Salt Hendon Omnibus 01 to 03

by Lucinda Brant

  “Capital choice,” Salt agreed. “Then no one would raise an eyebrow of objection if Antony’s period of mourning were not the requisite six months.”

  “Six months?” Lady Caroline’s gasped the words, incredulous. She shot a glance about at the now silent group lounging on cushions and said what none of them dared voice openly. Her bitter disappointment made her uncaring for the feelings of others. “She hardly deserves six days of remembrance given her treatment of her children and her brother—”

  “Yet, out of respect for her children, and her brother,” the Earl stated evenly, “we shall do what is right and proper.”

  There was a deafening silence and then Lady Caroline nodded and shuddered in a great breath. “Yes. Of course. Forgive me. I am being selfish and uncharitable.”

  “Six weeks will give you time to have the perfect ensemble made,” Jane offered quietly. She glanced at Sir Antony. “And for your future husband to set his house in order. There are a great many adjustments to make when one marries, and even more when a husband inherits his future bride’s family.”

  Everyone knew the Countess referred to Lady Caroline’s animal family. The Earl, to goad his sister out of her petulance, slapped Sir Antony’s back and said with a laugh,

  “Huzzah! At last I can get rid of that bloody bird!”

  “Magnus. The children,” Jane hissed.

  “Buddy bird!” Ned repeated as he climbed onto his father’s lap, a quick glance up at his father and then at his mother before grinning at the assembled company who were unable to stifle their laughter.

  “Glad that’s settled,” Salt said with satisfaction and ruffled his little son’s golden curls. “You can be Aunt Caro’s ring bearer and wear a velvet suit and—”

  “Pardon, Salt, but nothing at all is settled,” Sir Antony stated as he got to his feet and brushed down the sleeves of his silken waistcoat. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Caroline struggle up, too, Tom being of assistance. He must really put his foot down at her wearing Turkish garments in public. As for having her hair undressed down her back, never mind she was still wearing her fetching little turban; that was for their private apartments only. “It is all very well to have a Special License in your drawer, but what is the point of it when it is quite useless to me under the present circumstances?”

  “What do you mean?” Caroline demanded in a whisper, standing before him. “Present circumstances?”

  He tried hard to suppress a grin and chuffed her under the chin.

  “You must agree that for one to be able to marry, a betrothal must come first.”

  She looked up with head angled, and said with a smile, “You have asked me to marry you.”

  “You have yet to give me an answer.”

  She caught at his hand. “Ask me again,” she whispered. “Now.”

  Sir Antony went down on bended knee before her, took from his pocket a small velvet-covered box, opened it to reveal a ruby and diamond betrothal ring, and for the second time in less than a week solemnly asked Lady Caroline to marry him. This time, she answered him without a second’s hesitation.

  “With all my heart, yes!” she responded, choking back tears. “A-a hundred times—yes.”

  With the betrothal ring secure, Sir Antony swept Lady Caroline up in a fierce embrace to the applause and cheers of congratulations of their family.

  Never one to miss the opportunity of a captive audience, Hilary Wraxton jumped to his feet, ready to declaim. Hands shot out in the poet’s direction to halt the recital before it had begun, objection voiced in the strongest possible terms with children present. This exertion was for naught. A flick of the lamb’s wool wig, and Hilary Wraxton burst into recitation of his Ode to a Belated Betrothal, the newly-betrothed couple sealing their mutual happiness with a passionate kiss, oblivious to the aural pain and suffering of the Earl of Salt Hendon and his harem.

  THE END

  BEHIND-THE-SCENES

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  Beginning

  Behind-The-Scenes

  — CHAPTER LINKS —

  1 2 3 4

  5 6 7 8

  ONE

  SALT HENDON, WILTSHIRE, ENGLAND, WINTER 1767

  PUBLIC ROOMS were swept, dusted, and decorated with vibrant evergreens and red-berried garlands of holly, ivy, and mistletoe. Hearths crackled and radiated warmth, and beyond the partially frosted windows lay fields, fences, and hedgerows powdered white with snow, glistening under a diffuse sun.

