The Dowager Duchess reappeared and stood with her hands on her hips looking very satisfied as she declared, “Doctor Whitmore, it is astonishing to me the curative effect you have on all of us in this house. See how marked the improvement in Miss Edmundson’s color and disposition is since you have arrived. I must say that you are quite the remedy.”
Beatrice was surprised by the Dowager Duchess’s announcement. The woman was draped in black, and the house was seeped in mourning, but the old woman was smiling. Either at her observation or her belief that she was correct. Glancing at the young, handsome doctor, Beatrice wondered what reason he had for changing the mind of the older woman and why he did not share it with her that afternoon.
10
It was a strange turn of events thought Beatrice one September afternoon as she sat outside in the garden of the Duke of Norwich’s residence in Bath. Here, under the oak tree that she had played under when she was a girl, and here, she was with the small child Lydia under the same tree. Strange, she whispered to herself. She had come to peace with the broken dreams of her youth as she thought when she was many years younger that she should be the duchess when she was older, and this would be her favorite place in the garden. Strange indeed. She smiled as she gently rocked the cradle with her foot as the child’s nurse rested and the child’s maid busied herself with laundering the child’s clothes.
As Beatrice hummed a lullaby that Gertie used to sing to her, Lydia heard her voice and reacted with joy. Beatrice picked her up carefully and held her up with Lydia’s nose touching her own as they both smiled. Lydia’s white gown and white blankets hung from her like a fairy’s gown, and they both were enraptured in joy. Beatrice kissed her cheek with a motherly kiss and continued to sing as she rocked Lydia in her arms. They swayed and danced in the fresh smell of the familiar garden.
After several iterations, Beatrice noticed a grey cat behind the oak tree. Could it be? Perhaps an offspring of our own poor tabby cat returning home, Beatrice thought. Beatrice set Lydia back down to investigate, and she rocked the cradle softly before she stepped away, but she was unaware that she was being watched by one other than the cat.
“You have a beautiful voice. I always enjoyed it when you sang to me,” Arthur said, as he walked towards Beatrice.
Beatrice looked up and completely forgot about the cat. Standing there was the Duke of Norwich, his dark hair fell to his shoulders; his grey eyes were as bright and mysterious as they ever were. In his tailored coat and black waistcoat, he cut a startling, darkly handsome figure. Sometime during the past months, he had become imposing. His features set in a frown as his full lips showed signs of a faint smile. For the first time, he resembled a duke, a true aristocrat who controlled a great deal of property and wealth.
“Your Grace, we must take care not to wake your daughter. I should rise to greet you, but I fear she will waken if I stop rocking her cradle.
“There is no need for formality between us. Not when I understand from my mother than you have become quite indispensable to this house. Those were her words, indispensable.”
Beatrice blushed as she replied, “Not I, sir. Gertie and my mother have taken it upon themselves to see that your household is well in hand in your absence and in light of your mother’s poor health.”
“My mother had informed me of their actions. I offer you my gratitude for delaying your plans to return to Kent. If there is any compensation for your sacrifice, I do hope you will not hesitate to ask.”
“Compensation? Do you suppose we, I mean my mother, her nurse, and myself seek compensation? I assure you, we are in possession of our own means. If you may recall, we are not in the habit of asking for payment for our friendship,” Beatrice said unable to conceal her astonishment at his rudeness.
“I have offended you; it was not my intention. I am surrounded by staff these days, and I had forgotten what it was to have the honest friendship of those who care for my family and my daughter.”
“There is no need to explain your words, it was I who should have held my tongue. You have been through a great deal, and for that, I humbly apologize.”
“Beatrice,” he said to her as his faint smile disappeared. “Should I call you Miss Edmundson since you are now a woman of society?”
“Shall I call you Your Grace, since you have genuinely become a duke since I last saw you?” she replied.
“You are mistaken, I have been a duke these many years since my father’s death. You never cared to address me as such, and I never insisted that you did.”
“That was when we were friends. It was a long time ago.”
“Not so long ago. I remember those days well,” he said as he peered at her. His expression stern, but his eyes were bright and brilliant.
A cry from the cradle alerted Beatrice to the discontent of her small charge. “I seem to have forgotten to rock the cradle as we were conversing.”
Beatrice reached down and picked up Lydia, cradling her in her arms. The baby stopped crying as she cooed and laughed at Beatrice.
“What a sight, to see my daughter and my oldest friend so well acquainted. If you will excuse me, I have to see to my new valet.”
As quickly as he arrived in the garden, he was gone. Leaving Beatrice to wonder if he would ever be able to lay eyes on his own daughter or remain in his home for very long. Just as the duke was leaving her presence, a gentleman, whom she had come to regard as an ally in recent weeks, arrived. He bowed to the duke and was greeted in a deferential manner by Arthur.
Yes, Beatrice agreed silently, her old friend had become accustomed to dealing with servants to the extent that he could not treat the doctor of his mother and daughter with any show of warmness. If Beatrice had not known the duke when he was a young man, when he was a marquis and not a duke, she should never have known that he could laugh or that he possessed a generous and gregarious nature.
