“Sadly, I fear you might be right,” Adelaide sighed. “But Darrius, while love is not required of a man and woman to marry, a certain amount of cordiality between you would be to the point.”
“I suppose,” Darius acquiesced rather sullenly, “But…”
There came a tap at the door, and they were spared further conversation for a few minutes while two strong footmen carried in the tea.
There was enough food to feed an army. Adelaide beamed as a frothy white cake with piped-on icing roses, white bread, sweet butter, strawberries, cheese, crackers, fruit, and cracked nutmeats were all unloaded. These were followed up with eggs that had been cut in half and then refilled with the yolk mixed with spices, herbs and chopped vegetables, as well as slices of ham.
“Good heavens, Mother,” Darrius said. “There is enough here to feed half the village. Why do we not set another place, and have Mrs. Swinton to sit down with us? She will hear us no better or worse when seated at the table than she is likely to do standing up and hovering over us.”
“Are you sure, Darrius?” Adelaide asked. “I have no objections, but I was not sure you would quite like it.”
“It will be fine, Mother. After all, she customarily takes tea with us. Why should today be different? Besides, perhaps her presence will curb some of your wilder remarks.” Darrius signaled the butler and indicated that another place should be laid.
“I am sorry, Darrius, but you are not getting any younger. Some plain speaking is in order if you are to get an heir before I follow your father to the grave.”
Darrius sat down slowly. “Are you feeling poorly, Mother?”
“Actually, I feel much better than I have for many months, my dear, but that is beside the point. Time flies, especially when you are not taking note of it.”
“I have noticed that on occasion,” Darrius said drily.
Mrs. Swinton stepped into what threatened to become a family row, and said, “Shall I pour?”
“Please do, my dear. Now, Darrius, the reason I have asked you here on this day is not only to commemorate the happiest day of my life, but to make some progress on insuring that your wedding day will also be the happiest day of your life. By rights, it should be your father imparting this wisdom, but in his absence I must take up his staff and mantle and carry on.”
“Mother...”
“No, no Darrius, it is not right that you should plunge into your approaching nuptials having no idea how to conduct yourself.”
“Mother...” Darrius tried again.
“No, no, I insist. You shall not remain ignorant.”
“Mother!” Darrius insisted once more. “You do not need to do this. Father had this talk when I was thirteen, when I showed interest in the downstairs maid, who was only a year or two older than I at the time. He and she made sure that I understood the mechanics.”
“Good,” Adelaide remarked. “Then we only need to discuss how to actually please your partner without shocking her sensibilities. It is fortunate that you have present at table not one, but two widows who were happily wed.”
Sometime later, after a thoroughly coached and highly irritated Darrius had declared that he would sleep in one of the guest apartments and strode away in high dudgeon, Adelaide was slowly sorting through piles of old letters, sipping the sweet, red wine that Darrius had brought. It was so new it was nearly grape juice. Even so, it had a rich bouquet that she found pleasing. She nibbled at some sharp cheese, and thin crispy crackers left from their repast.
“Do you think Darrius would like to read the letters his father sent to me at some time?” she asked Mrs. Swinton.
“I’m sure I could not say,” her pretty companion replied, “since I have not read them myself, nor do I fully understand His Grace’s taste in reading material. Can you tell me a little about what he might encounter?”
“Well,” Adelaide took another sip of wine, “George did love to go on about the scenery and such.”
“I don’t believe His Grace would be terribly interested in that,” Mrs. Swinton put in.
It was a shocking breech of manners for her to interrupt the Duchess in that way, but Adelaide encouraged her companion to behave naturally, just as if they were two girls in finishing school, she had explained to Mrs. Swinton.
“Then, there were the lover bits,” Adelaide went on. “I do wonder if he would like to borrow some of George’s better turns of phrase for his own personal correspondence. Do you think that he might take reading his father’s words better than our instruction?”
“Perhaps you might like to keep that private?” Mrs. Swinton suggested. “I have some very dear bits that John wrote. But if I had a son, I don’t believe I would care to share their contents with him.”
Adelaide frowned at a letter. “No, I suppose not. Although, I might share them with his wife one day.”
Mrs. Swinton laughed. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
Adelaide chuckled. It was so nice to have someone who understood her. “Here, my dear. You have been married. You read it.”
Mrs. Swinton looked at her dubiously. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes! Read!”
Mrs. Swinton began to read. First her eyes got big, then she sucked in a breath. Next she asked, “Is that even possible?”
“Only if you are very young and athletic, which we were,” the Duchess said smugly.
“Goodness gracious!” Mrs. Swinton fanned herself with one hand. “I can quite see why you thought the letters might give His Grace some pointers. But honestly, I think I would save them for after he is married, and perhaps give them to the happy couple as a wedding gift.”
