It was unfortunate that the Baron had chosen that precise moment to cast his gaze upon Miss Millpost, as she entered the room with Cordelia and Georgiana. Miss Millpost, also unfortunately, heard his mutterings and promptly felt most righteously offended to be classed with the Baron as a bag of old bones - or even as a ghost - obviously on account of her maturity. She had sniffed and drawn herself up to her full height to declare that was she was still very much in the prime of her life.
The Baron had clearly not intended to slight the companion and he calmed her indignation with the peace offering of a generous glass of Madeira. And then another. And order and good grace were soon restored to the Baron’s household whilst Cordelia and Georgiana giggled uncontrollably behind Miss Millpost’s rigidly unbending back.
~~~~~
The remove of the household to Bath would happen in the last week of April. All was planned, but last minute arrangements had everyone rushing about frenetically, sure that something was being forgotten.
Cordelia’s excitement was mounting, and the wait until she would see Lord Edward again seemed interminable. At random intervals, she would simply stop, in the midst of packing, with a dress clasped to her as she imagined Lord Edward seeing her in it, or with a look of indecision as she wondered which necklace he might like best when she wore it.
Georgiana was, whilst interested to see this paragon that her sister spoke of in such glowing terms, somewhat cynical.
She had yet to meet a fashionable man that she considered worth bothering about. And she wasn’t at all sure that she wished to behave ‘like a grown up young Lady should’ as that seemed to involve no playing with puppies, no visits to the stables, no mess, and generally no fun. At fifteen, she was well aware of what society might expect of her, but she wasn’t the least bit interested in fulfilling those expectations, yet, at least.
The fact that her sister seemed to have become a ninnyhammer who spent half her day woolgathering, just because she had met some young Lord, simply confirmed her low opinion of the whole ‘being a proper young Lady’ process.
Eventually, despite everyone’s fears, everything was packed, and three coaches, with staff, family, and possessions set off for the trip to Bath. They travelled slowly, taking two days to cover the distance, for everyone’s better comfort. Georgiana found the travel more interesting than all of the preparations, watching with fascination the coming and going at the Inn where they stopped overnight, as the ostlers dealt with an enormous number of horses and carriages, all without any issues or argument.
Cordelia simply found the entire process wearing – she wanted to be in Bath now, she wanted it to be next week, and for Lord Edward to have arrived. Everything else was unimportant to her…. Well, maybe except the Ball – that was still exciting!
Upon arrival at Quincy House, the chaos happened all over again, with the unpacking, and rushing from room to room exploring and exclaiming. The girls had not been to Quincy House for many years, so everything seemed new to them.
Their last visit had been when they were small children, and the house had still been exactly as it was when Great Aunt Petrina had still been alive – long before their birth. The ancient furniture and old fashioned dark panelling with dark wallpaper had made it a gloomy place for children. Now, in the weeks since they had decided to come here, the staff had worked miracles, and the house was transformed.
Cordelia was ecstatic, and wanted to be involved in every part of the arrangements for the Ball. Georgiana considered her insane to wish so, but looked on her with a sister’s puzzled patience – a patience which was much better maintained when Georgiana spent most of her time exploring the extensive garden, the stables and the attics. Attics which appeared to contain a few generations worth of intriguing stored items, as well as enough dust to drive the maids to despair, when she returned with it liberally attached to her clothes.
And so it went for the two weeks between their arrival and the Ball and house party – Cordelia dreamed of love and poetry, and dark hair and grey eyes, whilst Georgiana escaped the planning and indulged her imagination anywhere she could hide.
The Ball required an enormous amount of organisation, rather more than the Baron seemed to remember from Balls when his wife was alive. He had to conclude that she had been far more skilled at all of this than he had realised at the time.
Musicians had to be hired. Fine plates and crystal glasses needed to be washed and polished to a shine. Food, wine, tobacco and provisions had to be prepared. Candles and oil lamps needed to be trimmed and prepared in great quantity to allow all of the chandeliers in the ballroom to be lit. Clothes needed to be brushed and pressed and bed linen for the guests brought out of storage.
It should have required a whole month, he realised, but, somehow, it was done in the two weeks that were available before the date he had set. The house looked wonderful as the sunshine warmed the earth and the green shoots which spring had brought forth grew into an abundance of life returning to the fields and hedgerows as summer began.
The Baron had invited all of the local dignitaries to the Ball, as well as those of the ton who had taken up residence in Bath for the summer, and old friends like Philip Canterwood, Duke of Rotherhithe. The Duke was eight years younger than the Baron, a strong and healthy man in the prime of life, and reputed to be fabulously wealthy. He was a man whose advice the Prince Regent respected, and whose service in Parliament was lauded. He was also a dogged supporter of the war against Napoleon.
The Baron sincerely hoped that the Duke would grace the Ball with his presence. It would certainly add an additional measure of prestige to the occasion, but, more than that, the Baron was looking forward to seeing his old friend again.
