The Scottish Governess: Regency Romance

by Arietta Richmond

  “I am immensely flattered. But, somehow, I don't think that the Dowager had a housemaid in mind when she said marry 'anyone', do you?”

  “No, I don't think she did. I think she might just have imagined that I might lead a Baronet's daughter down the aisle, or some solitary offshoot of a mere county vicar. Never a housemaid, no. She's certain to be surprised.”

  They kissed again, longer, and even more ardently, vistas of future happiness opening in their imagination.

  “Now, I must set the wheels of her surprise in motion!” He gently set her down. “To wit: I have to go and fetch a special license. Fortunately, I know just where to go.”

  “And what shall I do?”

  “Anything you please my darling. The main thing is not to forget that I love you and that you are going to be my wife. Now, one more kiss and I'll be off.”

  As he held her, she didn't want to let him go, she wanted him to lead her to the divan, or upstairs to her lonely bed in the cramped servant's room. But leave her he did.

  She stood, half-dazed and weak at the knees, as he sped from the room, blowing her one more kiss before closing the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Constance stood where Perry had left her, still reeling with shock and amazement. Had what she believed to have just happened, really happened? Yes, it had! But did he really mean it? Yes, apparently so.

  Peregrine Stapleton, Earl of Blackwood, had just knelt and proposed marriage to her, Mrs Constance Leslie, formerly Miss Constance Ballantine, daughter of Robert Ballantine, Edinburgh merchant, here in the library of Blackwood House. She had accepted him too, though not in so many words.

  But... how will society react! How will the Dowager, and her friends, and the girls and their friends, not to mention the Prince Regent and all of those in court circles, react to the Earl of Blackwood marrying a housemaid, a respectable merchant's daughter yes, but still – a housemaid!

  Had he considered this? Or was he dangerously overwrought from a sleepless night, not in his right senses, and simply trying to shock his mother? Was it that boyishness she so admired, spun out of control? And what was she to do now?

  '’Anything I please' apparently. And what pleases me now is the strongest cup of tea the kitchen can muster! But first I think I must just carry on as normal, and wait to see what happens. If he returns with the marriage license or comes to his senses. If he comes to his senses, and it is all a fantasy brought on by sleeplessness, anger, and exasperation with his mother... well, I'll just pack and leave. I couldn't take another such scene.'

  Constance went to the window and looked out at the garden, breathing deeply, and trying to steady herself for whatever lay ahead of her. She looked at the blooming rose bushes, and the trunk of the great chestnut tree, and savoured again the ardent kisses of just a few minutes ago, their warmth still on her lips.

  'Is it possible that I will have these kisses, this passion, every day! And at my own choosing? Can it be possible? Oh, it's all just too good to be true! Come Constance, on with your duties, and then – hot strong sweet tea! Isn't tea as fulfilling as any Earl's kisses?'

  Not that, she admitted to herself, she’d had any other Earl’s kisses to compare. Laughing mockingly at herself, Constance went upstairs to Lady Harriet's room.

  But Lady Harriet wasn't in her room. Constance heard excited chatter coming from down the hall, coming from Lady Clara's room. She rapped lightly. Sure enough, Lady Harriet was sitting on Lady Clara's bed, with Lady Amelia, rapt, as Lady Clara related the glories of last night's Ball. Constance looked on, pleased at the sight of this picture of sisterly affection. For there was no trace of envy on Lady Harriet and Lady Amelia's shining faces as Lady Clara related who she had danced with and consorted with and what young Lord Flyte had said to her at the punch table.

  “Shall I order tea and scones as breakfast for all of you, here, your ladyships?”

  “Oh, Constance, that would be marvellous if you would please! I have so much to tell my sisters.” Lady Clara, looking fresh and happy, interrupted her discourse to turn a smiling face towards Constance.

  Constance went down to the kitchen to have the girls' breakfast sent up, and then sat down at the long table with a whole pot of tea and a plate of muffins at her elbow. The kitchen staff, coming and going, cast curious glances in her direction, and finally Mrs Wilson, coming in for a spot of tea herself, asked if Constance was feeling well.