Adelaide sighed. “The sad thing is, I am not at all sure that Blanche is up to such things. She is so proper, and has no affinity for natural things, such as bugs or scaling fish.”
Mrs. Swinton folded in her lips, keeping them in a straight line, but her eyes danced with merriment. Then she sobered.
“That seems rather sad,” she said. “John and I were not so… athletic, but all our expressions of love were warm and heartfelt.”
“It is sad.” Adelaide sighed. “He is going into the battle of life with a dry stick of a woman by his side. George arranged the marriage, and he had his reasons, but I am not sure that if he had lived that he would expect Darrius to go through with it.”
Mrs. Swinton sank down on a hassock so as not to loom over her employer. “You feel that he is making a mistake?”
“Yes,” the Duchess said. “I believe he is. But the marriage has been planned so long that were he to jilt her now, her reputation would be irreparably ruined. My boy is much too good a man to do that to his childhood playmate.”
“Dear me,” Mrs. Swinton frowned in sympathy. “You are right, of course. How terribly unfortunate. I wonder if there might be some way to put her back up, and get her to cry off. Then, your son would be a rare catch for most of the mamas who have a daughter they need to have wed in the near future.”
“Possibly,” Adelaide tapped one finger on her chin. “The only thing is that Darrius has not quite got a head for business. Oh, I know, he thinks that my eyes glaze over and my brains go to sleep when he mentions buying and selling, but what it truly tells me is that he does not yet fully understand the duties of his position.”
“Indeed?” Mrs. Swinton seemed astonished.
“Indeed. He needs to trust his solicitor, or else get a new one. Darrius needs to be attending parliament, paying attention to the bigger picture, while relying on capable people to run the estate and the farm.”
Adelaide looked at the letter again. “Can such things truly be delegated?
“Not only can, but must. Else how should the Dukes, Earls, Viscounts and all have time to see to the larger finances and running of the nation?”
“I suppose I had not thought of it like that,” Mrs. Swinton said slowly. “It is rather like saying that the butler should not be expected to do the dusting.”
“Precisely,” Adelaide said,
gesturing widely with the hand that held the wine glass.
Sticky, red wine that was scarcely more than grape juice with all the syrup and sugars that implied, sloshed over Adelaide’s apron, the tablecloth, and the snowy linens of the daybed.
“The housekeeper will never let me hear the end of this!” Adelaide wailed. “Whatever shall we do?”
Chapter 8
Evelyn hurried down the corridor with the clean linens and cleaning supplies to take care of the copious wine spill on the daybed in the Duchess’ chambers.
Even though the Duchess could be exceptionally outspoken, even brash at times, she had her moments of timidity. The housekeeper, who had been hired by the late Duke, could and often did, intimidate the gentle lady.
Evelyn hoped to get the bed changed and the stained sheets soaking in the laundry tubs before the housekeeper noticed and rang a peel over both their heads. She had just turned the corner in the corridor when she nearly ran into the Duke.
“Oh! Excuse me, Your Grace. I did not expect anyone to be in this corridor at this time of day.”
“So I see,” The Duke drawled. “So polite, so deferential, always scurrying around like a little mouse. You were so efficient with helping my mother instruct me. Perhaps you would like to instruct me further.” He took a step forward, and Evelyn took an involuntary step back.
“I am sorry. Have I offended you, Your Grace?”
“Only in that you seem to be aiding my mother in hastening my wedding day.” The Duke smiled, but the expression had an edge to it. “How did my mother ever talk you into helping her? Or perhaps,” he said softly, “You are lonely. I would gladly help you with that,” he purred, taking a step closer.
“I am sorry if you were offended, Your Grace,” she replied a little desperately. “I had no idea, really, of what she had planned. But I had little choice but to follow her lead, once the topic was established.”
The Duke took another step forward. Evelyn flattened herself against the wall, the stack of bedding held before her like a shield. “I am not in need of instruction, but perhaps you could use a little company. You are far too lovely to be languishing alone.”
“I can assure you, I am not languishing, Your Grace. My days are quite full with taking care of your mother, which is what I was hired to do. As you well know, she has already turned off several companions because they were flirting with you.”
“Then do not follow her lead when she undertakes to instruct me on that which I already know.” The Duke took a step back.
“Yes, Your Grace. I am very sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to offend.”
“I am not so sure whether I am offended, or intrigued. Your predecessor’s attentions, while flattering, were so blatant as to be boring. You have unexpected depths as well as exceptional beauty. I will want a mistress after I am wed. I am certain of it. Perhaps you would like that position?”
“No, Your Grace. Please, do not ask me again. I need this work, and I do not wish to exchange this job for the other.”
