'Miss Sinclair, I must apologise for keeping you waiting, but arrangements had to be made. We did not expect you to arrive so soon. I am his grace's lawyer and man of affairs, Mr Digby, here to serve you.' He stared at the meagre pile of luggage. 'Where are your trunks? Surely this is not all the baggage you have brought with you?'
'It is, sir. As we were obliged to travel on the common stage and couldn't bring anything else. I am sure that the children's guardian will supply what they need.'
'He will indeed. He has set up a substantial fund for your exclusive use. You will find everything you need to know waiting for you in the library of your new home. Come along, I'm sure you are eager to see your new abode.' He led the way out of the yard to a smart carriage outside. No emblem on the side to indicate it came from the duke, in fact, neither the coachman, nor the man by the steps, were dressed in a recognisable livery.
The children needed no urging to scramble into the vehicle. Despite their wild behaviour there was ample room inside for the bags and themselves. Strangely the lawyer did not accompany them; perhaps he did not like the company of children and preferred to travel on his own.
'Are we going to live in a palace or a castle?' Lottie asked.
'I've no idea, sweetheart, but I'm sure a duke's house will be substantial even if it isn't a palace or a castle.'
The children rushed from side to side of the carriage making it rock alarmingly but she was too dispirited and weary to correct them. She closed her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts. Her parents had perished from the sweating sickness so she had spent her formative years in the household of her older sister Sarah. Lydia had been largely ignored, no provision had been made for her formal education, what she knew she had gleaned for herself in the library.
As soon as she was old enough to take responsibility for her nieces and nephews her sister and brother-in-law had more or less abandoned their children and left the upbringing of them to her. She had taught the older ones to read and write, to figure, to draw and to use the globe. For the past year she had allowed Emma and Richard to wander about the neighbourhood on their own. Taking care of the twins was more than enough for her.
Then the news had come through that Sarah and her husband had drowned somewhere in the Indian Ocean leaving nothing. Lydia had eventually discovered the will and saw that the Duke of Hemingford was now responsible for his second cousins. She prayed he would be happy to assume responsibility for her as well, otherwise she was destitute.
Now here they were being driven in a smart carriage to Hemingford Court. They looked little better than ragamuffins and she hoped they would not be turned away as unsuitable for such a prestigious place.
She was dragged from her reverie by the twins beginning to fight in the well of the carriage. In the melee of flailing arms and legs she had been soundly kicked on the ankle. 'Stop that, you two, this minute.' She reached down and dragged them apart and positioned one on either side of her so they couldn't continue the struggle.
'Emma, Richard, I'm disappointed in both of you. You should have stopped this altercation before it started.'
Emma had been staring morosely out of the window, her brother, looking equally miserable, was sitting opposite doing the same thing. Something was not right.
Lydia finally took notice of their passage and was shocked to see they were approaching a substantial, but neglected building that certainly wasn't the home of any duke.
Before she could comment the vehicle rocked to a standstill and the door was opened by a waiting servant. There was no sign of Mr Digby. It couldn't have been made more plain – they were not wanted and were being hidden away in a property that obviously hadn't been occupied for some time.
She straightened her shoulders and pinned on a bright smile. 'I can't tell you how relieved I am, children, not to be obliged to stay at the main house. We shall do much better here on our own. When we do meet your guardian, we shall be well-dressed and will make a better impression.'
The older children perked up and exchanged glances. 'We didn't think of that, Aunt Lydia, we do look like poor relations at the moment.'
Richard giggled. 'That's what we are, silly, but in a week or two everything will be different.'
'We are better off already, aren't we? We had no servants to look after us before,' Emma said.
'Exactly so, my dear. Shall we go in and see our new home?'
As they reached the dirty front steps the door opened and two less than friendly figures emerged. The woman, tall and thin, and smartly dressed in dark blue bombazine, the man shorter and wider, but equally smart.
Lydia's cheeks coloured as they stared at her superciliously. If one was to judge on appearances, it was she and not they who was the servant. She would not be intimidated. She was the granddaughter of a lord; not as well connected to the nobility as her nieces and nephews who were related to a duke, but still not of the lower classes.
'I am Miss Sinclair, I am mistress here. You will arrange for a substantial meal to be set out in the dining room in one hour. Before that we wish to be shown our accommodation and have hot water sent up.' She waited for them to acknowledge this order before continuing. 'You will assemble any staff employed at this establishment in the hall at six o'clock. Is that quite clear?'
The man, presumably the butler, inclined his head an inch but the woman remained impassive.
The four children were hiding behind her, uncertain of their new environment. Lydia had no intention of saying exactly what she felt with the children present – they had had more than enough upset in their lives recently. However, these two would get their comeuppance, that was for sure.
A nervous maid conducted them to the first floor but instead of stopping here she continued towards the narrow, uncarpeted staircase that led to a less salubrious part of the house.
'Children, shall we find ourselves suitable chambers.' She ignored the maid who was hopping from foot to foot at the bottom of the stairs expecting her to follow.
