Arabella didn’t know what had woken her, but suddenly she was staring at the wall. It was still dark, the night warm enough that they had the window open for a gentle breeze. Even with the window open and only a single sheet on the bed, Arabella was sweating and her mouth was dry.
Then she realized that she was alone in the bed. She sat up and looked to David’s side of the bed. He was gone, although the bed was still warm. And the crib against the wall was also empty.
For a moment, Arabella panicked. Where had her son gone? Had she been so tired that she had left him downstairs? Then she remembered. She had brought him up when he was falling asleep. She had put him in his crib and had rocked him to sleep before David brought her to bed himself.
Arabella had a good idea where they might be.
Slipping out of bed, Arabella found her robe and slipped it on. Then she left the room, tiptoeing towards the stairs. Even as she did, she could hear loud snoring coming from Katherine’s room. Her daughter was a sound sleeper and the noise she emitted simply made anything insignificant. It had taken Arabella and David some time to get used to sleeping when they could hear the eight-year-old snoring away on the other side of the cottage.
Now Arabella understood why her mother had always been so exhausted.
David was on the lawn when Arabella stepped outside, walking in a slow circle near the rose bush. Samuel was in his arms, bundled up in muslin. As Arabella approached, she could see that their son was now asleep. He must have woken up at some point and David had taken him out of the room.
David looked up as she reached him.
“You should be sleeping.”
“I woke up and saw you were gone.” Arabella leaned her head on David’s shoulder. “You’re far too diligent with him, David.”
“I want to be.”
Arabella couldn’t respond to that. David hadn’t been able to do that with Katherine, and had mourned the loss of watching her grow up. Now he was making the most of it with Samuel, showering his attention on the baby. Katherine had grumbled a few times about David not showing her the same, which had David quickly changing. He was so desperate to get it right that he stumbled a few times, but Arabella knew that Katherine forgave him. She was bright enough to know that David felt a lot of guilt over not being there, and she simply gave him a hug and said she loved him.
That girl was the most forgiving child Arabella had ever met.
“He does love you so much.” She stroked Samuel’s head. “You seem to be the only one who can calm him.”
“I’m glad.” David smiled. “I like to know I’m doing something right.”
“You don’t need to do that.” Arabella sighed. “Can you ever forgive me for what I did?”
David shook his head and turned to her.
“Arabella, stop. We’ve been through this before.”
“I still feel guilty over it.”
“I know you do, and you don’t need to. I forgave you a long time ago.” David leaned over and kissed her. “We’re married now, and we’re a family. That’s more than enough for me.”
Arabella had to fight back the urge to cry. A year on since they were reunited, ten months since they were finally married, and she still had a lot of guilt over what she did. She tried to make it up to David whenever she could, even when David protested about what she was doing and it was not needed. She had given him two children as well as herself, and that was more than enough for him.
There was a lot of making up to do, and they had to start somewhere.
“Lord Derby approached me today,” David said as he straightened up. “He says he has an offer of a job.”
“Even though you’ve already got one?”
“You know I haven’t done anything with that for a year now.” David rocked Samuel a little more as he stirred. “Lord Derby thought that this might suit me better.”
Arabella wasn’t sure about that. David had told her stories about the farming on his family estate and how much he had enjoyed it. It was hard for him to do anything when they were settled in one of Lord Derby’s cottages on his estate. Being the son of a viscount, David didn’t really need a job. But he liked to be kept busy and had done various jobs around Lord Derby’s estate. That did raise people’s eyebrows, but David hadn’t cared. He was good at it. As long as he was happy, Arabella was happy.
“Anyway, the Harpur family wrote to him for recommendations,” David went on.
“The Harpur family at Calke Abbey?”
“Yes. They’re looking for a groundskeeper after their last one passed away recently. Lord Derby put my name forward.”
Arabella knew where this was going.
“And you want to ask what my opinion is about it.”
“Of course.” David cradled Samuel in one arm and cupped Arabella’s jaw with the other. “You’re my wife, Arabella. You have a say as well. What do you think?”
Arabella could see David was excited about it. The Harpur family were generous and they were good friends of the Earl’s. And David was happy being a laborer more than a member of Society’s elite. Ian and Geoffrey were happy to go into Society, but David preferred getting his hands dirty, doing proper work. It was where he thrived.
