Jonathon gave a shout of laughter and set his shoulders against the mantelpiece. “You’re right. I am. I’ve had a very tiring night; that must be it.”
But turning to stare Charles up and down over his brandy glass he lost his smile, his brown eyes went dead and there was an uncompromising set to his jaw that made his features suddenly harsh so that he appeared ruthless and unyielding; an altogether different being from the one Antonia knew and she wondered if this was how he conducted business for the Company on the subcontinent.
“So you want to marry my daughter, young man? Why?”
“I love her, sir.”
“Love her? Easily said; not easily applied.” Jonathon shrugged. “So you love her. You need more than that to sustain a wife. What can you offer her?”
“Offer her?”
“The question is simple enough. What can you, a second son of an earl, who has no prospect of inheriting title, lands or money, who has but one degree, and not a very useful degree at that, languages, and who has no intention of entering the army, the Church or practicing the law, which are the preferred professions of younger sons and provide some semblance of an income to support a wife and children, and you certainly have no skills or experience whatsoever in the mercantile world: What can you offer my daughter?”
“S-Sir, I-I—”
“Sarah-Jane has been raised with every comfort. She has particular expectations, a lifestyle to maintain. She is used to the best of everything and the best of everything costs money, a great deal of money.”
“Sarah-Jane does not care about money—”
“Ballocks! Only the wealthy can afford the luxury of not caring about money,” Jonathon scoffed. “If she told you that I wonder you want to marry such a simpleton!”
“She isn’t—”
“Next you’ll be telling me she don’t care about title either! Which is also a great piece of nonsense because all I’ve heard from her for the past twelvemonth is her great desire to marry a Baronet at the very least.” Jonathon set down his empty glass and peered keenly at the young man. “You have asked her? You did find out the lay of the land before you came here boldly seeking permission from her father? We are not having a pointless discussion, are we?”
“I have spoken to Miss Strang, sir,” Charles stated, round chin in the air, meeting Jonathon’s hard stare without a blink, “and she has consented to be my wife if you will give us your blessing and consent.”
“Didn’t it work out with your brother?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did your brother not want her—”
“Not want her? It was she who—”
“—so she decided that second best was better than nothing? What a great pile of fartleberries! Sarah-Jane has never settled for second best in her life! So what did you promise her that you can’t deliver? You don’t have a title, so it must be something mighty substantial to bamboozle a girl like Sarah-Jane. Or have you deliberately put my daughter in a compromising position that she can’t now get out of it? Aye? You tell me!”
“Strang. That is enough,” Antonia demanded in an angry whisper, half out of the wingchair.
Yet, when Jonathon looked down at her with an almost imperceptible shake of his head and winked, she understood at once that he was baiting the young man most cruelly and she glared at him in warning, not liking his tactics at all, which almost cracked his hard façade, and she sank back down again and turned to the footman who had appeared at her shoulder to order coffee. She was about to ask the gentlemen if they required anything else but was not given the opportunity. Charles Fitzstuart, who had not seen the exchange between the Duchess and Jonathon because the presence of the footman had distracted him, was livid at Jonathon’s accusations and cavalier attitude about his feelings for Sarah-Jane and his sincere wish to marry her and he turned on Jonathon with a rage he had never thought himself capable.
“You are very fortunate, very fortunate indeed, that I came here at all!” he exploded. “Sarah-Jane was all for eloping on the first packet for France! Much you know about your daughter, sir. She was willing to live with me in sin, as my mistress, in France, until such time as we could wed on her twenty-first birthday, as stay in this country a moment longer, because she knows that every day I remain on English soil the hangman’s noose tightens about my throat! But I said no. I would not consent to her being my mistress. If it came to that, I proposed that she remain with you and that we wait out the two years. That course was not acceptable to her and so she agreed that we do as I first suggested.
