“I am not at all certain, my Lord, that this represents a suitable introduction, to allow me to speak with you, within the bounds of propriety.”
“Those foolish conventions apply only to the lesser mortals who strut but briefly upon this globe of dust and dreams. But you are divine, my Lady, a goddess, Venus herself come down from lofty Olympus to earth to torment the hearts of mere men and you have stolen both my wits and my heart, which I give to thee most gladly!”
Cordelia began to suspect that her heart would burst out of her chest as her face lit up with undisguised joy.
“I am Lady Cordelia, my Lord,” she said, as she curtsied, “and I pray that I do not intrude too heavily upon your sensibilities.”
“The intrusion is an oasis of perfect delight in this warren of the mediocre. Does a goddess require refreshment? More punch perhaps?”
Miss Millpost chose that moment to step purposefully between the couple.
“You have a way with words, Sirrah, and a pretty turn of phrase. Perhaps we should all go to the punch bowl to seek refreshment and ensure that the Lady’s honour and reputation remain as pure and unsullied as they were when we first arrived.”
With that, Miss Millpost took a firm grip on Cordelia’s elbow and guided her in the direction of the long, white damasked refreshment table. She barely acknowledged the young Lord’s presence, speaking only to Cordelia as they walked.
“It is insufferably warm in here and I believe a glass of punch would be most welcome to my poor dry throat.”
Lord Edward took up station on the other side of Cordelia as the trio walked towards the crystal punch bowl. He waved away the servant with a brush of his hand.
“Dearest Lady, permit me.”
He filled a glass with a small measure of the bright red liquid and offered it to Cordelia. As she took it in her lace-gloved hands, Edward filled a second glass to the brim and handed it to her companion.
“Your good health, Madame,” he nodded at Miss Millpost as he raised his own glass in a simple toast, “and here’s to your happiness and the loveliness of your eyes, Lady Cordelia.”
He noticed how quickly Miss Millpost downed her punch, and quickly offered her a second.
“Thank you, Sir. I had not realised quite how thirsty one may become at these grand occasions.”
By the time that Miss Millpost had consumed her third measure of punch, she was beginning to feel a little dizzy, and a little unsteady on her feet.
“Pray, child, but the heat is becoming too much for me and I fear I must sit.” Cordelia helped her to an elegantly embroidered couch and eased her onto the seat where Miss Millpost promptly closed her eyes and fell soundly, but not noiselessly, asleep. Cordelia placed a cushion beneath her head for comfort and support, and the older lady began to snore softly. A small chuckle caught her attention. When she turned her head, she discovered that Lord Edward was standing behind her.
“My dear Lady. It would appear that the kind hand of Fate has cast us adrift without the restraining anchor of your companion.” He smiled broadly at the young woman. “Perhaps you would care to accompany me for a while and enthral me with tales of life on your father’s estate?”
They spent the next half hour standing in front of a wide fireplace, chatting to each other as the split logs crackled and the dancing flames lent their warmth and gaiety to the room. Lord Edward proved to be a most attentive listener and smiled at every nuance and detail that Cordelia shared with him.
For his part, he said very little, preferring to listen to the young heiress whilst cleverly eluding her questions with humour and evasive replies, implying that, despite his wealth and position, he really didn’t take himself too seriously.
He seemed effortlessly charming, an open book, a man of wealth and position who only played cards for the fun of the sport, a man who enjoyed seeing his wealthy young friends squeal with horror whenever they lost. Which seemed to happen a lot.
A sudden and dramatic cough interrupted the young couple as Miss Millpost approached with a bleary eye and a slight waver in her gait.
“Ah! There you are, Lady Cordelia. I was resting my eyes for a moment and when I opened them again, you were gone.”
Cordelia tried not to laugh.
“Yes, Miss Millpost, I saw that you were resting and I could not bring myself to disturb you. So I waited for you here by the warmth of the hearth and Lord Edward kindly volunteered to keep me company until you felt refreshed.”