Arabella wanted to see it. She smiled.
“It’s only an hour’s ride away. We can still see our families, and it sounds like it will do you good.”
“You’re not sad that you’re not going to be in Society as the wife to the heir of the viscountcy?”
Arabella laughed. “I can’t see you doing that. And I would rather be as normal as I can be.”
David’s shoulders slumped. He looked relieved.
“That’s just what I hoped you’d say.”
“If you knew, why did you even ask?”
David smiled as he tugged her close, tucking her into his side as he kissed her, still cradling their son in his arms.
Hestony looked across at Emilia, who sat on the chair in the parlor. The curtains were drawn, partly shading them both from the early summer sun outside.
“Alfred is sleeping,” Emilia said softly, glancing across to where the small, blonde babe lay in his cot, fast asleep.
“He seems very content.”
“He does,” Emilia agreed. “As am I.”
“Good.”
Hestony smiled at her cousin. She had emerged from her confinement three months ago, and this was her first longer visit. She had come to visit Hestony to make sure all was well.
“I think Arabella will be a happy baby, too,” Hestony murmured.
“She seems content already,” Emilia agreed. “But so tiny!”
“Alfred was small, too,” Hestony reminded her, grinning. “And look at him now! You’d never think he was only three months new born.”
“They grow so fast!” Emilia shook her head, looking at the soft, sleeping face opposite them. Alfred had filled out considerably in three months, Hestony thought tenderly. He had round cheeks and glossy hair and he looked more like a child and less like an infant every day, or at least it seemed to her.
“Arabella is very delicate,” Emilia said. “Those tiny hands!”
“She’s like a fairy,” Hestony agreed.
Her daughter had pale blue eyes and the soft down of hair on her head looked to be brown— a combination that would be unusually lovely. She was thriving, and already, Hestony was amazed by the bond she felt with her.
“Hal is an attentive father,” Emilia commented, bringing their attention back to the present.
“He is!” Hestony laughed. “So much so that it’s hard to get him out of the nursery sometimes.” Hal’s fondness for the baby touched her every time she saw him with her. They seemed extremely close.
Emilia laughed. “That’s good. Luke is the same. He’s already planning how to teach Alfred to ride! I told him, that’ll not be for years yet, but you know what he’s like.” She laughed.
“Like a mule.”
“Exactly,” Emilia agreed, chuckling warmly.
“At least, now that we have visitors,” Hestony murmured, “Hal will be forced to go out riding sometimes. It’s good for him. He frets because I’m not ready for riding yet, but I assure him I don’t mind. I’ll see plenty of riding as the season progresses.”
“What’s that, dearest?” Hal asked from behind them.
“Hal!” Hestony turned around sharply, hearing his voice. The sound of it brought joy to her heart every time she heard it. She felt her heart jump as she saw him standing in the doorway, backlit by the light pouring in through the windows in the passage behind.
“We had a shorter ride than I planned,” Hal said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “Luke thought it was best for him to return and prepare for the visit from Mr. Greenberg.”
“Sensible plan,” Emilia nodded. “Is he downstairs?”
“Yes, I think so.” Hal nodded. Hestony looked from one to the other, pleased to see how well her cousin and Hal related to each other. Hal was such a kindly person she felt sure anybody would feel fond of him fairly quickly.
“Excuse me, then,” Emilia said, standing and curtseying to Hal, who bowed.
“It was a pleasure to see you.”
Hestony watched the two, and then, once Emilia had left, she stood and went to join Hal. He was standing at the window, looking down at the garden beyond.
“It was a good ride?” she asked him gently.
“Not bad,” Hal agreed. He put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes warm where they met her gaze. “I would challenge you to a race up to the hills, but I think that would be too dangerous just yet…”
Hestony blushed. “I think we might have to wait for a month or two before I can ride safely.”
“Of course,” Hal said, kissing her hair. “I just long for your company in all things.”
“Oh, Hal.” Hestony smiled up at him fondly. “I miss riding with you, too. But I can do that again soon. Have you seen how soundly she is sleeping?” She gestured towards the cot where the baby slept, her lovely eyes closed.
“I did indeed,” Hal agreed. “She’s resting wonderfully. She looks so like you, my dearest.”
“I sleep that heavily?” Hestony teased.