None of the rooms were ready for occupancy, but after they had rushed about removing the holland covers they were all thrilled with what they saw.
'This one has a dressing room and a sitting room, Aunt Lydia, you must reside here,' Emma said.
'I shall indeed, it is far grander than I am accustomed to but I'm sure I will soon adjust to my elevated status.'
Emma decided she would share with the twins and selected another bedchamber adjacent to the one that Lydia had chosen. In this there were two large beds. Ideal for the three of them.
'I'm going in here, Aunt Lydia,' Richard said gleefully, 'it's on the other side of you and has a communicating door. Why is this there?'
'This must be the master suite, my love, the lady of the house would take the room you're having and the gentleman the one that I've got. The first thing we must do is strip the beds as the sheets will be damp.'
Then she reconsidered the statement. 'Can you see a bell-strap anywhere, children? The first person to find one has my permission to pull it as hard as they like.'
Richard found it first and yanked it so hard he was smothered by a cloud of plaster from the ceiling. They were all laughing when two maids appeared from the dressing room. There was obviously a servants' entrance in there somewhere.
'I wish to know your names.'
The oldest girl, with mousy brown hair, curtsied. 'I am Sally, madam, and this is Jen.'
'Good. I wish to have these rooms prepared for us. The beds need to be aired and remade, and everywhere must be dusted and the floors swept. We shall return in an hour and expect it to be done.'
They both curtsied and she gathered the children and left the servants to do their job. 'We shall explore our new home whilst we wait for our meal to be served. Mr Digby told me there are documents and so on in the library and I wish to know what is in them.'
The children bounced around the corridor exclaiming and laughing at the things they saw. The house had obviously been unoccupied for several years, but
with a little attention it would be a delightful place in which to live. If she was honest, she would far prefer to live in obscurity in this house than, in full view of the children's illustrious relative, in the other.
What she discovered in the library was far better than she could ever have hoped for. There was a large bag of golden guineas for her incidental expenses – more money than she had seen in her lifetime. There was also a letter giving her carte blanche to employ or dismiss any of the staff and to add further servants if she so wished. Bills for household expenses, clothes et cetera were to be handed on to him at the end of each quarter for payment.
The children had settled down quite happily with a selection of books taken from the library shelves. There was certainly more than enough here to keep them occupied for several years. A polite tap on the door heralded the arrival of the maid she had first encountered, the one who had tried to take them to the nursery floor.
'If you would care to come with me, miss, there is a cold collation served in the breakfast parlour.'
'What is your name? I like to know the identity of those who serve me.'
The girl dipped. 'I'm Mary, miss, at your service.'
Emma scrabbled to her feet and came over. 'What are the names of the housekeeper and butler?'
'Mrs Evans and Mr Rushton, miss.'
Lydia was pleased her niece had asked this question as it wasn't something she could ask. As the mistress of this house it was imperative that she appeared to be in charge – not knowing the names of senior servants would put her at a disadvantage. That this was deliberate on their part, of this she was certain.
The repast set out for them was everything it should be and they all enjoyed it. Eventually everyone was replete, chins were wiped, and the twins looked ready for bed.
'Our rooms will be ready for us now, my loves, shall we go up? I think David and Lottie can retire now but Emma, you and Richard can stay up for another hour or two. However, I need you to stay upstairs whilst I speak to Evans and Rushton.'
There was no need for her explain further, they were bright children, and knew she intended to dismiss both these unpleasant characters. That she would then have to run the house herself until she could find replacements did not bother her one jot – she was well used to being in charge of a household but had never had such generous funds at her disposal.
*
Everett was slowly recovering from the operation to reset his leg. The first few days had been as bad as anything he'd endured before but now, a week later, he was in less pain than he had been for years.
He had become resigned to being bedridden for another two weeks and was spending the time reading books from his long-neglected library. As far as he knew his estate and household was running smoothly and Digby was dealing with all the day-to-day matters as they might arise.
The doctor was delighted with his progress and had said he could be transferred to the bath chair and wheeled outside to the terrace in another week. This was a week earlier than expected and for the first time since the accident Everett was feeling more optimistic about his future. The use of crutches would be forbidden for another two weeks, but just being allowed outside in the early summer sunshine was enough to raise his spirits.
Fortunately, he had become accustomed to his own company and was quite content without visitors. His doctor diligently appeared each morning to check the leg was healing and on the third visit Everett invited him to remain and share a jug of coffee and pastries with him.
So their friendship developed – an unlikely alliance between two disparate gentlemen. Adams was, it transpired, the same age as him but there the similarities ended. Everett had grown up the petted younger son of one of the warmest men in England, whereas Adams was the eldest son of a vicar. His education and training had been a struggle financially for his family.
'They must be proud, sir, to see you working so successfully in your chosen profession.'
'They are, your grace, and I am slowly repaying them the money they were obliged to spend on my behalf.' He smiled. 'Of course, I have been able to pay back a substantial sum this month.'