The companion cast a critical eye over Lord Edward and nodded her head.
“I see. Very thoughtful of the gentleman. Very thoughtful indeed. Well, we must be away. It is already late. I shall summon our carriage, for you will need your rest, if you are to be fresh for tomorrow’s activities.”
She turned on her heel and went to find a footman. Lord Edward murmured in Cordelia’s ear, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her skin.
“She could probably outdrink half the men under service in His Majesty’s Navy!” Cordelia laughed at his words, even as she felt a tingling warmth flow through her when the young Lord touched the tips of her fingers with his own. “And I would see you again, if you would permit me, sweet Lady Cordelia.”
She smiled as she looked into his pale eyes.
“We leave for my home tomorrow morning, but I am sure that you would always be welcome to visit,” she hesitated for a heartbeat, “for I would always be pleased to see you, Lord Edward.”
Miss Millpost stepped back into the room and immediately seized the hand that she saw was far too close to the young Lord’s fingertips. “Time to go, Lady Cordelia, time to go. Lord Edward, it was a pleasure meeting you. We shall take our leave and be on our way now.”
“Farewell, Lord Edward,” Cordelia spoke as she was half coaxed, half pulled from the room, “until we meet again.”
He bowed his head and blew a gentle kiss to her that she could’ve sworn had sailed across the widening gap that was opening between them and brushed against the smoothness of her beautiful cheek. She raised a gloved hand to her face in an attempt to hold the impression of the kiss upon her face for the rest of eternity.
Lady Cordelia Branley, Baron Tillingford’s beautiful elder daughter, was hopelessly in love.
Night had settled upon the great house as the Baron sat back in his favourite chair and felt the warmth of the fire in the library’s ornate hearth.
“So, you have been presented into society and, if Cousin Mathilde is to be believed, you made a fair impression on the good people you met, my dear.”
Cordelia’s eyes shone with excitement as she recounted tales of the Balls, the card games and the talk amongst the elegant guests who attended the fashionable salons of London’s great houses.
“And I hear that you met a young gentleman who seems to have paid you a great deal of attention.”
Cordelia could not prevent herself from blushing.
“And may your old father not learn the name of this young gentleman?”
His pretty daughter giggled and looked down at her hands. “Of course you may, Papa. He is Lord Edward Fitzhugh.”
The Baron nodded for a few moments and lit his fine-stemmed clay pipe. “Fitzhugh, you say?” He took a moment to draw the flame onto the tightly-packed tobacco before exhaling a plume of sweet, blue smoke. “Fitzhugh. Yes. I believe I am acquainted with his father.”
Cordelia looked up at her father. “I heard that the Earl of Bolton is away in Spain, fighting the French, Papa.”
“Indeed he is. For after the death of his wife last year, he could no longer bear to live amongst his memories, and chose, as his elder son and heir, George, is most capable, to leave him to manage his estates here, whilst the Earl took himself off to war. It was my belief that he had expected his second son to follow him into the Army, as most second sons with a skerrick of care for their country have done these last bitter years. Perhaps we should ask ourselves why his fit and able-bodied young son is not at his father’s sid
e, thwarting Boney’s plans to take over the whole world?”
“I cannot answer that, Papa, but I’m sure that Lord Edward will be willing to offer his sword in the King’s service as soon as he is needed.”
The ageing aristocrat laughed.
“Needed, my dear daughter? Of a certainty, every sword and ship is needed right now!” There was a pause as the logs in the fireplace settled and sent a shower of sparks up the chimney and out into the cold, night air. “I hope he isn’t one of those damnable fops who parade around London in their silken breeches with their oiled hair and foolish fashions, instead of serving their King like true men in the defence of English freedom!”
Cordelia was a little surprised at the vehemence of her father’s words, for he had most always been the steadiest of men. Without waiting for her to respond, the Baron continued
“There is, that I know of, nothing to hold young Edward back. His brother George is more than competent, and well trained to take on the role of Earl should his father find death at the hands of the French. It does, truly, leave me puzzled at the young man’s continued presence in London. Until you spoke of him, I had assumed that he had already followed his father to the continent.”