  “Yes, quite well, thank you. I'm just feeling rather tired. I had so little sleep last night.”

  'What would dear Mrs Wilson say if she knew!' Constance thought, as she sat at the table, cradling her tea in her hands. She felt distinctly odd to be sitting there, a servant like them, one of them, and yet... perhaps soon to be in a completely different world! They could be waiting upon her in just a few hours!

  When she looked at it this way the thing seemed utterly impossible, and she had to play over in her mind, once again, the scene in the library with the Earl kneeling and pouring out his love for her. But the more she replayed the scene, the more unreal it became, until she had half-convinced herself that, her senses disordered by the passionate love-making of the Earl, she had imagined the marriage proposal.

  'The only thing for it is sleep. I must get some proper sleep!'

  But there were many hours she must get through before she could fall into oblivion on her narrow bed, and, draining the delicious tea, she drew herself up from the table to plod on through the day.

  The day passed somehow, and the Earl did not appear. The long tiring afternoon, much of it spent having Lady Harriet's underclothes pressed, gave way to a long empty evening, in which she dawdled in the kitchen, helping with the odd job here and there.

  Still, there was no call from the Earl. He had seemed entirely confident of quickly obtaining the marriage license - what could be preventing him? Was it so difficult for an Earl to obtain a mere piece of paper? Was it the Golden Fleece? Had he been waylaid by some Siren or Cyclops in the quest for it?