“Are you quite certain?” the Duke smiled gently at her. “I always take good care of my… interests.”
“Very certain, Your Grace. Pray excuse me, but I am in something of a hurry. There was an accident with a wine glass, and I must return with the clean linens.”
“Mrs. Swinton,” a voice came from behind the Duke, “The Duchess is asking for you. Oh, hello, Your Grace. Begging your pardon, your mother is in some distress and desires her companion.”
“I must go to her at once!” Evelyn said, taking advantage of the distraction to duck around the Duke and hurry down the hall. As she passed the cook, he tipped her a wink.
“Your Grace,” she heard him say sententiously, “I have a new pie that I would like for you to taste. Would it be too great an imposition?”
Evelyn hurried around the corner and hastened toward the Duchess’ rooms. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest, she was certain everyone could hear it. What had the Duchess started? Certainly the Duke was an attractive man, but she had no desire to be anyone’s mistress!
When she arrived, she understood the wink. The Duchess was placidly inspecting the stain, as if inspecting it would make it go away. But when Evelyn entered, although visible relief washed over the Duchess’ face, she gave no indication of having sent anyone to look for her.
“There you are, my dear. I was beginning to be concerned. I am terribly afraid the stain has leaked into the mattress.”
“Do not worry, Your Grace,” Evelyn comforted her. “We shall have it right in a trice.”
Setting the clean linens aside, Evelyn quickly stripped the bed, setting the stained sheet in the pail she had brought along. She then sprinkled a thick layer of salt on the mattress stain. The salt quickly began to change color, as it leached the wine out of the fibers.
Carefully, Evelyn brushed up the salt onto a plate, continuing until the wine was only a faint stain on the fabric. She then folded and placed a towel over the damp spot, made sure there was no moisture to seep through, then made up the bed.
“That is wonderful!” the dowager exclaimed. “How ever did you learn to do that?”
Evelyn smiled a little sadly. “I was John’s nurse because we could afford no one else. There were many stains.”
“I am so sorry that I reminded you, my dear,” the Duchess said. “But thank you for rescuing me.”
“It will be our secret,” Evelyn declared. “Would you like to play a rubber or two of cards before retiring?”
“I think I would rather hear more about you, my dear. What was life like for you as a child?”
“Ordinary,” Evelyn said. “My father was a carpenter, my mother took in sewing. There were twelve of us, so they had to step lively to keep us all fed. As soon as each of us was old enough, we found work so that we could help.”
“Twelve! Oh, my heavens,” the Duchess declared. “What a brood! Your mother must have been driven to distraction, for I am sure from what you are saying that there was not a nanny.”
“Goodness, no,” Evelyn laughed. “As soon as we older ones could manage, we had chores and we helped look after the little ones. Mostly, we were happy, I think.”
“Were you? What happened later?”
“We all grew up. Mama and Papa both came down with a virulent fever. No one knew for sure what it was, but they were both gone before most of us could make it home for more than the funeral.”
“I am so sorry,” the Duchess said, “I seem to be mostly raking up old memories tonight.”
“Not entirely,” Evelyn said. “There were good times. I try to think about those.”
They sat silent for a minute or two, then the Duchess said, “I think I would like to play a rubber or two. Do you remember where we put the cards?”
“Of course I do,” Evelyn said.
They played for a little while, then the dowager said, “I’m feeling a bit peckish, my dear. Could you go down to the kitchen and fetch me a little something?”
“Of course,” Evelyn said. “Is there anything in particular that you would like?”
“Perhaps some milk tea. Oh, and something sweet. I wonder if there might be bubbly pies?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Evelyn replied. “But I will ask. Mr. Rudge usually has a little something put by for you.”
“Whatever he has, I am sure it will be lovely,” the dowager said. “Such a sweet boy, a little younger than is usual for the head of a kitchen, but one could not ask for better.”
“He does make delicious food,” Evelyn agreed. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
Evelyn quickly slipped out the door and down the servants’ stair. After her experience in the afternoon, she was careful to check around each corner before hurrying on. She thought it unlikely that the Duke would be about, but she wanted to be certain that she did not run into him again.
When she reached the kitchen, she found Mr. Rudge leafing through a tattered copy of The Frugal Housewife, and making notes on a
piece of foolscap paper, using a stubby pencil.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “But Her Grace would like a little something.”
“I have just the thing for her,” he replied. “A nice blancmange that turned out beautifully.”
“Could I get a little milk tea, as well?” Evelyn asked. “She has had a trying afternoon. I think it would help her sleep.”
“Of course,” Mr. Rudge smiled. “I will add a little turmeric. There was... an old Indian fellow who lived in my neighborhood who swore by the stuff.”
Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 5