Eternally Yours: Roxton Letters Volume 1

by Lucinda Brant

  I still have moments where I am truly amazed at the enormous influence my father-in-law had on all who came within his orbit, not least his family. You know this as well as anyone, Mary, having grown up with him since your birth. Indeed, your loving recollection of him teaching you to play at backgammon when you were twelve years old, and had lost your own father in traumatic circumstances, brought tears to my eyes. You wrote about him with such affection that had I not been privileged to know him as my father-in-law for the few short years that I did, I would hardly think it possible you were writing about the same nobleman who had a very different public face to the one he showed his family.

  While I was never completely comfortable in his company at any time, I was able to relax a little when all the family was gathered, for I could see in their manner and conversation that they loved him unconditionally. His family was everything to him. He adored them, and they adored him.

  What I find fascinating is that for all intents and purposes, my father-in-law was the embodiment of the arrogant nobleman. Disdainful of those beneath him whom he deemed inferior of character, he always carried an air of expectation that when he spoke, all should listen, and that his word was law. He did this with his family too, and there were times when he could make me shiver with dread, particularly when he directed his gaze and had that way of looking right through you, as if your words, indeed your very presence, were of no interest to him. Thankfully, I was never on the receiving end of such a look. He was very economical with his words, as if speaking more than was necessary was an effort he did not need to exert. Of course, such silences were always filled by Maman-Duchess, and he was most happy when she did so.

  Thank you for extending your kind invitation for Maman-Duchess to visit you, but the truth is, she is not fit company for anyone, and is best left to her inconsolable grief at the Dower House. Julian visits her when he can, but admits to me that he wonders why he does so, because she hardly sees him and barely says two words.

  Please keep all this to yourself, dear Mary, for Julian would not thank me for breaking his confidence, but I need to confide in someone in the family or I would surely go mad myself! So, please, I beg of you, lock my letters away, and one day, when I ask it of you, burn them all.

  What I am about to tell you, I have told no other.

  Julian has called in a physician who specializes in broken minds, to assess and treat his mother. He thinks we should have engaged his services much earlier than this, when her strange habits were first reported. Mary, please, you must say nothing of this. But believe me when I tell you that Maman-Duchess has taken to conversing with the carved marble likeness atop M’sieur le Duc’s tomb. She visits the mausoleum daily, taking flowers and books, and sits there all day, talking to the old Duke as if he were still alive and he answering her chatter.

  I have not seen this alarming behavior for myself, nor has Julian, but it has been reported by various sources, so it must be true. What first alerted Julian to the possibility his mother refused to believe her husband was truly dead, is that she never refers to M’sieur le Duc, or as she sometimes calls him, Monseigneur, in the past tense. She speaks as if he is still very much alive. Indeed she does the same when referring to Lord and Lady Vallentine. I hardly know what to say in reply, and when she makes a remark about telling M’sieur le Duc about this and that when she returns home, it takes all my self-control to remain insensible.

  It breaks my heart and alarms me, because it has pushed Julian to this breaking point of calling in a medical professional. I only hope he is able to help her before it is too late and she needs to be shut away for good. That unthinkable action has never been raised between Julian and me, so again, please, this must remain between the two of us.

  Of course, our other worry now is Henri-Antoine, who is utterly neglected by his grieving mother so that it might as well be as if he has lost both his parents, not just his father. It astounds me to think here is a mother who monitored her son’s every waking moment from birth to the age of twelve, consumed with worry about the seizures he suffered as a result of the falling sickness, and the instant M’sieur le Duc dies, it is as if her interest in her youngest son also died that day. For she has not asked after him, been near him, sent for Dr. Bailey to ask after his health, or even asked Julian or me how he fares. For all she cares—and I am being very cruel here, but I am angry—he could have died from one of these seizures and such a tragedy would not register with her.

