“Oh, hello Miss Jenny,” Augusta said, then she asked Thomas, “And did you complete your important errand? An errand so important you ran away without finishing your tea?”
“I did. And I promised I would tell you what it was when I was done.”
“Very well. Then I should like to hear,” she said putting her needlepoint in her lap.
Thomas smiled broadly. “Grandmamma, I would like to introduce you to the next Duchess of Pemberton.”
Augusta gave a quirky shake of her head. “I do not understand. Where is she?”
Thomas took Jenny’s hand and held it up. “Right here. Miss Jenny Barnett is to be my wife. I asked her, and she has agreed to marry me.”
Augusta gave that quick little shake of her head again. “Seriously?”
“Very seriously,” Thomas responded.
“But… but… she is a pastry cook.”
“And a very good one. I am certain she will become known as the pastry duchess, as I have promised her she can continue to make pastries in our kitchen from time to time.
Grandmamma studied Jenny for several moments, “I am sorry to say this Miss Jenny but,” then turned to Thomas and said, “Thomas, you know this cannot be. She is not of the nobility and she brings absolutely nothing of value to the marriage.”
“Oh, but she does.”
“I am unaware that a baker could provide anything.”
“Beauty, an open heart, intelligence, talent, and love. Are these not more valuable than coin?”
Grandmamma looked down and fiddled with her needlepoint, and then said to Thomas, “You know the financial situation the family is in… and with Wilcox… You are not being responsible. And it is just not done.”
Thomas insisted, “But it is. I can name you any number of “unsuitable” ladies who became very successful duchesses. In any case, dear Grandmamma…” he said, going over and kneeling before her and taking her hand. “I will marry her. And I know that with her by my side, George and I will build a most successful business and right the poor finances of the estate. Please, give us your blessing.”
Grandmamma looked up at Jenny, taking several moments before she spoke. “Come, my dear,” she finally said, extending her hand to Jenny.
Jenny went over to her and took her hand.
“Against my better judgement, I will accept Thomas’s judgement—for my heart tells me you are worthy and true. Welcome to our family, Jenny.” She smiled and then became quite businesslike. “Now. We have a lot of work to do to make you ready to become the Duchess of Pemberton.”
It was to be a May wedding—or rather two weddings, as Thomas and Jenny, and George and Helena had decided to get married on the same day, in the same church, at the same hour.
But that was still many months away, and Thomas and George were busy establishing their business. Lord Comerford, relieved of the burden of defending himself in court, gladly agreed to become their final investor.
It had been decided to enter the two elder horses—one at Cheltenham, and the other at Lingfield Park—both events held in March.
Thomas, George, and Barnstable leaned on the railings at the finish line of the track as Robert pushed Siren the last five hundred yards to where they were standing. Barnstable had been watching the time on his pocket watch.
“Second best time,” he said. “But I think that is all for today.”
Robert rode Siren over to them and asked, “How was that?”
“Not too bad,” Thomas said, “Off by only a second or two.”
Robert said, “He had a moment of hesitation on the second turn. A rabbit ran across the track and distracted him,” Robert said.
“Distractions—we need to work on that. Once we are on a track with thousands of people nearby and other horses, and who knows what all… we need to address that,” Barnstable said.
“That’s good, Robert. That will be all for today. Take him back and cool him down.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Robert said and turned the horse and headed for the track exit.
Thomas watched the lad as he took the horse back toward the stable. “He’s turned out to be a natural.”
“And he is soon to be your brother-in-law. We may need to give him a raise.” George said, only partially joking.
“But only if he wins,” Thomas said with a wry smile.
Augusta had enlisted Helena to help prepare Jenny to be a duchess, and she was more than willing to help.
“How is Sally coming along with the pastries?” Helena asked Jenny, as they sorted through Jenny’s wardrobe looking to see what she might be able to take with her to Pemberton.
“She is doing very well. But she still has a way to go,” Jenny replied.
“Just like you do to become a duchess,” Helena teased.
Jenny sat on her bed and sighed. “Oh, please, do not remind me. Grandmamma Augusta has been stuffing my head with all sorts of facts about the family, about the peerage, about customs and traditions—and my head is just spinning.”
Helena turned from the wardrobe and pulling out the gown Thomas had given her all that time ago, said, “This is all you have you can take with you. I am sorry to have to say this, my dear, but as a duchess, you are going to need an entirely new wardrobe. There is no way you can wear these other dresses at Pemberton.”
