Eternally Yours: Roxton Letters Volume 1

by Lucinda Brant

  When I suggested Julian distance himself from her out of respect for her husband, his natural reaction was to tell me his affairs were not my concern. To which I replied it was very much my business, given I am acting in loco parentis, and what would his esteemed parents think of such a connection. He then became angry and told me there was no need for me to worry, for he knew what was due his name and had refrained from taking their trysts to their natural conclusion, and had no intention of doing so. That was his wife’s prerogative only.

  You will agree that this is a relief, though I am startled at such self-control and maturity, given his age and this his first sexual encounter. Yet, knowing his nature I should have had an inkling he remains a virgin from choice.

  One would have thought that because he refuses to take their liaison to its natural conclusion, the Princess would break off the affair. She has no shortage of suitors, and her husband’s rants have not deterred them—far from it, particularly with his crude advertisement as to his wife’s talents. Yet, it seems the only male sharing her couch is your son, and every night, since her husband has taken to sleeping at the Club. She is ever assiduous.

  I pondered this and believe I have arrived at a suitable explanation, one that will allow you to deal with the dilemma in your usual omnipotent way upon arrival here. For you see I believe the Princess, who is highly desirable and highly sexed, and used to getting her own way in all things, particularly where men are concerned, finds Julian’s self-restraint a most potent aphrodisiac. And being a determined creature, she will not give him up until she has broken down his defenses. For in her mind, how can there be a man who can resist her considerable charms and expert talents?

  I do not know to what lengths she will go to break his resolve, but as his desire for her shows no signs of abating, I believe her capable of anything to see herself the victor in this bedchamber melodrama. Make no mistake, M’sieur le Duc, the Princess Sonia is very intelligent, cunning, and determined, and if in the end she realizes Julian will not break (and I believe he will maintain his resolve, for he is assuredly mindful of his destiny, which should please you), then she is likely to turn on him in any number of ways to have her revenge on what she perceives as an attack on her self-esteem.

  [End of single sheet of parchment]

  I have taken the liberty of drawing up a list of places you must visit while here, and Julian has been over the list and made a few recommendations of his own, one being a visit to the coast to the Palace of the Seven Towers. He has also added a number of coffee houses to the list, which he is certain his father will enjoy, there being one in particular which is solely given over to the sipping of the Turkish brew—called the wine of Islam, for they do not partake of alcohol—and the playing of backgammon. Julian is of the opinion that M’sieur le Duc will trounce all comers, and has the opportunity to defeat the reigning champion, one Pasha Bedri Ekrem, a retired officer who in his fifteen years of competition at this coffee house has never been beaten in the best of five.

  I only wish Mme la Duchesse could witness such a scene, but alas, women are forbidden such places where males congregate. Not unlike the clubs in St. James’s Street in London, though that is behind closed doors, whereas here, it would be the same as if every street in Westminster that housed a club or coffeehouse were forbidden women.

  I cannot tell you how very much I am looking forward to the lively debate regarding this and many other topics upon your arrival, Mme la Duchesse.

  I will sign my fist now so that this missive can be sent and reach you in a timely manner.

  Your most humble and devoted servant,

  Martin Ellicott

  ELEVEN

  Martin Ellicott, Esq., Moran House, Bath Road, Avon, England, to His Grace The Most Noble Duke of Roxton, Treat via Alston, Hampshire.

  Moran House, Bath Road, Avon, England

  September, 1768

  My Dear Duke,

  This is in reply to your letter, enclosing Sir Gerald’s recommendations, and seeking my opinion not only on those recommendations, but on the matter as a whole, for which I offer my advice.

  The untimely death of your daughter-in-law’s elderly chaperone, Miss Clementine Francis, some three months ago, was in and of itself a sad affair. Miss Cavendish (for I have always called her so and cannot defer to her married title until such time as she knows it herself) had grown genuinely fond of her distant cousin and was distressed at the old woman’s passing. You would have been proud of how she, a young woman not quite twenty years of age, conducted herself. From the funeral arrangements to the little gathering after the ceremony, Miss Cavendish handled it all with a poise and maturity beyond her years.