“And so here you find me before you, doing the right and honorable thing by her as your daughter and by you, as her father, seeking your permission for us to wed. I want her, us, to have your blessing. I want her to always be on good relations with you whatever you may think of me, and what I’ve done! I considered you a decent and honorable man. A man with a liberal mind prepared to give me a fair hearing; who would realize that his daughter is far better off married to me, who will love and treasure her and be a faithful husband and a good father to our children, traitor or no in your eyes and the eyes of others, than married to my brother who cares for nobody but himself and who would marry your daughter for her dowry with no intention of giving up his mistress! Is that the sort of man you want for your daughter? Well, is it, sir?”
“No, Charles, it is not,” Jonathon replied quietly. “It was Sarah-Jane who was determined to marry a title, not I. I have only ever wanted my daughter to be happy.”
Charles Fitzstuart stopped his pacing. Not that he realized he had been pacing back and forth before the fireplace, or that he’d had a hand splayed in his hair, and then both hands balled in fists, or that he had been shouting at his prospective father-in-law. He blinked up at the tall man and took a deep breath, suddenly thirsty and embarrassed at his uncharacteristic outburst. He stepped over to where Antonia sat silent, hands in the lap of her silk petticoats, a small smile hovering about her lovely mouth, and bowed solemnly.
“Forgive me, Mme la duchesse. I should never have raised my voice. My feelings—the way I feel about Miss Strang—Forgive me.”
Antonia put out a hand and when Charles took it with a nervous smile she said softly, “Never apologize for your feelings, Charles.” She glanced at Jonathon, who leaned against the mantle, and squeezed her cousin’s fingers. When Charles looked down into her eyes she held his gaze and said with a sad smile, “But perhaps there is a matter, a far more serious matter, for which you do need to apologize...?”
Charles nodded. If his face had diffused red with anger at Jonathon it was now puce with embarrassment and mortification at the Duchess and he swallowed and wondered how best to sort his disordered emotions to explain himself. He was given a small reprieve when the butler and two footmen came soft-footed into the book room with the coffee things and although he would have preferred something much stronger, a cup of coffee was welcome and helped steady his nerves and collect his thoughts for the confession he rightly owed not only Antonia, but Jonathon if he hoped to have the merchant’s consent to marry Sarah-Jane.
Again, he took the direct approach but he was calmer and found it surprisingly effortless to explain his actions as a traitor to the English crown than he did his love for Sarah-Jane.
“Perhaps when you hear what I have to confess, sir, you will withhold your consent to a union between your daughter and myself,” Charles stated evenly, putting aside the porcelain cup and saucer. “Not because I am a second son with few prospects here in England, but because, in the eyes of my countrymen, I am a traitor to His Majesty King George and to my country. I am, and have been since the outset of the declaration of war against our brothers and sisters in the American colonies, been a supporter of those colonists who have taken up arms against us. I find taxation without representation insupportable. The injustices that have been perpetrated by this government against our American cousins are too numerous for me to mention save that I believe the American colonists have every righ
t to govern themselves. It is absurd for this government to think it can rule a colony from this distance, to expect men so far away to petition Parliament and wait a year to receive a response to their request!
“I have always held doubts about the way our society is structured, the fact it is governed by a titled minority who have done nothing to earn their exalted positions than be born from a noble womb; and that birth order determines who is to rule and who must find their own way in the world, regardless of their abilities. In truth, sir, I find the notion of the divine right of kings nonsensical and aristocratic privilege absurd.
“I apologize, Mme la duchesse,” Charles added with sincerity, addressing Antonia, “not for my beliefs but I have no wish to intentionally offend you or M’sieur le Duc de Roxton your son. You are the best of what your class can offer. You are honest and fair and believe the worth of a man is to be found in his deeds, not just in his bloodline, and I believe, sir, your opinions are not dissimilar to those held by Mme la duchesse?” he said to Jonathon who continued to regard him with an expression he found hard to read; an expression that was far more unnerving than his cold demeanor of earlier. “Do you not agree with me that all men are created equal in the sight of God, and thus all men should be given access to opportunity without fear or favor of their birth? That is what the new American nation believes in wholeheartedly and that is the society I wish to be part of, and the one in which I wish to raise a family, with your daughter, with your permission and, it is our deepest wish, with your blessing.”