In truth, he was very fond of the Duke. At this stage in his life and with his health all too rapidly deteriorating, the Baron had few friends left in the world that he could call on, for so many had been lost to war. He was thoroughly delighted when he received word that the Duke would be most pleased to attend the Ball and that he was looking forward to raising a rousing toast to the Baron’s health and happiness and long life. Those lines in the Duke’s letter brought a wry smile to the Baron’s face, for he was quite certain that his life would not be long, or healthy, although perhaps happiness was not too much to ask.
The preparations progressed smoothly, apart from the occasional interference from Miss Millpost who, in the absence of the Baron’s still sorely-missed wife, often presumed to assume the role of the female head of the household. This did little to make her popular with the servants and brought an inevitable gentle rebuke from the Baron who appreciated her kindness and efforts but not her presumption.
He would calm her with a glass of Madeira in the library and urge her to leave the arrangements to his loyal and experienced staff.
Clearly, she would have loved nothing more than to assume the title of mistress of the great house, but that was a fantasy that would never be fulfilled.
With his health as it was, the Baron had no intention of re-marrying, any more than he had had from the time of his wife’s death, and, if he had been forced to choose a bride at his time of life, he would undoubtedly have sought a titled lady with spirit and vitality, a lady who would have brought joy and laughter into the household, in contrast to Miss Millpost’s grim and notorious sense of discipline and propriety.
And yet the preparations progressed in an orderly and timely fashion and the Baron was pleased with the lovely decorations that filled the elegant and under-used ballroom. He fondly remembered the brightly-lit Balls that his young wife had enjoyed so much, the hundreds of flickering candles, the glittering chandeliers, the laughter and chatter, the music and dancing, the wonderful array of dishes and the excellent wines.
There had been no occasions on which he could face the idea of holding a Ball in his household since his dearly beloved wife had passed away, but the thought of his lovely daughter, hopefully, acquiring a suitor at the tender age of seventeen made him smile. A
grand excuse to hold a Ball!
But there would be no rush, of course. Everything would proceed at a genteel and carefully measured pace.
He did not wish to see Cordelia married too soon, yet there may be no choice, and he prayed that he would live long enough to escort her down the isle of the parish church on her wedding day. It was, in many ways, his fondest wish.
Baron Tillingford’s guests began to arrive at the stately house two full days before the Ball was due to be held.
At eleven in the morning (remarkably early for the ton), two fine carriages drew up at the front of Quincey House – one rather more elegant and imposing than the other. From the richly appointed first coach an elegantly attired man in a dark blue cloak and immaculately polished riding boots stepped out, without waiting for the carriage step to be lowered.
He was tall, with a finely edged jaw and prominent well-shaped nose and he looked up at the great house with a smile. Philip Canterwood, Duke of Rotherhithe, settled his fashionable hat upon his thick dark hair, where the streaks of grey at his temple simply emphasised the wisdom that age had provided and lent a patrician dignity to his appearance. A well put together man in his early forties, he presented a handsome picture, with none of the foppish excess that so many young men of the day displayed.
From the second carriage, which was of no lesser quality, yet presented an understated elegance of appearance, with no crest or distinguishing marks visible, descended a gentleman somewhat less striking in appearance, but who was obviously a man of the nobility.
Cecil Carlisle, Baron Setford, was not one for ostentation. His clothing was of the best quality, simply cut by the best tailors, his hair a mid-brown, and his eyes a piercing light grey. Were it not for his eyes, one might pass him by on the street, barely noticing him. The eyes arrested one’s attention, showing a sharp intelligence and an interest in every detail of his surroundings.
The great doors swung open and the Baron hurried down the steps to greet each of his old friends with a firm handshake and a hand on the shoulder.
~~~~~
Cordelia, peeking through the parlour window, was unable to contain her excitement, for these first arrivals meant that the house party had truly begun, and the grand Ball was not far off!
She was struck by the first gentleman’s appearance – he was handsome, and projected an aura of quiet power that was attractive. He was a little older than the men that she generally found attractive, but there was something about him, something that drew her, appealed to her. She shook her head at her whimsy. How could she even consider another man worth looking at, when, soon, Lord Edward would be here!
She barely noted the second gentleman at all.
Moments later, as the men entered the house, Cordelia, quickly left the room – she did not want to be seen to be peeping out the window like a child – even if that was exactly what she was doing!
~~~~~
They left the footmen to unload the Duke and Baron Setford’s luggage. For such a short visit, the Duke seemed to have packed for a month. Baron Setford’s luggage appeared to be of a somewhat more modest scale. Once initial greetings were done with, the three men settled into the deep wing back chairs in the library, with glasses of rich golden brandy,
“Canterwood, my dear friend. How good it is to see you after all these years.”
“Tillingford, you look like you’ve been arm-wrestling with the angel of death! What in the Lord’s name ails thee?”
Blunt as ever, and never excessively renowned for his diplomatic skills (except in critical situations), the Duke was valued by the crown, and by the government he served, for his brutal honesty and his candid views. He had never seen the value in sugaring the pill. It had certainly made him enemies. It had also gained him the respect of the King, then the Prince Regent, and the Prime Minister. Especially in a time of war.
“Ah, Canterwood. Nothing escapes your attention, does it, my friend?”