  How can she be so unfeeling within the blink of an eye? What must that poor boy be thinking, to have lost his father and his mother, who doted upon him every single day of his life? Of course, the burden for his care now falls to Julian. Not that he, or we, see it as a burden, we love Harry (as we prefer to call him) as much as we love our own children, but I do worry about the state of his young mind. Thank God his seizures have not been so severe of late, or as frequent, and thank God he has Jack!

  Good dependable Jack, who watches over Harry and loves him as a brother. Still, Julian frets as to the future, but it quiets his heart to know the boys are enjoying their time at Eton, despite Bailey being just one step behind. Though I think the brothers have struck up some agreement where the future of the good doctor is concerned, as Harry and Jack went off to school in a much better frame of mind, and with a conspiratorial nod to the Duke they possibly hoped I did not catch! I mean to find out what precisely is going on there, when I have a moment to spare.

  You will think seriously about my offer for you and Teddy to come stay with us for a month when it pleases you, won’t you? I know I don’t paint a very rosy picture of life here at Treat, but it is much better to be here than to read about it in one of my depressing missives.

  I am fully sensible that it is now a year since Gerald’s passing, and so you must be out of your mourning, or nearly so. With the estate in the capable hands of its steward, and Julian well pleased with Mr. Bryce’s capabilities in that quarter, you can afford to leave Abbey Wood and visit us. Surely Mr. Bryce will give his permission for Teddy to visit her cousins. As for Teddy, she must sorely be in need of company and new surroundings, as much as her mamma. So please, do give our offer serious consideration, and apply to Mr. Bryce at once. He cannot be so hard-hearted as to deny you, which, if he denies Teddy leaving Abbey Wood, is denying you, for I know you will not leave without her!

  The children keep us focused on what is important, and they do lift our spirits so that we can go whole days without reference to the past, and your coming to stay would only increase this happy time. It would be particularly beneficial for Teddy to be around her young cousins, and I am sure she would love to mother Juliana, who is quite the princess, in every respect.

  I hear the children returned to the garden after being down at the lake sailing their toy boats, and I will sign off so this letter can be sealed and sent with the Duke’s post this afternoon. If I have more to write, it will come in the next post, a sennight after you receive this.

  I expect to read of your date of arrival in your next post.

  All our love,

  Deborah

  TWENTY-ONE

  Mr. Christopher Bryce, c/- Abbey Wood via Bisley, Gloucestershire, to His Grace The Most Noble Duke of Roxton, Treat via Alston, Hampshire.

  c/- Abbey Wood via Bisley, Gloucestershire

  August, 1776

  My Lord Duke,

  I trust this letter finds you and your family in excellent health.

  As I am not one for unimportant conversation, and I have no wish to use up ink in wasting your valuable time, I shall come to the point.

  You will find enclosed the usual report, entrusted as it always is to your secretary Mr. Audley, for delivery to Your Grace. I trust you will find everything in it satisfactory, as Mr. Audley did himself when he settled himself in to peruse the account books and correspondence therein to do with this estate.

  I have no objection to reporting matters to Your Grace, for that was one of the terms of Sir Gerald’s wil
l. We are both bound as co-executors of that document, and I more so as steward of the estate until Sir John reaches his majority, and also as guardian of my cousin’s only child, Theodora. What I continue to object to in the strongest terms is the need for Mr. Audley to come in person all the way into Gloucestershire to view the books on your behalf, when this onerous task could easily be conducted and certified by an appointed intermediary who resides in Circencester or Bath.

  It is not for me to wonder how Your Grace is able to carry out daily tasks on your estate without the benefit of Mr. Audley’s expertise for seven days out of every quarter.

  But what I do wonder is that you must consider my abilities so deficient that you must needs send your secretary, in effect, to look over my shoulder. Or is there perhaps some other underlying purpose as to why Mr. Audley acts as your eyes and ears, which you do not wish to disclose to me? For that, Your Grace, is the only conclusion I can draw after tolerating a year of your secretary’s quarterly visits.