“You know what I mean,” Hal said, resting a hand on her shoulder as, together, they looked down at the infant. “You look exactly like her – those rosy lips, the soft hair. That sweet expression – so tender. She will be as beautiful as you when she grows older.”
“I hope she will be even more so,” Hestony said gently. “After all, she has your looks as well as mine.”
Hal chuckled. “You would wish that on her?”
“Henry, you know you’re stunning.” Hestony grinned, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “We have plenty of new looking-glasses here in Ellington House to choose from. You ought to look at your reflection sometime.”
Hal kissed her hair. “You know what I mean. All looks fade into insignificance compared to yours. At least to me.”
“Oh, Hal. The same for me.” She looked up into his face, stroking his hair. He had a little white hair at one temple – a product, Hestony thought, of the tension in the previous year, but otherwise, he looked exactly as he had the day that she met him. She smiled fondly, happy that they were here, together, all barriers overcome together.
They kissed. Hestony tensed, hearing footsteps in the hallway. Hal gazed into her eyes.
“It’s the butler,” he said softly. “I think he’s probably going to tell me Luke’s heading out to the stables. I might go with him a way. We had to discuss a matter of investments.”
“Well, that suits me as well.” Hestony smiled, kissing his chin. “I should say farewell to Emilia too. And help her into the coach. Her health is still delicate.”
“I know.” Hal nodded, frowning. “I give thanks daily that you seem to be recovering swiftly. Well, then. I will see you in half an hour or so?”
“In half an hour.”
Hestony took his hand and he squeezed her fingers, then hurried out as Mr. Halston entered. Hestony followed him, more slowly, down the stairs. In the downstairs parlor, Emilia was just waving to Luke as he went to fetch the horse. She would follow in the carriage, being unready to ride yet. She went to join Emilia at the window.
“I so love your plans for the new garden bed,” Emilia murmured as she pointed down to where Hestony had planned a bank of irises and lavender to be planted. Flowering at different times of the year, she hoped it would make a display Ranvier could enjoy from the window. He loved nature, but found it difficult to leave the house; his health allowing it only rarely.
“I hope it will be pretty, too,” Hestony agreed. She stared down at the garden, to where a lady in a brown dress stepped along a path.
Hestony felt a shiver, watching her. It reminded her of something she was worried about. Not wanting to alarm Emilia, she chose another topic, other than the lady who walked there. “I hope I will be recovered soon,” she said. “I wish I could ride. I should be able to go out within a week?”
“Yes, you will. Lady Raymonde is one of your guests?” Emilia inquired, fanning herself against the afternoon warmth. Hestony felt uneasy. That was the topic she had been trying to sidestep.
“Yes, she is,” Hestony said. She felt her brow wrinkle with a frown.
Lady Raymonde worried her. The lady had opened out considerably since leaving London, and as far as Hestony knew, she’d found safe lodging hereabouts, in a home belonging to her uncle. All the same, she had been very quiet during her last few visits, and Hestony wished she knew why.
“She’s a quiet soul,” Emilia mused, seeming to hear her concerns. “But if she’s likely to tell anyone her troubles, it’s you.”
“She trusts me,” Hestony agreed. “Or seems to.”
Hestony leaned back in her seat, feeling the heat make her wish she could go to sleep for a while. She felt her eyelids droop. As she dozed, she heard someone call her name.
“Hestony?” an urgent female voice said. “Hestony?”
Hestony sat swiftly upright, wincing at the pain she felt. The birth had not been overly hard, but a dozen muscles still ached, and she was still terribly weary.
“Yes?” she asked, surprised to find herself face-to-face with their guest, Lady Raymonde. “What is it, Lady Raymonde?”
“Sorry for disturbing you, Hestony, Emilia,” she said apologetically. “But I have to ask you something urgently.”
“Of course,” Hestony nodded. “Do you wish to speak to me alone?”
“If I could.” Raymonde sounded tense.
“Of course. Excuse me a moment,” Hestony said to Emilia, who nodded. “What is it?” she asked Raymonde, as they slipped into her private room, next door.
“Hestony, it’s Lord Rackham,” she said, eyes wide. “He threatened me.”
“He what?” Hestony covered her mouth with her hand. “When? With what?”