“Not even if I am baking?”
Helena was aghast, “You intend to bake at Pemberton?”
“Of course, why not? Did I not say I always wanted to bake in a grand house one day? Now I can.”
“And he will allow you to do that?”
“He promised I could—on special occasions. But we shall see—I am certain he will do as I tell him.”
Helena laughed. “Wrapping him around your little finger already, are you?”
“But I would never do anything we did not both agree upon.”
Helena sighed. “But this does not solve the problem of your clothing. Something must be done.”
Jenny was still sitting on the edge of her bed, and she pointed to her dresser. “Over there… there should be an envelope.”
Helena went over, found it, picked it up, and asked, “This?”
“Yes. Give it to me.”
Helena handed it to her. Jenny opened it up and took out a large amount of cash.
“Grandmamma Augusta gave me this and told me to have you help me select a new wardrobe. Can you do that for me?”
Helena took the money and counted it. “You and I need to take a trip to London, Your Grace. We have some shopping to do.”
It was one week before the wedding. And it was the last day that Jenny would be with her family before she was to be picked up and taken to Pemberton. Grandmother Augusta insisted the final preparations take place where she could oversee all the details of preparing Jenny to become Thomas’s bride.
It was a very quiet and somber family breakfast.
“Cheer up everyone. It is a wedding not a funeral,” Claudia insisted, clapping her hands and trying to instill some liveliness in the morose family gathering.
Mama began crying and got up from the table and retreated to the kitchen to have a good cry.
Papa lamented, “Robert gone, now Jenny, and Claudia you are likely to be next when your Jeremiah finally graduates.”
“Papa, I have already told you, that is still some time away.”
“But how likely is it your husband will find a parish nearby? We are going to lose you eventually.”
Jenny stood up at the table. “Stop, stop, stop. I am only going a few miles away. And both Thomas and I want you to think of Pemberton as your second home. You can all come and visit at any time. Stay as long as you like and be happy that I am marrying well.”
“But we cannot just leave the bakery to stay for a week at your new home.”
“Papa,” Jenny said, “I have explained to you many times, it will not be necessary for you to work so hard. Thomas and George have done so well with their business. They have new horses and peop
le are using their breeding services. They have won or placed in many of the races they have entered. And I have talked to Thomas about providing the family a good living without ever needing to bake again.”
Mama came back from the kitchen, drying her tears. “Jenny, Jenny, duchess or not, remember where you come from. We are bakers, have always been bakers, and will always be bakers. Our customers depend upon us. Who would feed this village if not for us?”
Jenny laughed. “Yes, Mama, I understand. I will not ask you to give up baking forever, just ease up. Work four or five days a week. Take a week off now and then. Our customers will understand.”
Mama reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “Promise me you will not become high and mighty and forget all about us with your balls and trips to London and all that fancy goings on.”
“I promise, Mama.” Jenny then addressed the entire table, “Now, are you all ready for the wedding? Any last-minute wardrobe issues? Claudia, Sally, do you know what you are to do with your hair? Papa, has your dress suit been pressed?”
It was a glorious May wedding day. The ceremony was to be performed a little unconventionally—but who could be surprised, knowing the principals involved.
Firstly, the wedding was to be performed outside in a beautiful grove of trees not far from Pemberton House. It was possible for all the guests to walk there with little effort. Even Grandmamma walked on Jenny’s mother’s arm, and they sat in the front row together.
Secondly, it was not the grooms who were to wait at the altar, but the brides, standing with their fathers. It had been decided that the grooms would ride up on a pair of their finest racers—to celebrate the success of their many wins—and dismount and walk up the aisle to their brides.
As George and Thomas approached, George whispered to Thomas, “Which bride is mine? They are both so lovely I can barely tell. Want to switch?”
Thomas quietly replied, “Never in a thousand years. I already had a chance at your bride and passed on that, remember,” he said with a chuckle.
The glade where the ceremony was taking place was so beautifully decorated. Many garlands of flowers had been strung amongst the trees and a small orchestra was to the side playing a Handel entrance march as the grooms came forward and stood before their brides.
Grandmamma whispered to Jenny’s mother, “Your daughter is so beautiful, you must be very happy.”
Mama took out her handkerchief, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I guess I am.”
Claudia took her mother’s arm and said, “Mama, our Jenny is about to become a Duchess. What do you think about that?”
“Oh, dear, what are we to call our Jenny—Your Grace?”
