“Mother, you send the most curious mixed messages. Just what is it you want?”
“Your happiness, my dearest boy. My friendship with Lavinia to continue. Good health for Blanche, whether she weds you or not. There. Is that motive enough for you?”
The Duke settled himself on one of the spindly occasional chairs that were placed near the Duchess, casually resting one ankle over the opposite knee.
“So you chose to have her examined by Dr. Alton, who has the worst bedside manner of any army surgeon I have ever encountered. One does wonder what he said to the men in the medical tents. Perhaps, ‘Well, there, soldier, we shall have to take off that toe, but you do not need it to pull a trigger. What? Visited a whore did you? A little mercury will cure you of the pox you have managed to pick up.’ And more like that, no doubt.”
“Mind your language, Darrius! There is no need to be crude. Dr. Alton might be blunt, but he has never displayed such poor taste as that. Moreover, since following his regimen, my health has improved daily.”
“That is observable, Mother. Moreover, it does you credit that you should wish to share his expertise. But even you must admit that he is blunt to a fault. Yet, his ability is not in doubt. Therefore, I will carry your letter and act as an ambassador besides. Hopefully, this is merely a tempest in a teapot, and will quickly blow over. I doubt if Lady Carletane wishes to lose your friendship either, especially since it helps puff up her prestige.”
“Darrius! How can you speak so?”
“Easily, Mother. I suspect that your paid companion is a better friend to you than is the Lady Carleton. All the same, I understand and endorse your desire to mend fences. I will carry your letter.”
“Thank you, Darrius. Will you take tea before you go?”
“I would. Goodness knows in what mood I shall find Blanche and her mother. They may well throw me and the letter out before I get a chance to even open my mouth.”
Evelyn sat quietly, making a fair copy of the approved version of the letter.
It would be good for both of them if Lady Carleton and Miss Notley relent, but I fear that such might not be the case. I will say a quiet prayer for them all before I sleep tonight. And perhaps one for Mayson and I as well.
Chapter 27
Mr. Sparks sat by his daughter’s kitchen fire. He was supposed to be watching the roast, but he kept nodding off.
Not sleeping well. Can’t sleep, here I am living with my daughter, like I was some sort of giant baby.
He gave the roast, which was nothing more than the fore shank off a pig his son-in-law had butchered for a neighbor, a desultory turn.
Not a proper roast at all. Not like that last ‘un up at the hall. I had not meant to burn it, when the house got quiet at night it was hard as a mother-in-law’s heart to stay awake. Durned upstart young cockerel of a cook!
His daughter came to the kitchen door. “Some ‘un to see you, Da,” she called. Then she turned to an unseen person, and said, “There now, I’ve waked him up for you.”
The visitor came in and sat on one of the kitchen stools. “I don’t think that roast will get done before all the fat melts away and it will then turn into gristle.”
“Happen you are right,” Mr. Sparks said. “But my daughter asked me to turn it, so turn it I shall.”
“Don’t seem right, you bein’ turned out like that. You should have had head cook after the old one up and quit. You been there long enough.”
Mr. Sparks sucked at his lower lip, a habit he had acquired after four of his teeth fell out. Fool doctor man said he needed to eat vegetables and eat some apples.
Apple a day to keep the doctor away, ha!
It had not kept them away from his wife, who had loved apples. He missed the old woman, he did.
“You come down here to tell me that?”
“Might. An’ might be I came to bring some pap an’ catlap that hoity-toity Frenchified cook sent. He seems to think you need fattenin’ up.”
“Din’ seem to think that way when I was there. Always goin’ on about not stickin’ yer fingers in stuff.”
His visitor laughed. “That might o’ had somethin’ to do with you filchin’ icin’ off the Duchess’ birthday cake. Mr. Rudge was fit to be tied, ‘specially since he had to scrape all the icin’ off an’ redo it. He was in a lather worryin’ about whether it would harden enough before time to be served.”
Mr. Sparks cackled a broken old laugh. “He were that, weren’t ‘e?”
“Would you like to get some of your own back?” the visitor asked.
“Would I ever! That young whippersnapper tuck bein’ cook right out from under my nose.”
“Very well,” said the visitor, “Here is what I want you to do...”
After the visitor departed, Mr. Sparks puzzled over his instructions. Why would anyone want the tack room in the old stables read-up?
Granted it had a roof, and even a stall or two that were still intact.
Well, for the tidy pouch of coin offered, I will be glad to read-up a dozen such rooms.
But it would not do to let on that such was the case. He went back to turning the roast with more enthusiasm.
Perhaps I could keep enough juice in it to feed the family.