“He threatened to tell my brother where I am. He was always a friend of his. I thought…” She closed her eyes, tears spilling out. “I thought I could trust him.”
Hestony felt ill. She sat down heavily, looking up at Raymonde. “Have you told Henry?” she asked, meaning Hal. Raymonde trusted Hal implicitly, like the brother she’d never had.
Raymonde shook her head. “I couldn’t find him,” she said. “He was out riding somewhere.”
“Yes,” Hestony thought, her mind working swiftly. “Well, then. We’ll have to…”
She was about to say that they would ask Luke to help them, when Hal’s voice sounded in the hallway.
“Dearest?” he called. “Sorry to disturb you, but we were looking for the Cowley painting, and I wanted to ask if you knew…”
“It’s on the rear wall of the drawing-room,” Hestony said, opening the door. Raymonde came to stand behind her. Hestony glanced towards her as she gave a little gasp. She was looking past Hal, at the young gentleman who stood beside him, dressed in a smart suit.
“Forgive my manners,” Hal said, bowing to Raymonde, seeing her at the same time as Hestony noticed her discomfort. “May I introduce you? Lady Raymonde, Lady Hestony, this is my good friend from the army, Lord Hume.”
“Good afternoon, My Lord,” Raymonde whispered.
Hestony looked from Raymonde to Lord Hume, and noticed that both their eyes were shining.
The rosebuds had bloomed, as lush and red as they sat in the garden of their home. The green grass that littered the yard shone brightly, making the courtyard, which was placed at its center, so beautiful. The morning sun eased into the room, alerting them that the day had broken. Every day seemed to be the same joyous occasion. For the past seven years, every day was a day to look forward to.
Esther walked back to the bed and sat on it so that it dipped. Her husband made no move to rise yet. She was tempted to wake him, but she liked how his hair, now longer, cast against his eyes. She liked how his lips were parted slightly, how his snores were low. She loved how his body curled out on the bed. She enjoyed being able to simply sit and watch him.
Seven years ago, at the very ballroom of Sands Castle, they had been wed. She recalled the day like it were yesterday. And she never regretted a moment.
She remembered being flanked in a room, by her best friends, her handmaid and her mother. She remembered wearing her mother’s very own wedding dress. She remembered her father smiling and giving her his blessings.
“I’m so happy for following your heart, my dear. You see, the heart is never wrong,” Papa said.
The wedding took place two months after the Christmas ball. All the children from the orphanage were in attendance. The ball had been grand. The Dowager Duchess wouldn’t hear any of nonsense talk of a small wedding. “My boy is to be wed. There will be no small wedding but a grand affair, indeed,” she would say when asked.
Alexandra was the most excited. She never missed a moment to hug Esther and say, “Welcome home.”
Robert seemed shy around her, but he slowly began to understand that she was now part of their lives. Forever. William kept saying, “We’re happy Stefan decided to wed. And lucky him, ey? It was to the beautiful lady.”
They all made her laugh. They all made her happy. They welcomed her warmly.
As for Nicholas, she saw him a few times. He had even come to one of their balls. He had tried to talk to her, and she had allowed him. Once again, she had told him to do the right thing. Wed the woman who was to be the mother of his child.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever stop loving you,” he complained. But at the end he did the honorable thing. He wed Greer a fortnight after the Christmas ball with only a handful of people in attendance. Esther had graced the ball, with Stefan by her side as they were engaged by then. Maybe it was the first time that Nicholas had done the right thing.
Esther liked to think that everyone was happy, in the end. Greer and Nicholas turned out to be a very successful match. Nicholas himself admitted it to her a year later.
Esther wondered if there was any bliss more than what her life turned out to be. She had encouraged Stefan to always talk about Agnes to Robert, so he could know her, though he would never meet her. She had been an important part of the family, and her memory should live on.
The door of the bedchamber burst open, averting Esther’s thoughts. She was happy to have been dressed in her muslin gown, for she already knew who would open the door in such a manner.
A blonde-haired six-year-old walked in, her pink dress adorned with flowers which swooshed as she walked with her nurse behind her.
“I did try to stop her.” The nurse shrugged, stopping at the door.
Agnes walked over to her mother and kissed both her cheeks. “Good Morning, Mama.”
“Good Morning Agnes.” Esther laughed as she kissed her daughter’s forehead.