  You state that matters have not changed since Sir Gerald was alive. That Mr. Audley made regular visits to Abbey Wood on your behalf, and for similar reasons. I concede that when my cousin was alive, he allowed his wants to far exceed his income, and the estate was heavily mortgaged. Thus Sir Gerald was forced to acquiesce to your demands to have his affairs overseen, or run the very real risk of having Your Grace call in the substantial loans you made him to keep the estate a viable concern. Since my cousin’s untimely death and my subsequent stewardship, there has been a marked improvement in the estate, so much so that a third of the debt is already paid. So, I ask you again, Duke, why the need for Mr. Audley to continue with his visits? They are not needed and they are certainly not wanted.

  To be blunt, I do not like the man. His presence disrupts the daily routine, not only of the estate, but of the household. Lady Mary is obliged to treat him as a guest, and I am obligated to allow her to do so. He acts above his station, and because he is here on your business, he acts as if he himself is a duke come amongst us. Though I confess to never having met a duke, so would not know one if I fell over one. I mean you no disrespect, Your Grace, but I am for plain speech, and as co-executors, I will treat you as my equal, with politeness and verisimilitude, nothing more, and nothing less.

  You have raised again the matter of the guardianship of Sir Gerald’s only child, and that you and your dear duchess have Lady Mary’s blessing for Theodora to be reared at your estate with your own children. You feel, and let me quote from your letter, ‘Theodora would have the upbringing she deserves amongst her own kin, and want for nothing as my ward’.

  That is all well and good for you to wish it, but it was not what Sir Gerald wanted. In fact, you know as well as I that my cousin’s will stated that he expressly forbade his only child from being brought up amongst his wife’s relatives. He did not state why, but he was emphatic in this matter, and while I could speculate as to his reasons, I will not, nor should you. I cannot account for the working of Sir Gerald’s mind in appointing a man who has never married, and who is childless, as the best guardian for an eight-year-old child, a girl child at that. Sir Gerald entrusted his daughter to my care until she married or turned five-and-twenty, whichever was the sooner, and thus I will do my duty by her and him. It would be best for all concerned, but most of all for Theodora, if this matter were now let to drop altogether. I will not change my mind in this, and Lady Mary knows I will not.

  In respect of Theodora’s future, I request—no, I demand, as is my right as her guardian—that you refrain from further overtures to Lady Mary in seeking her blessing to remove the child from my care. Not only is gaining such a blessing worthless because I am intractable on the matter, but by approaching Lady Mary you have no doubt caused her unnecessary anxiety. Naturally, she would wish to acquiesce to your request—I doubt anyone has refused you—but she knows my thoughts, and thus she must naturally be torn between your demands and my intractability. For her to give you her blessing as to her daughter’s care can only be wasted wishful thinking.

  In that same letter you were candid enough with me to publicly voice your concerns for the welfare and well-being of the Lady Mary. Let me do you the same courtesy. As Lady Mary is Theodora’s mother, and for as long as the child needs her mother, Lady Mary may continue to consider Abbey Wood her home. As such, she will be accorded every courtesy in that capacity and not, as I am sure you would prefer me to do, because she is the daughter of an earl and cousin of a ducal house. I am well aware Sir Gerald was one for preening for his wife’s titled relatives, and spreading his conversation with lashings of his noble connections, but under my stewardship Abbey Wood is a working farm. As such there is no room, and I do not have the time, to indulge such artifice.

  And on the subject of Lady Mary and your generous proposal to supplement her allowance so that it is commensurate with her birthright, again I decline on her behalf. Please do not put the offer to me again for I will again refuse you, which will, no doubt, become something of an embarrassment to a nobleman such as yourself who expects unquestioning obedience. And just so you are aware, I have made it plain to Lady Mary that if she were to accept such an allowance from you, she may also take up your offer to reside with you and your good duchess, but her daughter remains here with me.