Chapter 28
Darrius knocked at the door of Carleton Manor with some trepidation. He was relieved when the butler admitted him, even though he was left to wait in the front hall while the fellow carried his card up to the ladies of the house. His heart lightened even more when he was ushered, with some ceremony, into the presence of Lady Carleton and her daughter.
It seemed that the two of them had been having a serious discussion. He was somewhat astonished by Blanche’s appearance, for the face she turned on him was innocent of all adornment, even her delicate eyebrows had been shaven away. Had she been drawing them on, he wondered.
The change made her look younger, vulnerable in a way he had never seen her. Her eyelids and the end of her nose were both slightly pink, as if she had been crying.
Lady Carleton, dressed in her usual outmoded finery, was still powdered and rouged, just as she might have done twenty years before. “I shall be direct,” she said. “Why are you here?”
“Do I need an excuse to visit my intended wife?” Darrius asked.
“You have never called upon us before,” Lady Carleton said bluntly. “Not since your father’s death.”
“I beg your pardon. I have been remiss. Father’s death left a vacancy that I am finding it difficult to fill. However, I am here now. Thank you for receiving me.”
“Is that the only reason you have come to call on us?” Blanche asked, her eyes large in the pale blue shadows between brow and cheekbone.
Darrius found himself fascinated by the childlike nakedness of her face, and by her pallor.
Was she truly ill after all? Had the powder and rouge been hiding a deeper malady?
Aloud, he replied, “I will own that I am on an errand for my mother. She has written to extend her apologies for upsetting you. I would like to add my own apologies to hers.” So saying, he took the folded, sealed missive from his pocket and passed it to Lady Carleton.
“I want to read it in private,” the lady said. “Perhaps the two of you would like to take a turn in the garden?”
“I can think of nothing better,” Darrius said, bowing to the ladies, first the mother, then the daughter.
“Of course, Mother,” Blanche said. “We shall leave you alone.”
Blanche led the way from the drawing room to a small rose garden. A basket, a pair of gloves, and a pair of shears sat on a bench near a small fountain. The water bubbled up and flowed gently out of an upper stone basin into a lower one.
“An artesian well?” Darrius asked.
“Of course,” Blanche replied. “Do you not remember falling into it? Your father was quite wroth with you, as I recall.”
“As I recall,” Darrius retorted, “You pushed me into it.”
“So I did. You were in
sufferable at ten years of age.”
“So were you.”
They stood in silence for a few minutes. “I owe the Duchess an apology,” Blanche said.
“For what?” Darrius asked.
“For taking her physician’s advice badly. Mother does not know this, but I went back to him yesterday.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I stopped taking the draughts prescribed by the London physician, but I felt terrible. I took to my bed for a couple of days, then my maid found me thrashing about uncontrollably. Dr. Alton was the nearest physician I could consult, so my maid and I slipped out without Mother.”
“Did you, indeed?” Darrius felt a rising degree of respect for his intended.
Blanche nodded. “Dr. Alton said that if I was being dosed in the manner he suspected, that I was fortunate to have gotten off with only a light fit. He prescribed a different draught, just to still the shakes. Then a different one still which he said would build my system. Both taste vile, but I am feeling better.”
“That is splendid. I was worried about you,” Darrius said. “You had a great deal of spunk when we were children.”
“Thank you.”
They walked on for several minutes. “Have you come to any means of solving your pecuniary difficulties?” Blanche asked.
“I have a matter in mind. More importantly, it looks as if the crops will be good this year, which means that the rents will be paid on the fields and shops.”
They walked a little more.
“What about your parents?” Darrius asked. “How are they faring?”
“Now that I have persuaded Mother to discharge the London physician, I believe they will do well enough. My dowry is invested in long-term affairs, and it will be some years before it can be touched.”
“Then it is likely that we can decide rationally whether to continue this engagement or to mercifully terminate it without devastating either of our prospects.”
“Should we do so, Darrius?” Blanche turned that frank, child-like face up to him.
Darrius was still having a hard time reconciling this new-found creature with the stiff, painted lady with the fashionably tiny waist, who had graced his mother’s dining hall just a week or so ago.
“Why don’t we give it a month or two more?” he suggested. “As I walk with you today, I feel that we have not truly met since that summer when you pushed me into the fountain, and later on the same day, thwacked me with a cricket bat.”
“Oh, you have met me,” Blanche said. “You just did not look beneath the fashionable facade we are taught to cultivate in finishing school. I am glad that the Duchess has written to my mother. She has done nothing but mope since the doctor’s pronouncement.”
“Does my mother’s friendship mean so much to her?” Darrius asked.
“I think it must. I will admit I had no idea that there was anything more between them than the usual rivalry between society ladies.”