Watching the duke frown at the sight of the doctor who was found more frequently in the residence in Bath than he was, was starling to Beatrice as she smiled warmly at the doctor. The doctor removed his hat, bowed to her, and immediately approached Lydia. Lydia laughed and cooed at the sight of Doctor Whitmore, as Beatrice noticed out of the corner of her eye, that the duke was standing still, observing the scene as it played out in front of him. He was frowning, a deep frown for what reason she could not discern. Was he displeased with her, with the doctor, or was there some other reason the duke looked displeased? She did not know, but she could not imagine that he would not have said so if it was anything that could be commanded to be made different.
With an offer of tea, she was glad the doctor accepted as she was in need of a friend after the coolness of the duke’s short discourse. Doctor Whitmore appeared only too happy to accept, as she observed but only for the fleeting second, a glance exchanged between the two gentlemen. A glance she could not understand as the two men barely knew one another and certainly did not socialize among the same circles. Speculating what could be the cause, she peered in the direction of the duke, and then, as quickly as he arrived in the garden, he was gone.
11
The duke was soon gone from the house in Bath once again, leaving his daughter in the care of her grandmother, her attendants, and the Edmundsons with the assistance of Gertie. His short return to Bath, Beatrice calculated, had not lasted more than two or three days at the very most. The doctor, who appeared in the garden upon the first day of the duke’s visit was absent after that. The duke spoke to Beatrice cordially, remembering to smile it seemed, but he was still not the man she once knew. His behavior was strange to her, but she did not question it as she once may have done. He was in mourning. Any rudeness or offense he may give may be incidental, she decided as she consoled herself to his avoidance of her and his daughter.
When the duke was gone once more, the doctor appeared as if he sensed the absence of the master of the house. Beatrice knew that to be quite a silly idea, but the timing of his return visit and the glance that had passed
between the man and the duke was strangely connected in her observation. What could have been the cause of such a dark exchange? Was there something about the duke she did not know, or did she wish never to know? That question was soon eclipsed by a rather shocking turn of events that happened within a day of the duke leaving Bath.
It was, as she would later recall, in the afternoon after tea time but before sunset and dinner. Sitting in the nursery, she was rocking Lydia to sleep, thinking of how much the child had grown in a few months. As she was singing a lullaby, she thought of her activities the previous evening. She had spent an hour the night before revisiting the treasures she kept in the box, the box that was still hidden in her room in Bath. There was the cache of notes left along the garden wall, the feather, a silver bell they had placed around the cat’s neck for a time, and book of poems, and all the other treasures precisely as she had last left them. These were all the moments she had saved from the time when she and the duke had been friends. It felt like such a long time ago, she mused that she had often considered disposing of them, but she never found the courage nor the inclination.
Looking down at the child in her arms, she considered saving those treasures and sharing them with Lydia one day when the child was ten years of age or eleven. She would understand then. Lydia may enjoy hearing stories of her father, reading his notes, and discovering that he, too, had once been young. That was a lovely idea, and one she was rather proud of, she thought, as she heard a soft rapping on the door of the nursery.
“May I come in?” Doctor Whitmore asked in a near whisper.
“Yes, of course, you don’t even have to ask. See how Lady Lydia has grown. Is she not perfection? Look at those dimples?” Beatrice gushed.
“She is truly a healthy child. Miss Edmundson, my business today is not about Lady Lydia or Her Grace. I have come to speak with you if I may. Her Grace has given me the use of the drawing room, and I would very much like for you to join me if you would be so kind,” he said in a hushed tone.
“I must not leave her alone,” Beatrice replied.
“Your charge will not be alone; her nurse is making haste to come do her duty and relive you even now.”
With his pronouncement, the nurse appeared as if by magical means. With a soft word of thank you, Beatrice kissed the cheek of the sleeping baby, gave her to the nurse, and with a last look of love and adoration directed at the sleeping child, she was soon leaving the nursery in the company of the doctor.
They walked in silence until they were downstairs in the drawing room. The silence was unusual for the doctor, Beatrice observed, as he was almost always outgoing and quick to offer an anecdote. She wondered if he may have bad news, which she steeled herself for as he invited her to have a seat by the fireside.
“Doctor Whitmore, are you well?” she asked, concerned for what dreadful reason he requested the use of the drawing room in the Dowager Duchess’s own house, a breach of decorum that was unlike the polite and gentile Doctor Whitmore.
“I am well, Miss Edmundson. Your countenance is troubled. I can see the look of apprehension in your eyes. Do not be.”
“If you have no news to impart to me of any importance or gravity, I am not sure I understand why it was necessary for us to meet in the drawing room. It is not my place to question you, but I must remark upon the unusual manner of this meeting,” she replied as she studied him.
“It is rather odd. Forgive me for the informality of my presentation. I should have paid a call such as this at your residence, but I am aware that your visits to your young charge preclude any afternoon teas or strolls, as is the custom of society in Bath. I have neither seen you playing cards in drawing rooms of your peers or attending concerts at the assembly room. Therefore, if you will excuse my lack of property, I decided that to speak with you, I was better suited to arrange such a meeting here, and with the support of Her Grace, who has grown fond of you.”
