, figuring one of your favorites would get you to eat. I don’t want you fainting on me.”
“May, I haven’t fainted for a very long time.”
“Once was all I needed.” She shook a spoon at Pamela. “You shortened my life by five years that day. I can’t afford another five if I’m going to live to see you married.”
Pamela hugged her. “Do you know I love you?”
“Then, you won’t mind my asking when the blue blazes you and the mister are planning your wedding!” She glanced at Pamela’s belly. “I don’t want no little ones coming until you have a ring on your finger.”
“We haven’t set a date yet, but I promise it will be soon.” She tugged at May’s dress the way she did as a small girl when she wanted a favour.
“What you be wanting now?”
“If I want a June wedding, will you help me plan it?”
“Lord have mercy, child!” May wiped her hands on her apron and then practically smothered Pamela in her arms. “I’ve been waitin’ for almost two years to hear that.”
Pamela pulled her head back just enough to say, “May, I can’t breathe!”
Loosening her arms, but still holding Pamela, May laughed. “The mister wouldn’t be too happy with me if I choked ya, now would he?”
Getting her breath back, Pamela concurred. “I think he might be a bit cross with you, to be sure.”
“Now, why on earth do you want me to help you plan your wedding? You should be doing it with someone who knows more about such things than I do.”
“You’re the only mum I’ve ever known. I don’t give a flying fig what you know or don’t know about it. I want to do it with you.”
“You watch your language, dearie. A countess better not be heard cussin’.”
“‘Flying fig’ is not cussing. ‘Flying frig’ is.”
Pamela saw her smile just before May spun her around and swatted her bum. “You’re going to have to start acting like a lady. The mister will expect you to conduct yourself properly when entertainin’ ROY-alty.”
“I will be entertaining, won’t I?” The thought surprised Pamela. She hadn’t considered the social implications of her marriage to Peter.
“You surely will! And I’ll be cooking for your parties.” May went back to the stove to make Pamela a plate. Pamela heard her mutter, “Maybe I should be asking for more wages.”
After dinner, Pamela went to her room. The wind still howled outside, rattling the windows. Shivering in the draught, Pamela quickly changed into her dressing gown and crawled under the quilt. She decided to read while waiting for Peter to come home, so she picked up a book from her night table. She snuggled under the downy warmth. After only a few minutes of reading, the book slipped from her hands as she fell asleep.
Pamela woke with a start. Rubbing her eyes to make them focus, she tried to see the clock. She sat straight up in bed when she realised it read half past twelve. As the sleepy fog lifted, she saw the gaslight had been dimmed and her book lay closed on the night table. She had a vague recollection of having a dream about Peter. In the dream, he kissed her. Only then did she grasp he had been in her room and kissed her good night.
Throwing off the quilt, she climbed out of bed. When her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, goose flesh rippled up her legs. She lifted the chimney on the oil lamp, lit it and adjusted the wick. Carrying the small lamp, she quietly made her way into the hall and went to the toilet. On her way back to her room, she stopped for a moment outside Peter’s door, wanting so much to go inside.
Peter goes to Pamela’s room, continue reading
Pamela goes to Peter’s room
Not wanting to disturb him, she went back to her own room. With the vote due in only a few hours, Peter would no doubt leave at dawn as he had today. He needed to rest.
The door creaked when she came back to her room. She made no other sound. Cupping her hand over the chimney, she blew out the lamp. The gaslight still flickered softly. She decided to keep it on. If she hoped to see Peter before he left, she would have to get up before dawn.
She slipped back into bed, shivering. Staring at the shadows the gaslight made on the ceiling, she thought of Peter. She co
uldn’t imagine being without him. No matter what the vote tomorrow, she would marry him.
Her life would be good no matter what happened tomorrow. Squeezing her eyes shut to keep the tears in, she pushed away the terrible sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought of forfeiting her inheritance. She whispered a quiet prayer just as her door opened.
“Pams?” Peter’s hushed voice startled her.
“Peter?” She sat up. “Is something wrong?”
He closed the door. “Nothing is wrong. I heard you were awake. I wanted to see you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. It is not an easy night to sleep, what with the wind shaking the house and the vote tomorrow.”
Pamela lifted her quilt. “You’ll catch your death. Come, get warm with me.”
Peter came across the room to her bedside. “If I get under that quilt with you, I would expect to get quite warm.”
“What do you mean, ‘if I get under that quilt’? What are you going to do, stand there looking at me and freeze?”
“You have a point, my beautiful one.” Peter lay beside her. Pamela threw the quilt over him and cuddled close.
“I don’t want to sleep alone anymore. I want to do this every night.”
“As do I, Pamela.” Putting his arm around her, he nuzzled her hair. “Dear God in heaven, I never knew I could love a woman as I love you.” Then, he kissed her, clenching her hair in his hand.
Breathing the words into his mouth, Pamela pleaded with him, “Peter, please, let me move into your room now. I can’t stand this any longer. I want to be in your bed every night.”
“You will be, Pamela, once we are married. We agreed we would wait until we marry to share a bed. Otherwise, May will surely leave our employ.”
Pamela took a deep breath and exhaled. “The fifteenth of June.”
“What did you say?”
“I said the fifteenth of June. That will be our wedding day.”
“Even if the bill does not pass tomorrow?”
“Even then. I can’t live as we are anymore. I want to be your wife.”