Cordelia did not have a reply. She was sure, in her heart, that her handsome hero was probably the bravest and most gallant man in the whole land, and that he would soon make short shrift of Napoleon and his legions if he needed to draw his sword and answer the call to arms. She was absolutely sure of it. Her father however, drawing gently on his pipe in the quiet seclusion of the candlelit library, was considerably less convinced about Lord Edward Fitzhugh than his daughter.
As if by unspoken consent, neither mentioned him further, and their conversation moved on to discussion of the coming summer, and what social occasions might be found to entertain a young woman, away from the sweltering miasma of London air.
When the Baron suggested that they might remove to Quincy House in Bath for the summer, Cordelia’s eyes lit up with excitement. Her thoughts immediately went to the fact that so many of the ton spend the summer in Bath, surely she would meet many wonderful young gentlemen there. And… maybe, Lord Edward would also be there?
The Baron smiled indulgently at his daughter’s reaction.
“So be it then. We will go to Bath for the summer. I will send Garrig off tomorrow, to get the house opened up and make sure it’s in order for us to arrive there in a month’s time.”
“Oh father! Thank you! A summer in Bath will be wonderful!” Cordelia swept from the room, off to tell Georgiana the news.
~~~~~
The Baron leant back in his chair, his breath laboured, and his heart aching. For the proposed trip to Bath was not, as he had presented it, just for his daughter’s benefit. His physician had recommended, just last week, that he spend some time there, and take the waters, in the hope that it would improve his health. He could not bear to tell his daughters, yet, just how poor his health had become.
He knew that, if he was honest with himself, he was not going to get better. It was only a matter of time – time in which he wished to see at least one of the girls well married and cared for, the better that both of them might cope when he died.
That thought led him back to Lord Edward Fitzhugh.
Cordelia’s obvious attraction to the young Lord Edward was to be expected – she was at an age when a dashing young man could easily turn a girl’s head. What concerned him more was the fact that the young man was in London at all, for Cordelia to have met him. He had meant what he said about having believed that Lord Edward would already have taken himself off to war, following in his father’s footsteps.
It did not sit well with him that the boy was still in England.
He would need to find out more, before he could be comfortable with Cordelia showing such interest in the young man. He knew just who to ask.
There were few friends who he had known for more than 20 years, and fewer now that the war had taken so many, but some remained that he trusted utterly. Of those, he was quite certain who to send to. Cecil Carlisle, Baron Setford, had been a school friend of Philip Canterwood, the Duke of Rotherhithe, and he had met them both at the same house party, all those years ago.
Rotherhithe was a well-respected figure in Parliament now, but Setford was something more complex. Setford, it seemed, had the Prince Regent’s ear, but was not very publicly visible. It was the Baron’s belief that the man’s role was that of a spymaster for the crown, although such a thing would never, of course, be acknowledged. If anyone could discover the truth of Lord Edward Fitzhugh’s continued presence in England, it would be Setford.
The Baron rose, coughing at the movement, dismayed at the small flecks of blood on his kerchief when he wiped his mouth, and went to his desk. He penned a most carefully phrased missive to Baron Setford, asking him to make some enquiries, to set an old friend at ease over the boy who had caught his daughter’s interest, and inviting Setford to visit them in Bath, for a Ball and small house party which he intended to organise.
He sanded the letter and set it to dry, leaning back in his chair and savouring the rich mellow brandy that soothed his throat, considering all that he needed to do, in the time he had left.
Once the ink was dry, he folded and sealed the letter, and rang for a footman, giving instructions for it to be sent without delay, the following morning.
The County of Berkshire, England – late April 1815
Four weeks after Cordelia’s return from London, the Baron received a message from a courier who had ridden all the way from London.