Jonathon remained silent almost too long for Charles to contain himself and then he took his shoulders off the ornate mantle and stood straight and tugged on the points of his bright yellow waistcoat and took a deep breath.
“I don’t disagree with most of what you say, Charles,” Jonathon replied evenly. “Your sentiments are sincere and it is hard to argue against a society founded on the good deeds of men rather than on the distinction of their birth alone. But what do you propose to do in this new nation, should the American colonies succeed in the war against our King and country?”
“I have employment waiting for me in Paris with Mr. Franklin, sir. I mean to be his secretary and will be his interpreter at the French Court. After that?” Charles shrugged and was sheepish. “It is my earnest desire to enter the political arena in the new nation of the American states. I dare to hope that the colonists will embrace me as one of their own, and that one day I may represent them, should they see fit to elect me to their parliament.”
“Of more worth is one honest man to society and in the sight of God, than all the crowned ruffians that ever lived”, Antonia quoted. She smiled. “I believe you will succeed, Charles.”
Charles nodded and grinned that the Duchess chose to quote from the pamphlet Common Sense but Jonathon’s response wiped the smile from his face.
“That is very noble and worthy of you, Charles, and it pleases me to no end that you are intent on doing something with your life, for men must have occupation and purpose in life or they get themselves into mischief. Can’t abide idleness or wastefulness. And like Mme la duchesse I, too, believe you have the brain and determination to succeed at such a venture. But you are yet to explain why it is you think it is that every day you remain on English soil the hangman’s noose tightens about your fine neck? We are not at war with the French and so you may cross the Channel with impunity.”
Charles coughed into his fist to clear his throat and looked, not at Jonathon, but at Antonia. His remorse was palpable. “I deceived you, and for that I will never forgive myself, Mme la duchesse. I let you believe that the letters I wrote and had you send on to Paris were for a certain young lady.”
“Silas Deane, hein?”
“Ah, so you know. I thought you might by now.” For Jonathon’s benefit he explained. “I sent coded messages to a representative of the American colonists in Paris with information I deemed of use to them under the guise of writing to a young female. The letters were addressed by Mme la duchesse and sent to the Roxton’s Parisian family home. At no time did I tell Mme la duchesse the truth, nor inform her, though I knew well enough, that the Hôtel had been sold and turned into apartments. I make no apologies for my treasonous actions but for deceiving you, Mme la duchesse, I am truly sorry,” he added, bowing solemnly to the Duchess.
Antonia looked up at him. “My son he also knows and so does Lord Shrewsbury and the Committee for Colonial Correspondence of Interest.”
Charles nodded. “His Grace has been most generous. Roxton wrote advising that the Committee had questions for me and I realized then that I had been discovered. His Grace did not have to put himself to the trouble, particularly when he must think me a traitorous dog.”
“You are still family, Charles,” Antonia interrupted. “And my son, for all his stiff-necked belief in doing what is right, has a deep sense of family.”
Charles nodded and cleared his throat.
“Yes, Mme la duchesse. I am forever in his debt for his warning. It gave me the time to put my affairs in order, and to make arrangements for our departure tomorrow—if, sir, you consent to your daughter marrying me.”
“The urgency?”
Charles smiled crookedly in spite of himself. “The Duke gained me time but I am still a wanted man. Lord Shrewsbury has requested that I present myself at his offices for an interview. Tomorrow. I am certain that it is only the esteem in which he holds His Grace of Roxton that has forced him to treat me as a gentleman and not as a common criminal. If Shrewsbury had his way I would have been hunted down by now, clapped in irons and be a guest in the Tower. The master spy’s idea of an interview involves the use of torture. I am told by reliable sources that his preferred method of seeking the appropriate response to a question is one often employed by physicians in the treatment of recalcitrants, particularly females, in which the victim is stripped, placed in a straight-backed chair specially fitted out for the purpose with leather restraints and then strapped ankle and wrist and then—”
“Please, Charles, no more,” whispered the Duchess, suddenly faint.