  Worn out by these ironic speculations and the long empty eternal evening, Constance, not caring that she was, officially, still on duty, slipped upstairs to her bedroom and fell onto the bed, fully dressed, and instantly into sleep.

  ~~~~~

  Was that a rap at the door?... Yes… but she was so tired!... What was the time?... RAP-RAP!... She lifted her head from the pillow... RAP-RAP! Sharper, more insistent... It must be one of the servants... duty again! But so early?... RAP! RAP RAP!!

  “I'm coming! I'm coming!”

  Getting wearily off the bed she unlatched the door. The Earl was standing there, beaming like the risen sun, a package, tied-up beautifully in tissues and ribbons, held out to her.

  “Good morning Constance my darling! I thought you'd never open the door. Here, put this on.”

  He stepped into the room and closed the door. Depositing the package on the bed he took her into his arms and began kissing her.

  “So, it's true! It's true!”

  “Did you say something darling?”

  “No, no! Or rather YES! Does this mean?... Are we...?”

  “Shyness does not become you Constance. If you mean 'are we to be married this very morning, and is there a clergyman waiting rather nervously downstairs with a special license in his coat pocket, and a prayer book in his hand’, the answer is YES, YES, YES!”

  “Oh my darling!”

  “Say it again Constance.”

  “My darling, my love...”

  He took hold of her again and, kissing her with more happy ferocity, he tipped them onto the bed, crushing the mysterious parcel.

  “Whoops! Poor parcel. Well... we'd better save our ardour for later... our clergyman, Doctor Bryant, is keen to get started, he has a busy schedule today. Come, open the parcel.”

  Constance, sitting up, took the parcel in her lap and began opening it, loath to damage the perfumed, finely crafted paper tissue that wrapped it. Once the last layer was finally removed, she pulled out an inc
redibly soft silk dress of a lustrous pearly tone.

  The bodice and sleeves were made of exquisitely embroidered lace. She had never held a more beautiful piece of clothing in her hands.

  “This beautiful example of the dressmaker's art is the main reason that I returned so late last night. I heard that you had retired for the night, and didn't want to disturb you, but now... do you like it?”

  “Do I like it?... Oh my darling, it's utterly divine!”

  Perry had never seen her so happy, so radiant. Her red hair shone, her skin glowed, her lips were redder than roses. He would do her beauty full justice in the days, the nights, the years ahead... but now.

  “Good, now come. I'll step outside while you change... be assured it'll be the last time I deny myself the pleasure of watching you undress!”

  Slapping him playfully, she stood up and, once he was outside, turned to the mirror and looked at herself as plain Constance Leslie, housemaid - for the last time. She undid her 'best dress,' this almost colourless drab thing, and let it slip to the floor like some worn-out skin. After washing herself thoroughly, she lifted the shimmering opalescent dress and put it on. It fitted her to perfection.

  She would really need a decent brush for her hair, and some clips to hold it back, to have it the way she liked it, but it would do for now. She looked in the mirror again.

  Constance Leslie had vanished. In her place stood some unknown Lady, or rather, not so unknown, she looked familiar, like someone well-known to her but forgotten, hidden.

  She remembered being this version of herself, in Edin burgh, years ago, before life had treated her so badly. Now, she had stepped forward from the darkness, from the darkness of abject circumstance, into the light of a new day. When she stepped out of the door the Earl turned. His mouth fell open when he saw her.

  “Constance!... Is this my Constance?”

  “It's me.”

  “You look ravishing!”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come, are you ready? I know that this is all very sudden and not the way either of us would like it. But I think, with us, it's justified, and we must strike while the iron's hot. And I don't mean that I expect it to get cold, just that... I simply cannot wait any longer!”

  “I understand, and I would marry you anywhere, under any circumstances. But, will you do one thing for me?”

  “Anything!”

  “Ask me again.”

  “Ask you...?”

  “Ask me to marry you again.”

  Constance enjoyed the mild alarm that flitted across his face at this request. But he knelt, right there in the passage of the servants' quarters.

  “Will you please do me the honour of becoming my wife Constance?” She looked down at him. It was real. And reality was more beautiful than her wildest dreams.

  “Yes, I will marry you.”

  “Thank you!”

  He stood up, and cradling her elbow, led her down the stairs.

  “And why did you need to be asked again darling?”

  “It wasn't that I needed to be asked again. It's just that I never gave my assent properly yesterday.”

  “I see. Your Scots' exactitude!”

  “Perhaps. And perhaps the pleasure of seeing an Earl on his knees.”

  Laughing, holding hands, they went down the stairs. The footmen on duty in the hall, trained to perfection, did not bat an eyelid when Constance and the Earl, happily together, reached the ground floor, but Constance detected the jolt in their posture, an extra upturn of their chins, as if to say, 'we see, but his Lordship’s business is entirely his own’.

  In the parlour, its damask covered furnishings glowing in the summer morning sun, the clergyman, a small man with pince-nez and tufty pepper-and-salt side whiskers, was waiting, with Mr Benton the butler; the latter, as composed as his footmen outside, displaying nothing but an unflinchingly solemn desire to please.

  With her arm through the Earl's and Mr Benton slightly behind and to the left of her imminent husband, Constance presented herself to Doctor Bryant. At a nod from the Earl, the Doctor began the service. Constance was glad it was the shortened version – the Earl had requested it, fearing what? - and they were almost at the penultimate exchange of vows when the door was slung open.

  Constance didn't turn, but Perry did, to meet the baleful glare of the Dowager. He raised a stern finger and turned back to Doctor Bryant.

  “Proceed.”

  Who was it behind her?! Clara? Harriet? Amelia? Were they angry? Then she heard the rustle of petticoats heavier and denser than a forest, and a sigh she recognised as typical of the Dowager Countess of Blackwood. The Dowager Countess!

  “Do you Peregrine Stapleton, Earl of Blackwood, take this woman, Constance Leslie, to be your wife, before God?”

  “I do!”

  She heard the Dowager's sharply indrawn breath.

  “Do you, Constance Leslie take this man Peregrine Stapleton, Earl of Blackwood, to be your husband, before God?”

  Constance could see the Dowager's expression in her mind's eye without turning around. The same expression of disgusted disbelief that would soon be spread across every aristocratic visage in London and beyond. There was still time to prevent this, to stop the tidal wave of contempt which would engulf them both. The Earl turned to her, slipped his arm around her waist, and gave her the tiniest squeeze.

  “Courage my darling! Courage!”

  It was all she needed. “I do!”

  “By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you Man and Wife.”

  Perry kissed her, and then shook hands with Dr Bryant and Mr Benton.

  Constance turned to see the Dowager standing, glaring at her. Perry approached his mother and kissed her cheek.

  “What have you done Perry!”

  “What have I done? I have married the woman I love. Recall - you said that you didn't care who I married. But in fact, I do care, hence my marriage to Constance, who I love profoundly. Constance? May I present your new mother-in-law?”

  Constance came forward, and the fire in the dowager's eyes dimmed a little, as she presented her cheek and Constance kissed it.

  To her surprise the formidable lady offered her congratulations, then began, almost hesitantly, “I know nothing about you, at all. Where you come from, who, if you know them at all, your parents are...”

  “Come Mama... Benton, some tea here, and perhaps brandy – you will join us in a toast Doctor Bryant?”

  “Most gladly your Lordship.”

  “Good, take a seat there... now, Mama, in a moment I will give you the details of my wife's provenance.”

  The Dowager allowed her son to lead her to a chair, and pulling one up close himself, he began exercising the persuasive powers which had turned the minds of kings and courtiers in the past.