  It was a time for community, those low-and highborn, to come together at church, to commemorate the birth of the Son of God and to pray in thanks for life’s blessings. And it was a time for giving and helping those less fortunate, with small gifts and an open house that offered a hot meal to the needy. Most importantly, it was a time for family to gather and rejoice in each other’s company.

  But Miss Katherine “Kitty” Aldershot had not had a family, and thus a family Christmas, since her parents’ death in a carriage accident when she was still in the schoolroom. The coach they were traveling in had overturned on a bridge into a river and her parents, along with three other unfortunates, drowned, leaving Kitty and her elder brother orphans. Her brother had promised to look after her, and for a time he had done just that, until he, too, died in an accident. He fell from his horse, hit his head and never opened his eyes again.

  At eighteen years of age, Kitty found herself orphaned. Not for her a London season attending routs, balls, outings to Ranelagh Gardens and Drury Lane Theatre. And with no expectation of a season and only a meager dowry, she had no hope of finding a husband, young or old, rich or titled. Yet each night when she said her prayers, she knew she had much for which to be thankful. She had been taken in by the wealthy and powerful Earl of Salt Hendon and his beautiful Countess, who had a young growing family, and who already supported a handful of relatives with far more claim on the Salt Hendon largesse than Kitty.

  Kitty was given a room of her own, pretty clothes to wear, and would never go cold or hungry. She was treated as one of the family, ate her meals at their table, and was included in all their plans. She did her best to repay the Salt Hendons their great kindness by helping supervise their young children, providing companionship for the Earl’s thirteen-year-old goddaughter, Merry, and being often at the beck and call of the Earl’s eccentric Aunt Alice, Lady Reanay.

  Still, with her bedtime prayers said and tucked up in her four-poster bed, the chill taken off the sheets by the copper warming pan, sometimes Kitty found it impossible to stop the tears of self-pity running down her cheeks. It was alone in the quiet blackness of night that the stark reality of her situation became apparent and her future appeared most bleak. She would remain an indigent spinster for the rest of her life, relegated to family helper at best, social embarrassment at worst. Which, according to the more acerbic of the Earl’s friends and relatives, was more than Miss Aldershot deserved.

  But being only eighteen years old, Kitty clung firm to the optimism of youth. Her life was all before her. She did expect more, much more, particularly when she was a fair-haired, violet-eyed beauty. The reflection in her looking glass did not lie. She was confident she would make any man an attractive wife, and an accomplished one at that. She was an expert seamstress, could embroider the most delicate floral sprays, played the pianoforte, painted in watercolors, and was considered an able conversationalist. She took an interest in public affairs by reading the newssheets and was an attentive listener to the dinner table conversations between the Earl and his guests.

  Yet, she did not want to be just any man’s wife. She wanted to marry Mr. Thomas “Tom” Allenby. She had danced two dances with Mr. Allenby at the Salt Hendon masquerade ball, and from that night onwards, she was as certain as morning followed night that he was the only man with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life. Such was her conviction, she had every expectation of receiving his proposal of marriage
this Christmastide—and this without ever exchanging a word or a letter on the subject with the young gentleman in question.

  Kitty refused to entertain difficulties—most would suggest overwhelming odds—to the fulfillment of this expectation, not least the fact Mr. Allenby, as the brother of the Countess of Salt Hendon, was expected to make a great match, and marry an heiress at the very least. He was wealthy in his own right, and as Member of Parliament for Hendon was considered a great catch by many a matchmaking mamma. He could have his pick of the flowering beauties on offer during the Season who had a pedigree and dowry worthy of him. It was whispered it was only a matter of time before he made his choice and plucked a wealthy bloom from among the first families in the land.

  None of this deterred Kitty. She might not have discussed the possibility of a shared future with Mr. Allenby—how could they, surrounded as they always were with family and friends—but since the ball, they had been enough in each other’s company to convince her there had developed between them a silent understanding of their feelings for one another.