“No. I think Jenny will be just fine.”
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess
Chapter 1
A Prince’s Delight
London, England, June 1813
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness. It is past ten and ‘tis a fine day,” said the Groom of the Chamber, The Honorable Percival Waverly.
Unlike the regular servants, he, as one of the personal head retainers to the Prince Regent, was permitted to wear his own clothing. Above him in position was the Gentleman of the Chamber who was generally derived from peers of a higher station, like earls or dukes. He was not present this day.
Sir Percival was perfectly attired in a navy-blue tailcoat with a white silk waistcoat that covered the top of the trouser. Underneath, he sported a crisp white linen shirt with a featured starched chin-high neck collar to accommodate his light blue neckcloth. Black shoes with silver buckles adorned his feet.
“Go away, Waverly. I need to sleep…oh, God, the pain,” croaked the Regent.
“As I said, Your Royal Highness, it is a fine morning. And the beginning of a splendiferous day for the knighthoods taking place later today.”
“Knighthoods?”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” insisted Sir Percival.
“Argh…the light! ‘Tis blinding me,” complained the Regent, shifting his prodigious bulk to one side in an attempt to escape from the stabs of sunlight coming through the sash window.
“Dawson, how many times did I tell you on the way over here that you are to wait for my order before opening the curtains. His Royal Highness is allergic to the light this early in the morning.” Waverly shook his head and looked down his long aquiline nose, “Tut tut, Dawson, really.”
“Sorry, Sir Percival. It won’t happen again.”
The young man dressed in the livery of a household servant hastily started to draw the heavy satin curtains shut. His attire was impeccably tailored and came at a great personal expense to the Regent.
His uniform consisted of a fancy red coat, knee breeches, silk calf-hugging stockings, and powdered hair. As this particular gentleman, like his fellows, was often in the presence of the Regent, special care was taken that he looked perfect. He had even been required to provide his height when advertising for the position, because it was considered absurd to have a pair of personal servants that didn’t match in tallness.
“Dawson, what are you doing now?”
“I am pulling the curtains shut, Sir Percival,” said the young man with the auburn hair and the freckles on his already reddening cheeks.
“Yes, that is what I thought you were doing. Dawson, please don’t bother. Come here. We are to dress His Royal Highness, the Prince.” Sir Percival waved his hand frantically. “Well, come on, boy.”
“Yes, Sir Percival.” He rushed over to where the other man stood.
“There’s no need to run. Don’t they teach you anything these days?”
“Sorry, Sir Percival.”
“Stop apologizing, man. It’s most unbecoming,” huffed Sir Percival. He resembled a pelican standing on one leg. His back was straight to a breaking point and his small head like the bird’s perched on his neck as if lingering for its mother bird to feed it.
“Thanks to your bickering, I am awake now,” rasped the Prince Regent, peering from under the quilted blankets on his bed with two beady eyes.
“My intention exactly, Your Royal Highness. Now, come along, you have a big day ahead of you.” Sir Percival clapped his hands theatrically.
“I still don’t see why bother. Knighting some plebs…for what…I say?”
“Because they have done their duty to their King, their Regent and the Empire, Your Royal Highness.” Sir Percival swiveled his attention to the other chamber servant, standing by the door. “Well, come on, Wallis, the Prince Regent isn’t going to dress himself.”
Chastened, the other man, robed identically to Dawson, dashed across the vast bedchamber toward the bed.
“It’s like teaching monkeys to juggle. No running in the Prince’s chambers,” said Sir Percival, rolling his eyes.
“Sorry, Sir,” said both young men simultaneously.
“I now have three of you looking at me. This is most disconcerting. Where’s Gussy? He’s much nicer to me in the mornings,” said the Regent still peering from under the coverlets. He referred to his Gentleman of the Chamber.
He’s not here because the Duke of Uxbridge gets as drunk as you do, Your Royal… Pffft…Highness. I cannot discern which one of you two gentlemen is more debauched? The fat Prince Toad or the fat Duke of Toad. Sir Percival bowed laconically. “Your Royal Highness, I only do what’s best for you.” He paused. �
�Do you wish to use the privy before you get dressed?”
The Regent arched one eyebrow. “Yes, Waverly, I think I shall.”
“Very good, Your Royal Highness.” Sir Percival whispered to Wallis, “You are in charge of privy duty this morning.” He had to hide his amusement because of the horrified expression on the man’s face.
A Pure Lady for the Broken Duke Page 28