  I neither seek or want your good opinion, Your Grace. Nor do I need your patronage. I am a free agent and intend to remain that way. That does not mean we cannot be civil to one another and strive for the same goals. I have two: That Theodora grows into a well-mannered, happy young woman; and that the heir to Abbey Wood, Sir John Cavendish, inherits a property upon his twenty-first birthday that is worthy of his birthright and allows him to live as a gentleman. I am certain Your Grace wishes for nothing less.

  I remain Your Grace’s humble servant,

  Christopher Bryce, Esq.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The Honorable Charles Fitzstuart, St. James’s Mews, Westminster, London, to The Right Honorable Major Lord Fitzstuart, Fitzstuart Hall via Denham, Buckinghamshire.

  St. James’s Mews, Westminster

  April 1777

  Dearest brother, by the time you read this I will have absconded to France with Sarah-Jane Strang. Eloped more belike, though I hope to seek her father’s blessing for our elopement before we leave. You are not at all surprised, are you? I can hear your loud laugh from here, Dair! You are shaking your head and wondering why it took me this long to get up the courage to do both.

  You knew long ago, did you not, that my political leanings and my conscience were all for the rebel cause in the colonies, and yet you never said a word against me. Indeed you could have turned me in to Shrewsbury as a spy and a traitor, and you did not! That you never once quizzed me, I am a thousand times grateful.

  You who are fiercely loyal to king and country, who risked life and limb a hundred times over for both, who has led men into battle (a bloody business)—and I have heard Mr. Farrier tell of some of your shared exploits—you are a hero to so many, and to me, your little brother. But what must you think me but a traitorous dog, and I do not blame you.

  Whatever your thoughts of me, you must know I will always love and admire you most sincerely and devotedly. No one could ask for a better, a more honorable big brother. And I will be the first to raise a glass in a toast when you finally inherit the earldom, which is nothing less than you deserve. I don’t care what others think of you, that they call you an arrogant blusterer and a care-for-nobody, or that my republican sensibilities cannot be reconciled to your monarchist principles, you are my flesh and blood, you are my brother, and my heart knows you for a good and decent man. I am proud to tell anyone who asks that my big brother is a noble man, not only by birth, but by word and deed.

  And did you not do me a good deed by giving me the shove I needed to declare myself to Miss Strang? When did you suspect I had fallen in love with my dear heart? You have such a wider experience of women, and you know your little brother well, that I am sure it did
not take you many minutes in our company to discover my feelings for her!

  I confess to you now, and hang my head in shame that I was in an agony that you had your eye on Miss Strang, for her considerable inheritance. Now I realize you were being my big brother and trying to ascertain if her feelings for me were genuine and reciprocated! Sarah-Jane has told me so, and was not a little indignant that you suspected her for a fickle female! But she has forgiven you and begs yours in return.

  We plan to settle in the town of Versailles, and I will take up the post of interpreter and translator to Mr. Benjamin Franklin. An honor indeed, which Cousin Duchess will confirm, as she has the highest opinion of Mr. Franklin’s mind, if not his politics! I hope one day to make you as proud of me as I am of you, dearest brother. I mean to strive every day in this endeavor.

  Please give my love to Mother and to Mary. I suspect you are grinding your teeth at the prospect of having to explain my behavior to Mother, but perhaps it will be her melodramatic reaction to the news I am marrying the daughter of a nabob that will be more devastating and send her into sobs, prostrate on her couch. Yes, I am heavily in your debt.

  Keep an eye on Mary, and her situation. She is a widow now, and well rid of her pompous husband, who was beneath her in character and situation—I know, I have bravely written in ink what we both thought of that match, but neither of us was of an age or in a situation to do anything about it at the time, were we? Now, at least you can. Again, it is all left on your shoulders, which are wide enough to carry the burden of family.

  I wrote to Father with my news. I know that means less than nothing to you, but it is a courtesy I felt beholden to undertake. Look upon it as one you now do not need to perform. Thus I have saved you the obligation!