The young man in his mud-splashed cloak delivered the letter directly into the Baron’s hand and touched his cap in a gesture of respect when he received a shining silver sixpenny piece for his trouble. The Baron sent him on his way to the stables, assuring him of food and a bed before he should need to start his return journey.
“Cordelia!” The Baron’s voice echoed up the grand staircase as the servants brought fresh bread, eggs, meats, coffee and sweet preserves to the dining room table for breakfast. “You will be late for your breakfast and I have news for you. And find Georgiana! I do declare the scamp is outside in the cold, playing with the puppies in the stables again!”
As his elder daughter sat down at the breakfast table and Georgiana came racing into the room with freshly scrubbed face and hands, the Baron cleared his throat and handed the letter he’d just received to Cordelia.
“You can read and eat at the same time, I trust?” he smiled, carefully concealing the small fleck of blood that had appeared at the side of his mouth.
“Who is it from, Papa?”
“Read it and see! Read it and all shall be revealed!”
The Baron covered his mouth again with the fine linen napkin and coughed, aware that more droplets of bright red blood had stained the fabric.
“Papa! My stars! It is from Lord Edward. He asks permission to visit. Is this true?”
“Who’s Lord Edward?” Georgiana was busily covering a warm bread roll with butter and damson jam, managing to spill crumbs onto her puppy footprinted and mud-flecked dress in the process.
“Would you like to see the young man again, my dear?”
The Baron watched Cordelia’s face – if this would make her happy, he was willing to invite the young man to stay with them in Bath, despite his concerns. He had heard nothing as yet from Setford, so he had to presume that, whatever young Fitzhugh was up to, it was not too dire.
“Who’s Lord Edward?” asked Georgiana, past a mouthful of warm roll and jam.
“Of course I would, Papa. He’s such a wonderful, handsome man, I’m sure you will like him.”
“Who’s Lord Edward?” repeated Georgiana as she took another bite of bread roll and a sip from her glass of milk.
“Then I shall accept his suggestion and invite him to attend upon us at Quincy House in Bath. But he will need to be entertained and what better excuse could we possibly have for staging a Ball? We can invite
all those of quality who will be in Bath for the summer, as well as a few old friends from near here.”
“Oh, Papa! I shall be the happiest girl in the country!”
“Who’s Lord Edward?” said Georgiana, but it gradually dawned on her that, amongst all the excited chatter at the breakfast table, no one was really listening to her. She looked at her half-eaten roll and whispered to it “Who’s Lord Edward?” with frustration evident in her tone.
~~~~~
The courier was sent back to London with a reply, inviting Lord Edward Fitzhugh to attend upon Baron Tillingford at Quincy House in Bath, for a grand Ball and house party, to be held in the second week of May.
A stream of other missives were sent from Casterfield Grange that morning, to the house in Bath, informing the staff of the planned activities, and to a remarkably large number of persons, who ‘just had to be invited’ to the Ball. The Baron found it amusing, if a little exhausting.
If he was to die soon, he might as well host a grand entertainment first. His daughters deserved it. He had not hosted a Ball or house party since his wife’s death – a fact which would guarantee good attendance, even if only so that the ton could satisfy their curiosity about him, and his family.
Lord Edward Fitzhugh had proposed a visit to his father’s old acquaintance on the entirely spurious grounds that he felt he was obliged to pay the Baron his respects whilst his father the Earl was unavoidably detained in Spain. It was only good manners.
The young Lord suggested that he might provide better company during the visit if he could bring a group of friends along and the Baron agreed, not without some minor concern. Still, better to see what these young men of the ton were like, in his own house, than to wonder. Having committed himself to the endeavour of hosting a grand social occasion, he might as well make it something to be remembered.
He muttered to himself, as he penned the response, in the positive, to the young Lord’s request.
“It’s about time we had some young blood in the house instead of these old bones rattling around like a gathering of ghosts!”
Enchanting the Duke: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 5) Page 2