Setford chuckled at Baron Tillingford’s rather ironic tone, and added his own comment.
“Damnably obvious that you’re not well, Tillingford. Question is – what are you doing about it?”
“I have been diagnosed with the consumption.”
Tillingford’s tone was grave. He turned towards the Duke and continued.
“Though I have managed to keep it a secret from the children and from the household, they will know the truth of it soon enough, my dear friends.”
“You should’ve taken another wife. Not natural to live alone with no female comfort. No wonder you contracted the illness. Sleeping alone, I’ll wager, in a damp bed. Recipe for ill health if ever there was one!”
“I could never remarry, Canterwood.” The Baron shook his head sadly. “My wife was irreplaceable. It would feel like an offense to her memory to marry again. Never found a woman who could tempt me to it.”
The Duke snorted. “Then what about a serving girl, eh? Plenty of them running about on the estate. Something to keep your old bones warm at night? What’s wrong with that for pity’s sake? Even I, although I’ve not been able to bring myself to re-marry after Angeline and the babe’s death, must admit to having taken comfort where I find it in the years since. Surely you could do the same?”
Setford nodded agreement, watching Tillingford’s face.
Tillingford chuckled and shook his head again.
“I think not, Canterwood. Not even for the sake of my health, bad though that is!”
A cough interrupted his speech, and the other men waited patiently for him to go on.
“And heaven knows what the parson would say if he ever found out I’d taken advantage of a maid – after all, I’ve made a point of not being like so many of the nobility – wouldn’t want to disappoint him now! No, my friend. I sleep with my memories and they are enough for me. My real fear is that the consumption will take me before Cordelia is married.”
The two men before him nodded, their expressions sober.
“If anything happened to me, I do not know what would happen to my daughters. After all – I have no heir, and, to the best of my knowledge, there are no male heirs in the bloodline, not even distant ones. I fear that, after 800 years, the Barony of Tillingford will no longer be held by a Branley. It may, in fact, cease to exist completely, dependent upon the whim of the Prince Regent. It’s a troubling thought.”
The Duke leaned forward and put a firm hand on the Baron’s knee.
“If anything happens to you, my dear Tillingford, you may look to me to take care of your daughters.”
The Baron looked at his friend, only 8 years his junior, yet still strong, robust and full of vigour and he knew that salvation was at hand. How he envied the man his health and strength in that moment.
“My dear Canterwood, you have just removed a great weight from my mind. I cannot thank you enough for your offer.”
To his surprise, Tillingford found himself at the edge of tears. He had not, until that moment, realised just how heavy a weight of worry he was carrying.
“Are you alright, Tillingford?” asked the Duke.
“Oh, yes,” replied the Baron, feeling a tightness in his throat as the emotion rose in his chest, and he wiped his eye. “It’s just a mote of dust from the fire. A mote of dust. Nothing more.”
After a moment, Setford spoke quietly.
“Are all your properties entailed, old man? Are you able to settle anything substantial on your daughters?”
Tillingford smiled.
“That, at least, is not a problem. Fully half of my estates are not entailed, including this fine house, and Casterfield Grange, which has been our permanent home since my wife’s passing. I have money enough for a fine dowry for both girls, and property to settle upon them at my death. My man of business has all of the papers in readiness. I have no intention of dying without doing my best to provide for their futures.”
Setford and the Duke nodded, glad that Tillingford was so pragmatic, and well prepared. Setford appeared deep in thought
for a while as they sat back in their comfortable chairs and sipped their brandy in silence, while the log fire cast its warmth into the room and memories stirred in the hearts of the three men. Eventually Setford spoke again.
“Old friend, I can see that the fate of the Barony weighs heavily on you – for I know that you have always been a good steward of the land, and done well by your tenants. Are you quite certain that no male heir exists?”
“Quite – I’ve had Benson and Sons searching for years now. To no avail. You are right – the thought that the estates might pass to someone who would run them down, and abuse the tenants, worries me deeply.”
At the mention of the renowned legal firm, Setford paused. If Benson’s couldn’t trace an heir, there was likely none. He had known Benson for years, and, at times, used their discreet services. The crack of a log in the fireplace broke the silence, and sparks drifted on the hearth. Setford sat, staring into the flames, his fingers occasionally drumming on the chair arm. He sipped his brandy, then appeared to come to a decision.
“Tillingford, I can make no promises, you understand… but… I do have the Prince Regent’s ear at times. I believe that I know of a young man, good, solid, respectable, currently doing more than sterling service for his country in Spain, in a greatly difficult role. A man who, if he manages to survive the next months at war, might find the Prince Regent wishing to reward him, in some very substantial way. He is a man that I am quite certain would do full honour to the name and history of the Barony, should he be granted its care and title. I will undertake, should no male heir be found, to influence things in that direction, when the time comes.”
The Duke looked at Setford with interest.
“I had understood, old friend, that your endeavours in recent years had brought you close to the Prince Regent, and to some of the more undercover aspects of the war. It seems that I am correct in that understanding. And grateful for it in this circumstance. Should there be anything I can do to assist you with this, I will be only too happy to oblige.”
Enchanting the Duke: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 5) Page 3