  And it is because of her conduct, and as one who has studied her temperament first hand, that I believe what Sir Gerald suggests is entirely the wrong approach to take with your daughter-in-law. Particularly at this most sensitive time, when Julian has shown an interest in fulfilling his destiny and becoming a husband in more than name only.

  Miss Francis was the ideal chaperone for a girl of Miss Cavendish’s disposition. The old woman never presumed to judge her young charge, and entered into her plans for the future with her nephew as if these plans could be brought to fruition, though she knew in truth the reality was quite different. And although Miss Francis spent most of her time in a sunny corner knitting or reading her Bible, her eyes and ears were always open to signs of restlessness or distress in her charge. Dare I admit that her sedentary nature and mild-mannered demeanor were part of her appeal, for she never said a cross word and even when the house was at its most chaotic, as it surely must be with a determined young woman in charge of an active school boy, the old woman carried on as if she were housed in a nunnery.

  As you are aware, Sir Gerald never approved of Miss Francis as a suitable chaperone for his sister, only seeing her in the most cursory manner. I am aware that Sir Gerald was of the opinion that what was required, after Miss Cavendish absconded to Paris to look after Otto, was a female of taciturn temperament and noble bearing, of whom the Bath Society matrons would approve.

  If I may be blunt, Your Grace, the latter was all Sir Gerald truly cared about, and still does. The welfare of his sister is secondary to his wish that she not be talked about by Society. That she defied him and ran away from home almost brought on a nervous collapse in him, not because of his fears for his sister’s safety, but because he feared your wrath in allowing it to happen.

  I know it does not bother Your Grace in the least what Society thinks; your private affairs are no gentleman’s business but yours. But I do know you care that your daughter-in-law remains a virgin for the consummation of her marriage to your son, and that since her return to England from France, scandal not attach itself to her name.

  The butler Saunders continues to send me weekly reports of his young mistress’s comings and goings, and the general atmosphere within her household. It has become apparent through these reports that your daughter-in-law has begun receiving visits from several suitors, and one in particular that I know will displease you greatly—Mr. Robert Thesiger.

  I was not so concerned about these would-be suitors, or Mr. Thesiger’s visits either, while Miss Francis was alive to keep a wary eye on proceedings. And lest you misconstrue me, I was never concerned how Miss Cavendish would conduct herself in the company of these young men, with or without Miss Francis present.

  Your daughter-in-law may be headstrong and a tomboy, but she is modest in manner and deed, and has too much pride for her illustrious name of Cavendish and in herself, to consider a fall from grace. If I may be so bold to make a prediction, Miss Cavendish will make a most excellent Marchioness of Alston, a wife Julian will be proud of, and a daughter-in-law in whom you can safely charge the future of the Roxton dukedom.

  But lest these suitors become bold, and I see Mr. Thesiger as being determined in his suit, I suggest that Your Grace see to it that Julian makes himself known to his wife at the earliest opportunity. How this is
to be done, and how he conducts himself, is not for me to speculate or wonder at. My only part in this endeavor is to offer you my opinion, and to keep a protective eye on your daughter-in-law from the distance of my house on the outskirts of Bath.

  In the interim, until such time as Julian arrives in Bath, I propose a novel approach to the replacement of Miss Francis, one that will surprise you and undoubtedly displease Sir Gerald, for it goes against everything Sir Gerald suggests. He would have Miss Francis replaced with a dour sour-faced jailer who has the manly strength to restrain his sister if called to it. In essence, Sir Gerald wants his sister kept prisoner until claimed.

  I could not disagree more with this advice. Replacing Miss Francis with such a person will create great tension and disharmony within the Milsom Street household; it will become a most unhappy place, and one your daughter-in-law will wish to flee at the earliest opportunity.