  Kitty believed all that was required for matters to progress from this silent understanding to a mutual declaration of feelings was for her to have a moment alone with Mr. Allenby. This would allow him to declare himself, and for her to accept his offer. To ensure this, she intended to orchestrate an occasion during this festive season. To do so would require all her ingenuity and planning, not least because as a young unmarried girl she was never alone. Kitty might be the Earl’s penniless dependant, but as the daughter of a baron she was accorded all the protection and courtesy her birthright, and her guardian’s preeminent position in Society, demanded. She was assigned a chaperone, the eccentric Lady Reanay, in whose company she was expected to be at all times when not in the Nursery or her own room. She was to be Her Ladyship’s shadow.

  Not only would she need to find an excuse to disengage herself from Lady Reanay’s side, a great deal would depend on finding a quiet location within the Earl’s Jacobean mansion for her meeting with Mr. Allenby to take place. This was becoming increasingly difficult, what with the mansion filling up with guests and family members staying for the holiday season, as well as the daily visits from local villagers, tenants, and owners of neighboring estates, all come to partake of the Salt Hendon festive generosity.

  Undeterred, Kitty believed she might be able to use such yuletide comings and goings to her advantage. For while the Earl and Countess were entertaining family members and visitors alike, there would be enough distraction to coax Mr. Allenby to slip away with her to the appointed place and at the allocated time, with servants and family—particularly the beady-eyed Lady Reanay—none the wiser.

  As the daylight hours grew shorter and the temperature dropped even further, the large wood-paneled public rooms filled with the laughter and chatter of a multitude of guests. Yet, Kitty was more than ever convinced the herculean task before her was within her organizational powers to orchestrate.

  And then into her life stepped a prince.

  TWO

  PRINCE TIMUR-ALEXEI NIKOLAI MORDVINOV was a member of the Russian nobility. His Highness was part of a Russian trade delegation sent by Catherine the Great to negotiate terms of a treaty and learn all they could about England and English ways. England, or more precisely London, was the center of the consumer world. As such, the Russian nobility was obsessed with acquiring its wares. Her Imperial Majesty had supplied the Prince with a shopping list. He was to buy up all manner of porcelain and silverware, gold and gemstone trinkets, watches, mantel clocks, and fine furniture, and send it all to St. Petersburg.

  Prince Mordvinov was also commanded to provide Catherine with detailed reports and drawings of everything that crossed his path, from the embroidered silks and velvets worn by great ladies, to what went on behind the closed doors of the private gentlemen’s clubs. Catherine and the Imperial Court wanted to know what type of tea leaf was favored by society hostesses, the breed of dog walked by both sexes when promenading the Mall, the pattern on the silverware set on mahogany dining room tables, and the Chinoiserie wallpaper hanging in their boudoirs. Of equal fascination were the traditions of their noble counterparts.

  And so His Highness was spending Christmastide as the honored guest of the Earl and Countess of Salt Hendon, an Imperial sketch artist at his elbow. There was no better way to learn all there was to know about the customs and festivities of this most English of holydays than within the bosom of an English nobleman’s family.

  And there was no person more qualified to answer the Prince’s long list of questions than the lovely Miss Aldershot. So said Lady Reanay. Lord and Lady Salt agreed.

  Once Kitty had recovered her surprise at Lady Reanay’s praise, and the faith placed in her by the Earl and Countess in her ability to entertain a Russian prince, she was flattered, and only too willing to be the Prince’s guide. In Lady Reanay’s considered opinion, no one entered into the spirit of the season more than Kitty, and so she told the Prince upon introducing Miss Aldershot to him. Clapping eyes on the pretty blonde Miss Aldershot, the Prince was delighted with the arrangement.

  Prince Mordvinov became Kitty’s constant companion, and her shadow. From breakfast until dinner, he accompanied her everywhere, sketch artist trotting behind on his frock coat tails. The artist hugged a blotter to his wool waistcoat, carrying over one thin shoulder a red leather satchel, gold-stamped with the Imperial coat of arms and heavy with the implements of his craft—graphite, paper, pastels, and ink.