Agnes rushed to Stefan’s side of the bed and patted him.
“Papa…Papa. Pa…Pa. Good Morning, Papa.”
Stefan opened his eyes and growled. “Agnes.”
Esther burst into laughter. Her husband turned and scooped his little girl into his arms. Agnes was their first child. Esther birthed her a year after they were wed, three months after Anne had given birth to her son, Gregory.
Agnes looked like Stefan. Blonde hair and blue eyes. She also had his nose and frowned as he did. The resemblance was uncanny and amused everyone who met them.
Stefan looked to the side and saw Esther sitting there. He moved closer to her and rubbed her now protruding belly. “How is my boy?”
“It’s going to be a girl, Papa. I want a sister,” Agnes announced.
Alexandra, from the door, guffawed. “How certain are you that it’s a boy, Stefan?”
Alexandra was taller, curvier, and more beautiful than ever. Her blonde hair had grown longer, and it suited her brown eyes. She was a sight to behold, and was now engaged to a young viscount, Lord Danvers. Alexandra was not like any other lady of the ton. She shot arrows, knew how to handle guns, and even, rode Black. She was the only one, aside Stefan, who could control Black. Even William was still unable to.
Watching Alexandra grow and develop into a young lady, but with her own unique skills, was a constant source of enjoyment for Esther.
Alexandra touched her stomach lightly. “How is my niece?”
“Still kicking. This babe would be so strong. Perhaps huge. I’m pretty sure it’s a boy.”
Alexandra scowled. “You’re with Stefan on that?”
Stefan laughed behind her. “Pay her no heed, my love.”
They all laughed, even Agnes. She laughed the loudest and clapped her hands. Esther was about to ask from everyone to go and get ready for breakfast, when Alfred suddenly stood beside Alexandra and the nurse. His eyes were wide, and his cheeks now sagged. He had aged so much.
He turned to Stefan and greeted. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
He then spoke to Esther. “Your Grace, the Duchess of Richmond is here to see you. It is quite urgent.”
Esther wasted no time. She walked behind Alfred and tried to ran down the stairs. Alexandra, who was following behind her, was asking her to tread carefully. But she was worried. She wondered why Anne would come to visit her so early.
As she stopped at the last stair, she saw her friend, standing by the entrance door. Anne’s eyes were swollen from crying, and her face still wet with tears.
Esther moved closer and stood before her, worried. “What is it, my friend?”
Anne grabbed Esther by the hands and wailed. “Victor. Victor has died at sea.”
As though she had been hit, Esther felt her chest clench at the news. Victor was dead. He was dead. “How? What happened? Where is Katherine?”
Anne shook her head as Esther’s questions bounced flew toward her. “I have no idea where Katherine is. I went to her home, but she is nowhere to be found.”
“And Victoria? Her daughter? Where is Victoria?”
Anne cried even more. “Victoria is with the Duchess of Somerset. She is fine. But Katherine is missing, and Victor is dead. Esther, I fear that our friend may be in danger.”
Esther felt her throat clench. Katherine was missing. She must have fled upon hearing of her husband’s death. Everything suddenly became dim. All the brightness from their earlier family bliss had suddenly disappeared. As she held onto Anne’s weeping form, Esther felt in her heart that there were dark days ahead. Her soul reached out to Katherine, wherever she might be.
True to their romantic beginnings, Jonathan and Garance continued living a life filled with joy and love, happiness and discovery. At least that is what it seemed from their happiness and glee at one another’s company!
“Darling Garance!” cried Jonathan as they walked together down the hill, hand in hand, to the seaside in Nice. “I confess I have never known a more beautiful place than this.”
“I agree,” she replied. “It brings me no end of joy to be able to share it with you too, my treasure.”
“Do you think we dare to dip our feet into the sea?”
“I think we can now do what we like. We have God’s own blessing for our union.”
Jonathan laughed. He had been swept up in their ‘lune de miel’ in the south of France, where he had hired a chateau for them that had been converted into a beautiful bower for young lovers. For a month, Jonathan, who had never been to France, had to rely on Garance to translate for him, but he enjoyed the experience, and when the time came to return to stormy Lincolnshire, neither of them wanted to leave.
They would take a trap to visit the neighboring villages, where they would stop for a lunch at one of the new restaurants that were popping up all along the coast. Jonathan would try his best to order, and wind up in a total muddle. His public-school French proved far from adequate.