  Miss Cavendish is of a temperament that requires she feel she has some charge over her person and her house. To employ a female who would seek to restrain or take this from her would lead, I believe, to her taking a most rash action. She would again run away, and this time take her nephew Jack with her. I believe she is most likely to turn to M’sieur Evelyn Ffolkes, who offered his protection and name when she was last in Paris. A repeat of such behavior is the last thing you and your son could wish for, but that is my dire prediction.

  Miss Francis never took it upon herself to accompany Miss Cavendish when she visited the Pump Room, nor was she inclined to be her shadow when she and her nephew strolled or rode through the township. And she never accompanied her on her weekly visits to me. Upon these excursions from the house, your daughter-in-law has been accompanied by Mr. Joseph Jones, her brother Otto’s major domo, and since Otto’s death, he has taken it upon himself to be protector to Deborah and her nephew Jack.

  I would not be incorrect in assuming Joseph’s presence within the Milsom Street household meets with your approval, and that at the very least he, too, has been charged with keeping an eye on Miss Cavendish, and more particularly, an eye out for any trouble that may be lurking near the vicinity of her person, such as the likes of Robert Thesiger.

  Thus, I propose that Miss Francis not be replaced. Not having a chaperone in the short term will make no difference to Miss Cavendish’s life, or change the opinions of those Bath matrons who live to spread spite about others. Bath’s gossips may think your daughter-in-law is lacking a sensible adult eye upon her activities, but such a circumstance makes me smile smugly, for no young lady’s actions, acquaintances and daily routine are more carefully scrutinized and monitored, albeit from afar, than that of your daughter-in-law!

  Yes, having no female companion will set the Bath gossips to whispers and adverse remarks, but what is that to you in the grand scheme of things? What will it matter when Miss Cavendish becomes wife of the Marquis of Alston in more than name only, and she takes her place within the bosom of your family? What then the gossips and spiteful asides? They will be as nothing, and not one woman or man would dare make comment against her then.

  I believe I have now exhausted the topic, and your time on the matter.

  This letter is sent off without delay, and with my faithful assurances of replying to Mme la Duchesse’s letter on the morrow.

  Your most humble and devoted servant,

  Martin Ellicott

  TWELVE

  Mme Vallentine, Hotel Roxton, Rue St. Honoré, Paris, France, to Mme la Duchesse d’Roxton, Treat via Alston, Hampshire, England.

  Hotel Roxton, Rue St. Honoré, Paris, France

  April, 1769

  Dearest sister, when did you say you and my brother would be returning to Paris? I know you told me but I have misplaced that letter, and I am too fatigued with worry to go searching for it. I know it is somewhere on this escritoire, but as to where…

  My mind is full of all sorts of imaginings, and my heart is so heavy of late that I find not a day goes by that I do not have the headache and must retire to my couch in the afternoon, and you know the cause!

  Please, do not mention what I tell you to Roxton, or to Lucian. But why do I say this to you, when I know you know that I know that they both know! Ugh. It is my misfortune to have a brother who sees and knows everything, and a husband who is complacent enough to let him do so!

  Lucian could not dissimulate if he tried. And he never would with Roxton. I do believe that is what makes them such good friends. Indeed, I believe my husband’s first loyalty is to my brother, and then to me! No! Do not refute it. You are as bad as they, with your utter devotion to Roxton, and loyalty to my husband, though you both pretend to be annoyed by the other. Ha! That is a ruse. You secretly enjoy baiting each other, and my brother he enjoys watching you.

  And you will laugh to the point of falling off your chair when I tell you what an imbecile I’ve been. I can hardly believe it myself, if you want the truth. And when I think back on my fears and actions now, I agree with my own assessment. But let me tell you, so you have the entire picture in your mind’s eye, before your eyes they fill with tears of laughter at your sister’s ridiculousness.

  I began to suspect Lucian of having a little diversion across the river. Yes! Lucian unfaithful! There! I have inked it for you to read and your eyes to widen with the shock of disbelief that I could dare suspect my husband of straying.