  The Prince directed Kitty to go about her tasks as if he were not there at all. In that way, he was free to observe and she would, in time, not be overwhelmed by his presence. It helped Kitty’s peace of mind that Lady Reanay was almost always in their company. Thus, whenever she was caught up in the activity in the Nursery, be it helping the children construct and color paper Christmas decorations, joining in their games of Blind-Man’s-Bluff, or busily engaged in supervising the maids filling the small Christmas boxes with coin for the tradesmen and villagers who worked on the estate, Lady Reanay and the Prince retired to a quiet corner. Here they drank tea and conversed in French, his preferred tongue, though he made the effort to speak in English with Kitty and the rest of the household.

  Kitty being Kitty, she may very well have found a way to incorporate the Prince into her plans for a clandestine meeting with Mr. Allenby. There was no better mechanism than a rival to shift a man to action in declaring his true feelings. The household’s foreign guest had impeccable manners and dress sense, and he was a prince. This alone should have worked to Kitty’s advantage, had she decided flirting with His Highness would prompt Mr. Allenby to act, but for two unalterable facts. Mr. Allenby was a young man of even temperament who saw the good in everyone. It was a quality Kitty much admired, but it meant Mr. Allenby was unlikely to be aware there was a cause for jealousy, least of all be roused by it. The second fact, and the most obvious, was that Prince Mordvinov, despite being a prince, was unlikely to be seen as a rival for Kitty’s hand in marriage. The very idea was laughable.

  It was not that the prince was ugly, fat, stooped, or with such hideous habits as to be abhorred. He was straight-backed and had a pleasing countenance, but for a long, thin nose. He wore the most exquisitely embroidered frock coats and waistcoats, and his manners could not be faulted. He had bright, lively blue eyes and a smile that radiated friendliness. There was nothing haughty or conceited about his demeanor despite his noble lineage. Indeed, he went out of his way to put everyone at their ease, and was so friendly and accommodating that within five minutes’ conversation with him, Kitty liked him very well indeed.

  Sadly, however, Prince Mordvinov was ancient. He was old enough to be Kitty’s grandfather, face etched with the fine lines of time. She speculated his powdered wig was not a wig at all but his own long white hair, dressed and tied at the nape with a large black satin bow, and knew this to be so when there were no telltale signs of hair powder sprinkled on the upturned collar and shoulde
rs of his frock coat, which he changed twice daily; Kitty never saw him in the same ensemble twice.

  Kitty reasoned it was little wonder the Prince and Lady Reanay spent their time drinking tea, leaving the sketch artist to follow her around the room with his blotter. The elderly couple obviously had much in common and were no doubt exchanging anecdotes about the aches and pains in their joints, the various remedies for gout and toothache, and reminiscing about their lost youth. Kitty did not begrudge the couple their tea and conversation. It afforded her respite from the Prince’s insatiable curiosity. His non-stop questions began with his first cup of tea in the breakfast room and ended with her curtsy to his bow of goodnight.

  However, come Christmas Eve morning the Prince did not show himself at breakfast. It was the first time in a sennight His Highness was absent. Kitty presumed he had gone out early with his noble host and the gentlemen of the household to observe the progress of the Yule log. Dragged by a team of oxen from the woodlot to the house, the seasoned log would be installed in the enormous hearth in the Gallery by evening, the traditional time the Yule log was set alight, and then kept burning for the twelve days of Christmas.

  Thus, Kitty went up to the Nursery alone, only for the Prince to poke his white head into the playroom a few hours later. Dressed in a fitted frock coat of richly-embroidered red velvet, and leaning lightly on his Meissen-handled walking stick, his blue eyes were bright and his smile indulgent. A liveried footman went to announce his presence, but the Prince put a finger to his lips and shook his head as he advanced into the room. Kitty had her back to the doorway, helping thirteen-year-old Merry unpick a stitch in her sampler, leaving it to the Earl’s four-year-old son and heir, Ned, seated at his little drawing table, to blurt out his disappointment that it was not his Uncle Tom come to fetch him away.

  “He will be here soon enough, Ned,” Kitty told the disgruntled little boy. “You won’t miss the Yule log, that I promise you.”