“—ice cold water is poured continually over the head until a confession is obtained or the victim—”
“Enough!” Jonathon growled and in two strides was down on bended knee beside Antonia’s chair. “Sweetheart, it’s all right,” he murmured reassuringly, pressing his lips to her hand. He touched his forehead to her hair, saying gently, “I won’t let that happen again. Ever. Not to you, not to Charles. Even if I have to break a dozen more fingers and cripple ten fellows. But it won’t come to that.”
Antonia nodded, took a deep breath and lifted her head to smile into his brown eyes, eyes that searched her pale face with concern. She put a hand to his stubbled cheek. “I know you would. I am being a little foolish but it will pass. Merci.”
Jonathon smiled and winked and rose up to his full height, saying as evenly as he could muster given he had just made a public display of his feelings for Antonia and before the young man soon to be his son-in-law,
“I can’t just let you run off with my daughter without her reassurances that you are what she wants in a husband and that she is well aware that the life you propose for the two of you means exile; not that she won’t be used to that having lived all her life on the subcontinent, but it does mean separation from me, perhaps forever.”
“Yes, yes, I realize that, sir,” Charles said haltingly, mind still dazed with new knowledge after witnessing the intimate scene between the couple, and he quickly mentally shook himself free, adding, “Sarah-Jane and I mean to call here in the morning, sir.”
“With your trunks packed, no doubt.”
Charles laughed. “Yes, sir. If we are to make it to Dover on time, we need to make haste as early as possible after daybreak.”
“She must indeed love you if she is prepared to flee to a country whose language she does not speak with a known spy who is being hunted as a traitor!” He stuck out his hand and Charles gratefully took it
. “God help you both.”
Charles grinned. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it. Thank you, Mme la duchesse,” he said when Antonia embraced him and kissed both his cheeks. “I will write from Paris and give Mr. Franklin your best wishes.”
“It don’t matter a wit if I regret it,” Jonathon quipped, walking Charles to the double doors. “Just make certain my daughter never does! And I’ll tell you now: Her dowry is—”
“No, sir. I don’t want your money.”
At that Jonathon laughed so loud the footman clearing away the coffee things almost overset the silver tray he was balancing on one gloved hand.
“You might not, dear boy, but Sarah-Jane certainly will! And these are the conditions under which I’ll hand over the twenty-five thousand pounds: Not one penny of her dowry is to be spent on the American cause, not one. I won’t have my hard earned fortune used to further a war, regardless of the combatants. Use your brain but not my money. It is for her comfort. If the colonies do win this war and become a free country with free elections then you are welcome to use her inheritance with my blessing and hers as you see fit to better this new society with which you are so enamored, but Sarah-Jane comes first in all things. Always.”
“You have had quite an evening of surprises, n'est-ce pas?” Antonia chuckled when Jonathon returned to the book room and sprawled out on the wingchair opposite her and put a hand up to his eyes.
“In the space of one evening I have gone from arranging a funeral to consenting to my daughter’s elopement with a wanted traitor. I do not need any more surprises.”
When he did not remove his hand she went over and stood before his chair and leaned in to him, hands on the wingchair’s padded rolled arms. “Then I shall say good night,” she said softly. “It is late and your daughter she will be on the doorstep early.”
He splayed his fingers and was presented with the wonderful vista of her deep cleavage visible through the sheer fichu and he sat up, more awake than he had been since returning from Upper Brook Street. He gently pulled her to him and she obliged by gathering up the many layers of her silk petticoats to straddle his legs to sit on his lap.
Autumn Duchess: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) Page 35