At this point, they were interrupted by a footman. The fellow stood a respectful distance away, and bowed to them.
“Yes?” Blanche asked.
“Lady Carleton has read the letter, Miss Notley, and she is ready to send a reply. If he can see his way to manage it, she would like to send it back with His Grace.”
“His Grace would be pleased to act as messenger boy between his mother and her friend, Lady Carleton,” the Duke said.
When they re-entered the drawing room, Lady Carleton greeted them with a smile. “I am delighted to accept your mother’s gracious apology. I fear I also acted badly, and I have written a reply. Will you be kind enough to carry it to her?”
“That is a duty I will gladly undertake,” Darrius replied. He accepted the sealed letter, and slid it into his coat pocket.
After a few more social exchanges, he took his leave of the ladies, climbed into the despised elderly coach, and made his way back toward Tolware.
I am all at sea. How could merely washing the coating from her face make such a change in Blanche? More than that, what should I make of the revelation that her dowry shall be tied up in funds for some years to come? Upon our marriage, my creditors will expect some sort of payment. How can I eke meaningful amounts, needed repairs, a decent wardrobe, and proper coach out of the quarterly income?
Do I wish to part with this newly revealed Blanche? What can I offer her now that will keep her by my side?
Chapter 29
August brought the first flurry of harvest, and saw the cast removed from Evelyn’s foot. Those were the two bright spots of the month.
Mayson despaired of finding enough root vegetables intact to cook a meal fit for guests. The tithes from the farms would be delivered in a day or two, so no one was in danger of starving. The crops had flourished, and the villagers were holding dances and other celebrations almost nightly. Meanwhile, Mayson and the cooking staff were busy hauling out and either cooking or throwing away the remnants of last year’s provisions.
In the name of frugality, it was his job to convert these last remnants into something edible while overseeing the clearing and cleaning of the cellars so as not to spoil the new crops. As he arranged slices of neeps, carrot, and onion in a baking dish, he heard the welcome sound of Evelyn’s light slippers on the stairs.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson,” he heard her call.
Wilson’s reply was a vague grumble. Although the elderly butler was not expected to dust out the butlery himself, he had bestirred himself to lend a hand with checking and turning the bottles. As the only staff member truly able to judge whether wine was likely to still be good, the venerable fellow was nearly as smudged and tired as the below-stairs staff. It was grave testimony to the household’s labors, for Wilson prided himself on being impeccably turned out at all times.
The household’s five footmen were kept busy running upstairs and down, with occasional forays into town for such small supplies as could not be found in the storerooms. If all this were not enough, the Duchess had Evelyn running all over the house making certain that every room was spotless and impeccably presentable.
The occasion? Lord and Lady Carleton were expected for dinner. It was unclear to Mayson why this particular dinner should be so much more important than any other dinner that had been served to their neighbors. Evelyn had tried to explain it to him, but he finally shook his head and commented, “I will certainly do my best to turn out a fine meal for them. But Evelyn, this seems almost like a schoolgirl spat between friends.”
“I think you have the right of it, Mayson,” she had replied. “While having pretended to despise each other all these years, in the end the Duchess and Lady Carleton are nearly the last of their circle of friends. Who else can they turn to but each other? I am relieved that they are making up. Just think how lonely it would be for both of them if they were to go through the rest of their lives without a single friend.”
Mayson had opened his mouth to reply, but they had been interrupted and were both pulled away to their duties.
During the last few days it had been difficult for the two of them to meet. Even their half-days had been shortened, thanks to the need to train Jemmy in the finer details of running a kitchen, and having to keep an eye on Mr. McElroy who tended to carry on as if he were a whole man. It would have been admirable save that it caused a need to rescue him from his own efforts on more than one occasion.
“I hope you have something uplifting for Her Grace,” Evelyn said. “She is in quite the flurry of anticipation, and keeps sorting through her special treasures, trying to decide what she should use to spark scintillating conversation.”
“I’m afraid I have only an ordinary sort of tea,” Mayson replied ruefully. “Nearly the last of the black India tea, and some sweet biscuits colored with beet juice.”
“Are the biscuits in shapes?” Evelyn asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Tulips,” Mayson replied. “Her Grace’s favorite flower, I believe.”
“Those should do very well,�
� Evelyn reassured him. “The tea will help uplift her spirits. She is so worried that Lady Carletane will not be impressed with the evening meal.”
“That is a challenge,” Mayson admitted. “We are still cleaning the cellars. But I have made some apple pies, and have spiced them in what I am told is the fashion in the colonies. It seems odd, for I would think that they did not get shipments from the British East India Company.”
Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 17