“I have already received an offer for the castle on the Isle of Man. That should be enough to cover our debts. And I intend to fully immerse myself in the Season. A substantial dowry is all we need to make sure we are not dished up.”
Walter sighed, “I wish there was something I could do to help.”
Percy smiled affectionately at his younger brother, “You do help, brother. Your unwavering support and council are invaluable to me.”
“Indeed. However, if there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to call upon me,” Walter said earnestly.
Percy nodded as Rawlings, the butler, came in with a bowl of kippers. The two brothers spoke only of trivial matters as long as the butler was in the room, enjoying their meal and each other’s company.
“I say, it will be good to have a woman’s touch around here, don’t you agree?” Walter said.
Percy smiled. “I thought we did. Isn’t the housekeeper of the female persuasion?”
Walter threw his napkin at his brother. “You know full well what I mean. ‘Tis been a long time since the touch of a feminine hand has softened our lives.”
“Indeed. Not since dear Aunt Claire’s demise four years ago,” Percy said. Aunt Claire was the former Duke’s wife who had welcomed two orphaned boys into her home with open arms.
“A wife is a treasure, but make sure you choose well, my dear brother.”
“You know full well that I will.”
Walter picked up one of the invites, “The Earl of Ramsbury has sent a gracious invitation to his daughter’s coming out. I understand that she is a delightful creature: light and happy and well-appointed. She comes with a good dowry too.”
Percy gave his brother a sidelong smile, “I have my eyes set on Elderberry’s daughter, actually,” he said.
“Elderberry?” Walter said with a laugh, “Surely you jest. He has set his sights on the Prince Regent for his daughter.”
Percy took a breath, “Well, I feel confident I could persuade him otherwise, brother.”
Walter scoffed. “You grow too big for your breeches, Percy.”
“Oh? Who says so?”
“I do, Percy. I, your brother, who has known you since you were in leading strings, do say so.”
Percy laughed, “May I remind you that I am your elder by nigh on four years, young Walter?”
“Ah, but one can hardly tell. I do confess that sometimes I feel like your elderly aunt who must subdue your…wilder tendencies,” Walter said, giving a world-weary sigh.
“Ah, my brother the martyr.” Percy grinned widely, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the room.
“You jest but ‘tis no less but the truth,” Walter called from behind him, making Percy’s grin widen. Percy stopped, turning to face his brother, “We should go boxing at Jackson’s, and settle this like gentlemen.”
“Indeed sir,” Walter said perking up. Percy knew that for a pugilist of Walter’s skill, finding a worthy opponent such as himself was often a challenge. So, he was more than glad to spare the time this morning. Walter stood up, following him. “And afterward we can visit Offley’s for some beefsteak and ale. It has been too long since we were out on the town together, brother.”
Percy smiled, falling in step with him, “Let us go then.”
As they finished their match in which Walter had displayed himself to advantage, they removed to Offley’s. There they caught sight of Lord Brimley and his brother at one of the card games. They were a pair of notorious rakes; they drew the bustle too freely but were reasonably flush in the pockets as their father was a nabob.
Lord Brimley and Percy had been at Harrow at the same time, although Lord Brimley was older and therefore thoroughly fagged Percy using him as Lord Brimley’s unofficial servant. Percy had never forgotten and vowed to get his revenge one day. He nudged Walter, pointing his chin at the two men.
“Fancy a game of whist?”
“High stakes?” Walter murmured.
“Most definitely. Let’s go take them for all the blunt they have,” Percy said grimly. The two young men strode forward coming to a stop at Lord Brimley’s table.
“Percy, old boy,” Lord Brimley said, “Been a few years, has it not?”
“You shall address me as ‘Your Grace’ Brimley, because yes, it has been a few years and a number of things have changed.”
Lord Brimley sneered. “You don’t say,” he said, “I hear tell you might be under the hatches, but would you care for a game?”
Percy smiled grimly. “For sure. What are the stakes?”
Walter and Percy exchanged glances, “How about you pit that beautiful stepper of yours against my curricle?” Percy challenged.
Lord Brimley harrumphed, “You’re on, old man.” He gestured for the two men they were playing with to rise so that Percy and his brother could take their places facing each other.
Percy played a cock-sure game while his brother was more clinical. Between them they were unstoppable, and they knew it, but they let Lord Brimley and his brother think they had a chance before losing no time in winning Lord Brimley’s prime piece of horseflesh.
“Care to try and recover your winnings, Brimley?” Percy asked with a smug smile that he knew would vex his former tormentor.
I will take you for everything you own. He was still filled with ire at the ill-treatment he’d suffered under Brimley’s hands.
“Let us up the ante,” Lord Brimley replied grimly exactly as Percy hoped he would, “Your London residence if I win.”
Percy’s smile became even more cock-sure, “Draw the cards,” he said.
By evening’s end, they had taken Lord Brimley for half his cattle, his London townhouse, and a monkey. As they gathered their winnings, Percy felt a sense of satisfaction and vindication. He not only had a sum to hold off his creditors but had also humiliated his old nemesis. It had been a good day.
In a fit of optimism, he decided to accept the Earl of Ramsbury’s invitation.