  ~~~~~

  “And you say that you love her?”

  “With every fibre of my being Mama.”

  “'Love', well, it was never a consideration in my day, but times are changing so quickly, and it seems to be the word on everybody's lips where marriage is concerned, at least of late. For me, marriage is primarily a social contract, a means of keeping the integrity of our class intact. But I suppose it could be worse. You could have 'fallen in love' with Mary, from the kitchens at Blackwood Chase.”

  Perry smiled. He was relieved. It was a good sign when his mother was making dour jokes. Though doubtless many difficulties still lay ahead, the Dowager's horror had been assuaged somewhat by the news that Constance came from a solid middle-class mercantile family in Edinburgh, and had only become a servant as, abandoned by her family, she’d had no other means of support. When the Dowager was told this, she bristled with indignation against Constance's parents for taking this attitude, and Perry noted a certain protectiveness already showing itself in the way that she looked over at her new daughter-in-law, sitting at the table beneath the parlour windows, sipping her tea.

  And, though she fought shy of admitting it to her son, the Dowager
had taken an instant liking to Constance the moment that she had seen her arriving, with Harriet, from Blackwood Chase. Her liking was confirmed, and had deepened, as the Dowager's keen eye had observed how Constance had dealt with Harriet and her sisters. She had concluded that Constance was the 'new influence', 'the member of my staff' Peregrine had alluded to at Clara's Ball, who had been instrumental in changing the girls' behaviour.

  “And you did not marry the girl simply because of our disagreement yesterday? To – spite me?”

  “Mama! How can you think such a thing! We may have our disagreements – vehement ones too! But I love you, and respect you, you know that, and if you don't know it, be assured of it henceforth.”

  “'Love' again. Save that for your wife – and for the heir I expect to see not later than a twelvemonth from now.”

  “Mother, you – are – utterly – incorrigible.”

  Perry kissed her cheek and stood to greet Constance who had approached from the tea-table.

  “With your permission my Lady, could I speak – to my husband – in private for a few moments?”

  Constance blushed at the word 'husband’. A blush no doubt caused by a mixture of pride and trepidation.

  Peregrine grasped her hands and pulled her close.

  “How well that sounds Constance!”

  “You may indeed, Constance. I have had enough of him. I shall retire and begin preparations.”

  “Preparations Mama?”

  Perry stepped aside to make way for her.

  “Yes, preparations. We must have a Ball. To introduce your wife to society. Now, Constance, I may need you in an hour or so.”

  “Yes, of course my Lady.”

  “You may call me Mama – perhaps even Olivia, when we get to know each other better.”

  With this, the Dowager swept from the room in a rustle of skirts.

  As soon as the door was closed behind her, Perry and Constance began kissing. The relief that the very worst was over released a flood of desire which quickly promised to become uncontainable. Constance drew back, panting for breath, and managed to pull Perry to the tea-table and placate his ardour with tea and muffins. Which he ate, devouring her with his eyes and whispering promises of what he wanted to do to his wife that night.