  After I recovered from my great shock and anger to think this might be true, I fell into a deep melancholy at the thought of him building a little nest with some light-skirt half my age, and twice as pretty. I could not rise from my couch for days. When Lucian did not come looking for me the first night I was not in our bed, my melancholy deepened, thinking my fears justified. For why would he not seek me out when we have shared a bed for as many years as you and my brother, unless his interest it was now directed elsewhere? The second night he did come looking, and stood in his nightshirt and cap peering down at me, holding the taper within an inch of my nose—I thought my hair it would catch alight! And what do I say and do when he asks what is the matter with me and to come to bed? I burst into tears and tell him to go away! And what does he do? He quietly goes away! Not a word to me! Impossible man!

  So do you see why my fears that he must have a mistress intensified and my headache became unbearable? How could I tell him why I was so upset, when I feared the answer might be the one I did not want to hear at all? But I could not go on with the agony of not knowing one way or the other, so on the third day I resolved to discover if my fears were true or not.

  You will be shocked by what I did, I know it, but dear sister, you cannot know what agony I was in! You would never do such a thing, for your confidence in your husband is so deeply rooted that I doubt you have ever entertained the notion of him ever straying, even with his eyes, and he such a great rake before he married you! And why should you have a single doubt? The fires still burn just as intensely for you and my brother—I see it when I am in your company. Such depth of feeling enthralls and nauseates me in equal measure.

  But we are not talking of your marriage but mine, and my stupid fears manifesting themselves in ridiculous actions. Please, you must promise not to breathe a word of this to Roxton or to Lucian. My brother he will have a good chuckle at my expense, and my husband will think his wife is deranged. I will never hear the end of his grumbles of incredulity that I could ever question his fidelity.

  This is what I did. I had Lucian followed. Yes, I set a spy on to him, day and night for a week. He could not step outside the house without this person two steps behind him. He became his shadow, and wherever he went, whatever he did, the spy he was there too.

  Am I not the most wretched of wives to do this? But I tell you when the spy he reported all that he saw after just one week of being Lucian’s shadow, my mind was far from put at ease. My suspicions they were inflamed further and I fell weeping upon my couch. The spy told me that not only had my husband strayed across to the left bank, but that he visited the same house upon t
hree separate days, and spent two hours within its walls on each of these days.

  The spy he had even managed to procure the name of the owner of this house. That a man owned it did not lessen my fears. For all I knew then, this man could have been a pimp and the woman Lucian was seeing his bawd. But the story it becomes worse, and my fears justified when the spy told me that Lucian he was not the only gentleman to visit the house, and often.

  So now I am thinking that it is not a mistress he has, but that he is visiting a brothel! For some reason this made me feel a little better, to think his wandering was not restricted to one woman, but then of course I reversed this notion, for if he was seeing multiple women what did that say about him and about our marriage? And oh! a thousand other impossible things that go through the mind when it is in turmoil.

  Please, you must try to read this without giggling, Antonia! For I am very sure, as night follows day, that is precisely what you are doing, to think of Lucian visiting a brothel. In truth, the man could be standing outside such an establishment and have no idea as to its function.

  But I have not told you the rest of this sorry tale, and why I am such an imbecile to even have one bad thought about my dear husband. But you must remember—at the time his behavior was so odd that my fears he was up to something were justified, even if those fears headed down completely the wrong alleyway!

  So to clip a long tale short. This house was not a brothel. It was not even occupied by a woman of ill repute. I had the spy discover all this for me by throwing more coins at him to find a way of gaining entry to this establishment. It took him a few days more, and in those few days my headache was so bad, my apprehension so acute, that I hardly ate or slept. And do you think Lucian he noticed my deteriorating state? It took our son remarking at dinner one night why I was not eating what was put before me for his father to repeat the same question to me, and then add that if I was not partial to the slice of pheasant pie on my plate, perhaps Evelyn he would like to have it; after all, there was no point in wasting good pie. To which I threw down my napkin and stormed out of the room to a big silence from my husband and our son.