“Would you have Winchester reply to the invitation from Ramsbury? We shall be attending his little ball.” Percy said, referring to his steward.
Walter laughed. “Little ball? I understand it is to be one of the biggest balls of the season.”
“Yes well…very likely the number of eligible ladies in attendance will make for a profitable evening.”
“Am I to understand that you have given up on Lady Jane?”
“One cannot put all one’s eggs in one basket,” Percy intoned a tad pompously.
“Very wise, brother. I commend you.”
Percy merely snorted, recognizing Walter’s sarcasm. He merely nudged his brother as they walked out and headed to the stables to take charge of Lord Brimley’s favorite horses.
“We should visit your man of business right away and tell him to dispose of Brimley’s house. That should tide us over for a long while.”
“Indeed,” Percy agreed, already thinking about various ways they could profit from their new acquisitions. Perhaps he would not have to rely entirely on a wife’s dowry to upgrade his properties. One wild night and they were in a much better position than they had been before. He grinned at his brother, feeling carefree.
“We should look into playing whist professionally,” he said.
Walter merely chuckled.
Tenant for Life
Alexandra was coming to terms with being betrothed to the Duke of Summerhill. He wrote her letters regularly, and she could see that he cared for her--at least a little. She tried to see the silver lining even though she was not at all convinced that her fiancé was not getting a pig in a poke. She feared she would be a tremendous disappointment to him once he came to know her. In the eyes of her peers, she had a made a good match, and at least, the Duke didn’t bother her much as his business kept him in London, while she was at Ramsbury manor. It was a reprieve she was guiltily glad about.
But now Magdalene was coming out, and they would go to Town soon. Alexandra knew she would be expected to
receive the Duke at home, perhaps take the air with him at Vauxhall gardens or take in a play at the theatre.
She tried to think how titillating that might be, but all she could think of was the fat little mole at the side of Summerhill’s mouth which seemed to move when he spoke. She could hardly stop herself from staring at it every time they were in proximity, even though she knew staring was a huge faux pas. She tried to think of some other thing when he spoke to her, but it was exceeding difficult.
Magdalene was no help when Alexandra broke down and confided in her as she merely laughed and told Alexandra to keep her eyes on his and not look at his mouth. That was all very well and good but if what her reading of Ovid and Catullus was in any way accurate, then his lips would one day be on Alexandra’s skin, and she would have to deal with her fixation with his mole one way or the other.
Constance came into her room, murmuring agitatedly to herself. She had taken this upcoming trip very personally, wanting to make sure everything was just so. The mantua-maker had been by to take measurements for a whole new wardrobe, and Constance was in a never-ending tizzy to make sure all the frocks and gowns would be ready before they were scheduled to leave for Town.
Magdalene vacillated between excitement and fear. “I’m not ready to get married yet,” she confided as they lay curled up in Alexandra’s bed together.
“I know. I am not either,” Alexandra whispered back.
Magdalene sighed. “Do you think Father will choose a husband for me right away?”
Alexandra stiffened, not having an answer for Magdalene.
“I expect…he’ll wait until after my nuptials to choose you a husband. In any case, you shall be the belle of your season. I am sure you shall have all the bachelors dangling after you.”
Magdalene laughed, “You are such a toadeater.”
Alexandra smiled, happy to have lifted Magdalene’s mood. “Am I really, Magdalene? Then why do you believe me?”
Magdalene gave her an affectionate smile. “Because you’re my sister.”
Alexandra reached over and hugged her, and they fell asleep like that.
Constance woke them in the morning, full of fuss and muss. “Now, my Ladies, you are too old to be hunkerin’ down together like this. Your father would not be pleased.”
“Father is not here,” Magdalene said grumpily.
Constance sighed, “I know that, my Ladies, but you must try to start comporting yourselves like proper young ladies instead of little girls. You are both soon to be married.”
Alexandra blanched. “Not both of us. Just me.”
Constance’s lips pursed, “Of course, my Lady.” She turned as the door opened and a maid came in carrying a bucket of hot water.
“Lady Magdalene, your bath awaits in your bedchamber,” Constance said.
Magdalene gave another sigh but climbed out of bed and left. Alexandra got up and let her night rail fall to the ground. She gestured for Constance and the abigail to leave before stepping into the hot water. She sank down into it, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the steamy warmth. Constance had started a fire to warm up the room and protect her from the misty cold of early morning, but it was still a relief to immerse herself in the bath.
She closed her eyes, letting her mind roam free and feeling every inch of her naked body, from her toes, right up to the individual strands of hair on her head.
Her hands felt her body like it belonged to someone else. She trailed her finger down her stomach, feeling the silky smoothness of her skin, drawing lazy circles around her belly button. She wondered what it would feel like when the Duke touched her naked skin. Would she be able to look past his mole or would she still want to run screaming from it?
What would I call him in bed? Your Grace? Summerhill?
Both sounded odd in her ears. Maybe she would just close her eyes and think of England like her governess had told her to all that while ago. Or she would think of…the children that she would make with him. Children who would not be abandoned to school houses and never see their parents except for formal meals and ‘inspections’. Children who would be loved.