Beatrice looked at him, truly stared at him, as she was not unable to comprehend what matter could have required his studious attention to her lack of attendance at the assembly rooms or her avoidance of society except for the Dowager Duchess and Lady Lydia. She could not surmise what could be the cause, as she said, “I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I cannot account for what reason you must have for arranging this meeting. You and I speak to each other once a week, and sometimes twice when you are here to see about Lydia and Her Grace.”
“Today, Miss Edmundson I am not here to see to either of them. I have come on a solitary mission. A mission I hope will be successful. Where shall I begin, shall I tell you of my feelings for you, my regard for you and admiration?” he asked, his eyes gleaming and his smile as broad as she had ever seen it.
Eyeing him warily, she did not know what to say, as she tried to respond in kind, "Doctor Whitmore, you are a dear and respected acquaintance. I pray that I have done nothing which would give you cause to question my good opinion of you.”
“On the contrary, it is your good opinion I hope to garner and more. I am aware that this house is filled with loss and mourning, so what I have to say may seem out of place, but my sentiments are not. I have admired from the moment I met you, an admiration I have come to believe that you must harbor for me. You and I are similar; you are the daughter of a merchant, and I am the son of a physician. Together, we have found our place among the family of the Duke of Norwich. In you, I have found my equal in ambition and countenance. If we are together, as I have indicated, I dare say we may rise above our lowly stations and ascend even higher.”
“Pardon me, Doctor. I do not understand,” she stammered.
“How could you fail to understand what I am asking you? I am asking for your hand in marriage. With your dowry and my skills, we shall soon become the toast of society here in Bath then in London. Can you not see how it would be? You who have skillfully inserted herself into the lives of this family, and myself, whose services are required in all the houses of noble families including the family of the Prince Regent himself!”
Beatrice saw a look of ambition and greed in his eyes that she had never seen before. Why was he talking to her of her dowry? How could he think she had used the baby as a device to ascend the ranks of society?
“Doctor Whitmore, you are mistaken. I have never wished for social connections or much else. I am content never to marry if I may be happy. I am satisfied to be the daughter of a merchant and nothing more,” she explained.
“I do not believe you; you cannot fool me. I have seen the sly manner you have made yourself what was the word, indispensable, to the Dowager Duchess? Do not think of me as foolish. I admire how you have managed to find a way into this house and the hearts of this noble bloodline. If we were to combine our talents, we would be formidable, would we not? Will you agree to marry me since we are the same? You cannot deny that we share the same ambitious dreams?”
Covering her mouth, she wanted to gasp, to scream, to say so many things all at once. She was horror-stricken to think that anyone should consider her ambitious; it was a terrible lie. Before she could regain her composure, she watched in shock as he was on his knees, “Miss Edmundson, I implore you. Marry me. I will make you happy, my dearest. I will make you the envy of society, and you shall have a fine and charming husband, and I shall have you for a wife, a clever girl with the face of a beauty and the dowry of a king.”
“You would ask me to marry you as you speak about my dowry?” she asked, as she looked down at him. It was becoming difficult to hide her shock and her dismay.
“Why should I not mention it? You and I are practical people. There is no need for secrets among us. I recognized you as my kind when I first saw you. I also recognized that you were as avaricious as I am. Not many women are willing to insinuate themselves into a grieving family as exceedingly well as you have done or spent weeks caring for a child that is not their own. I say, well done to you. I have been impressed by your skill for many weeks. Say you will be mine, and you and I shall be the toa
st of this city and all of the realm if you will agree to marry me.”
“She will not agree. Stop groveling, you foolish man, and stand this instant!” the Dowager Duchess demanded, as she stood glowering at Doctor Whitmore from the doorway.
Beatrice was not sure when the Dowager Duchess had arrived in the doorway or how much of the conversation she overheard, but she was both horrified to see her and relieved.
“Your Grace,” Doctor Whitmore said, as he rose to his feet, a smile on his handsome face.
“Doctor, I am not in the habit of permitting anyone in my employ to make use of my house for such purposes as this. I was under the impression that you wished to speak to Miss Edmundson for some respectable reason, not for this scheme. You will take leave of me, and you will apologize to Miss Edmundson for offering her insult in the form of a proposal,” the formidable woman demanded.
“I shall do as you wish, but I am afraid there has been a terrible misunderstanding. Permit me to dispel any doubts you may have as to my intentions regarding Miss Edmundson or your own family,” he bowed before the Dowager Duchess.
“There is no misunderstanding. Doctor Whitmore, I will not be engaging your services in the future. Take your hat and coat and leave at once before I summon my footmen,” the older woman commanded.
With the muttering of language that Beatrice had only ever heard spoken aloud by servants, the doctor left her and her older companion. She watched as he stormed from the drawing room, and then, with the slamming of the front door, he was gone. She stood, shaking from the tumultuous proposal and his opinion of her. Looking at the Dowager Duchess, she cried, “Please, do not believe him. I love Lydia with all of my heart. I have no need for social position or anything else but her happiness.”
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 17