'If I had any contact with my neighbours I should recommend your services to them.' Everett returned the smile in full measure. 'Feel free to bandy about your connection with such an illustrious gentleman as myself if by so doing it improves your income.'
When Adams departed an hour later Everett was well satisfied with the visit. Tomorrow he was being allowed to use the bath chair. His valet, Michaels, had refurbished this ancient contraption and it now worked as good as new.
The following morning his man assisted him into a specially prepared set of breeches – they had had the left leg cut to accommodate the splints and bandages. Over these he wore a lawn shirt and a loosely tied neckcloth. He was immaculately shaven and his hair had been neatly brushed and gathered at the back of his neck with a ribbon. This old-fashioned style suited him and he had no intention of aping fashion by having it cut short.
'Are you ready, your grace?' Michaels asked him.
'I am. Should we not wait for Adams to arrive?'
'He said that you could go outside today but didn't specify the hour. If you would care to put your arm around my neck, your grace, I'll assist you into the chair.'
A young footman had been designated to hold his damaged leg so that it didn't suffer from the transfer. The manoeuvre was completed smoothly and he'd felt no pain at all.
'I shall break my fast outside. Is the table that I asked for set up out there?'
'Everything is as you requested, your grace.'
Michaels snapped his fingers and the young footman grabbed hold of the handles at the back of the bath chair. To his astonishment, Everett found himself travelling at high speed across the polished boards and for a terrifying moment expected to be catapulted from his precarious position inside the vehicle.
His valet raced ahead and threw his weight onto the front of the bath chair – together the two of them managed to prevent an accident. Everett released his grip on the sides of the basketwork. 'God's teeth! You nearly had me out then – what the devil were you thinking?'
'I beg your pardon, your grace, I expected it to be hard to shift but it flew away with me.'
'Make damn sure it doesn't happen again.'
He was wheeled with more circumspection to the table which had been laid up for breakfast at the far side of the terrace. Only as he approached did he realise he would be unable to reach the plate and cutlery because the bath chair was much lower than a normal chair. He waited to see what his two attendants would do about this conundrum.
'I'll fetch you a side table, your grace,' Michaels said and promptly rushed off to get it.
'Put my chair in the shade – it's going to be hot later on.'
Within one quarter of an hour everything was arranged to his satisfaction. The coffee jug was within arm's reach on the side table and the young footman, Bates, remained close by, but out of sight, ready to answer his every demand.
When Dr Adams arrived at his usual time he showed no surprise to find his patient already ensconced on the terrace.
'I'm pleased to see you here, your grace, and looking more alert and a better colour than you have for the past two weeks.' He didn't wait to be invited to help himself to pastries and coffee or to take a seat, they were on familiar terms now.
'I intend to stay out here all day; in fact, I shall be here until I am able to walk about unaided. I shall, of course, use my crutches when you say I am allowed, but until then I'm content to sit here.'
'Your progress has been nothing short of remarkable, your grace. I wish all my patients made so speedy a recovery.'
They chatted about the price of corn, the problem with unemployed returning soldiers and other matters of interest until the doctor took his leave.
'I shall not continue to visit daily, your grace, there's no need. I shall come again in two days' time and hopefully get you onto your feet.'
Chapter
Three
Lydia was pleased with her progress at the Dower House. She had dismissed the unpleasant butler and his cohort and promoted the single footman to his position. It turned out that the cook had a friend expert in household matters who she appointed as the new housekeeper.
She now had her own personal maid – again a recommendation from Cook. A further two girls from the village joined the staff, and Sally and Jen became nursemaids to the twins. The house had been scrubbed, polished and dusted from top to bottom, vases had been filled with flowers from the garden, and the kitchen garden had been taken in hand.
All they needed now were some chickens, two yard cats and perhaps a house cow to supply fresh milk, butter and cheese. Emma and Richard were like different children – outgoing, always smiling and rarely in the house. She knew she should insist they did some schoolwork every day but had not the heart to curtail their enjoyment. She would curb their leisure time in a few weeks but for now they could roam free.
The little ones were equally content. Having two cheerful nursemaids at their beck and call was something they revelled in. They too were out of doors more than they were in. This gave her the time she needed to get on with writing her novel. It had always been her dearest wish to become a published author. Now she had the wherewithal to pay for publication, she could not find a company who would take her on and pay her for the privilege, she was determined to complete the book and take it to London herself.
She was engrossed in her writing in the library when she was interrupted by the arrival of Mr Digby.
'My dear Miss Sinclair, I am delighted to see you looking so well. You have worked miracles in this house in the short time you have been living here.' He glanced at the papers scattered on the desk and her ink-stained fingers. 'I beg your pardon, my dear, have I come at an inopportune moment?'
'No, sir, I am delighted to see you. There is something most particular I wish to ask you.' She stood up and joined him on the other side of the desk. 'My dearest wish is to have my novel published. I shall have completed it in a few weeks but have no notion to whom I should send it when it's done.'
The Reclusive Duke Page 2