‘Or maybe I will call him by his given name? Francis.’
Alexandra shook her head. That did not sound right either. She might just resort to calling him ‘husband’. Her hand circled her inner thigh, trying to imagine ‘husband’ or ‘Francis’ or ‘Your Grace’ touching her just so.
None of them seemed to fit. Her finger paused, right next to the entrance to her heat as she mused. Her finger trembled, and she pressed it in, just a little and then whipped it away in mortification, glancing fearfully at the door. If someone should catch her even thinking what she was thinking it would be beyond the pale.
She sat up, taking up the sponge and wiping down her arms, heart pounding triple time in her chest. Her nipples pebbled from the sudden cold as a breeze blew in from her open window. She shivered unable to stop herself from cupping her own breasts, mind still on the marriage bed and what might happen within it.
She did not want Summerhill’s short, pudgy hands to cup her bosom just so; she did not want him running his finger against her nipple, bringing it to hardness. Her knees widened of their own volition, and she whimpered, aware of the warm water lapping gently against the heart of her femininity. She gasped, back arching into the gentle licking warmth, wishing it was stronger but not willing to do anything to make it so. Her hands squeezed down on her breast, eyes closed, bottom lip caught in her teeth. The feel of the warmth against her core was slowly driving her insane, and she longed to touch but was too afraid to. She knew these thoughts were unbecoming of a Lady. She knew she should stop.
A soft knock on the door had her simultaneously sitting up and hunching over, shielding her flushed body from scrutiny. Magdalene poked her head in, a small smile on her face.
“Oh, you’re still in the bath, Xandra? Such a slowpoke. I hoped to join you for breakfast.”
“Well since there is no one but us here, we should perhaps have it in the morning room. Why don’t you go down and I shall join you momentarily?” Alexandra said, and Magdalene frowned.
“Is something the matter? You sound rather breathless?”
Alexandra was grateful that the heat of her bath disguised the blush of her cheeks as a normal flush, “Absolutely nothing is wrong, Magdalene, go on now.”
Magdalene gave her a doubtful look but still closed the door and left. Alexandra gave a sigh, finishing her bath in a business-like manner before putting on her frock and rushing to join her sister in breaking her fast.
They had their meal in companionable silence before Constance came to chivvy them to make ready for their journey. They were to travel to Town to begin to prepare for Magdalene’s coming out. Already the invitations to events were waiting their replies and letters were flying between Lady Easton, Lady Mumford, and Magdalene. Alexandra tried to remain an observer. This was Magdalene’s time to shine, and all she wanted to do was support her sister.
They were to travel by chaise accompanied by their ladies’ maids and two footmen, and already their luggage was being loaded. Footpads were not so common this far from London, but that did not mean there were no risks. Two girls traveling by themselves were always vulnerable. They were still excited about the trip, however.
They sat in the carriage, Constance and Magdalene’s lady’s maid, Sarah, on one side, while Alexandra and her sister sat on the other. Two footmen rode on the back of the chaise while the post boys led the horses.
Magdalene kept up a constant chatter, talking about their neighbors, the countryside they passed and what they could expect in London. She had been too young to accompany Alexandra to her own coming out so this would be her first experience of the season. Alexandra was torn between wanting to manage her sister’s expectations and letting her revel in the excitement as long as she could.
All too soon they were drawing up outside their father’s Mayfair residence, and their brother was waiting to meet them with a broad g
rin on his face.
“David!” Magdalene exclaimed with a huge grin of her own, alighting from the carriage straight into his arms. He took her hands, touching his lips to both of them before turning to Alexandra.
“Xandra! A vision as always,” he said, arms spread out in welcome.
“It’s good to see you, David. Are you our official welcome committee?”
“Indeed, I am as Father is delayed in Parliament. You must be quite exhausted; your rooms are ready for you. You may go up directly and freshen up.”
“You are a godsend, little brother. A prince among men.”
“Don’t I know it,” David said, leading them into the house.
It was a good start to their visit, and as soon as they freshened up, they descended the stairs to find glasses of port awaiting them in the drawing room, as well as their sister-in-law, Lady Mumford, and her aunt, Lady Easton.
“We are so very excited for you, Magdalene,” Lady Easton said, “I feel sure your season will be just as successful as your sister’s, and you will secure an offer in no time.”
Magdalene merely nodded and smiled nervously, not being that well acquainted with Lady Easton. Alexandra reached out and grasped her hand briefly in reassurance and then gratefully accepted her glass of port as they sat down to socialize.
The door opened, and the butler announced that dinner was served.
As they had their dinner, Lady Easton interrogated them on their plans for the season, what invitations they had accepted, and whether their wardrobe was up to scratch.
“I am sure your provincial dressmaker did her best, but now that you are here, we should visit the milliners, seamstress and shoe makers. Your coming-out ball gown, Lady Magdalene, have you taken measurements yet?”
“We thought we would visit Bond Street tomorrow,” Magdalene had her soup spoon hanging halfway between her plate and mouth as she waited to see if she would have to answer any more questions.
“Very good. I shall accompany you as I know the best places to find suitable fabrics and my modiste shall be on hand to make you an unforgettable gown.”
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