“Garance, I cannot read this bill of fare, and I know not what anything is. How can you have done this to me?” he said to her in mock-agony, as he leaned over and kissed her tenderly, right there in the restaurant. They cared not a fig how much attention they were drawing to themselves.
By the end of August, the two of them departed for England once again; Jonathan returned to Oxford to complete his degree, while Garance, with her husband’s blessing, went on to perform for the great halls of Europe until December. She returned with Jonathan to England, but knew that, almost immediately, she would have to leave him for a time. This was a sad and difficult time for Garance, almost as much as it was for the smitten Jonathan. Then, being the nobleman he was, Jonathan took his seat in the House of Lords, and he did his duty. He was a slave to duty.
By this time, Jonathan had restored his family fortune in Yarmouth. In fact, he had already grown it into one of the wealthiest in England. His Lincolnshire seat was seen as one of the best run estates in all of the country, and when Jonathan took his seat in the House of Lords the year after he graduated from Oxford, he was universally admired by his fellow peers.
The truth is that very few marriages, even those that begin with the greatest augurs of success, end in great happiness. But Jonathan and Garance, two very independent people, somehow managed to make this nearly impossible thing into a reality. A perfect marriage.
From the perspective of the servants at Stafford Manor, things could not be better for either of them. Garance continued to enthrall all of Europe, although she was not nearly as beset by suitors, now that news of her nuptials had leaked. “The Parisian Nightingale caged by an Englishman,” was the headline in the Times.
In London, things had changed quite a lot since the Prince Regent ascended the throne to become King George IV, but the gay times continued in many places. Cecily was still spending much of her time in Stafford Manor, preparing for the transition of power, as she called it. But these were enjoyable times, watching the young of the Golden Age turn silver-headed.
And so, now that the King of England was legitimized, many people felt that things would get better. Others, that things would get worse. For England was always a place in turmoil.
Peter Nunn, still was in the depths of despair, became a frequent attendee at the royal events, and, at some point after he became a celebrated figure in society. This transpired when Lady Catherine Smith’s novel, The Noble Cuckold came out, and rumor had it that he was the subject of the title character. To his credit, he denied it, but he also decided he would enter politics.
By the mid 1820s, Peter Nunn was highly regarded as a reformer on the banner of the Liberal Tories, and he was twice considered as a possible Chancellor of the Exchequer, an honor he declined because of his poor mathematics. As a close associate of Prime Minister Robert Jenkinson, the Earl of Liverpool, he suggested Jonathan Anderson-Reese, but Jonathan had far more important things to do. But this is all in the future. The written life story of Peter Nunn would read like the Book of Numbers; duller than ditchwater!
Jonathan, true to his usual deep love of his ancestral lands, concentrated his energies on the improvement of his Lincolnshire estate. He consulted with canal builders and road cutters, and before long, the farmers in the area were able to grow more and better crops, and it was said that this man who loved the French girl was the best lord in the Kingdom. He had his loyalties and he loved his family, and he loved the people who lived on his land.
Garance took time to recover from the joy and the pain of childbirth. Little Violetta was a beauty and universally admired for her charm and wit. When little Violetta was only four or five months old, Jonathan brought her and her beaming mother to the capital where they stayed at the Wimpole Street house. And it was at this time that Garance decided to retire from the stage, much to the chagrin of all of Europe’s great halls. And their loss was her family’s gain, for this is the story of the greatest happy ending of the age: the romance of the nightingale and the nobleman!
“D’Arcy,” Cecily said, at a ball in London. “I feel the wedding of my brother and Garance was nearly perfect. You know what that means right?”
“I would love to tell you I do, but I am in the dark,” replied D’Arcy.
“It means I must think of a wedding that is better and different. I must somehow capture my character all in one event. This is of the utmost importance to me.”
“Are you implying a marriage is in the offing?” said D’Arcy.
“Not at all. I do not even know who my husband will be. This is a difficult time for me, as you can imagine.”
Cecily was one of the most sought-after young ladies in London at the time, and was clearly enjoying every moment of it. Among her suitors was Peter Nunn, who, as heir to the marquisate of Hampstead, was not without means. He did his best in the following months to engage in London society, and mix with the young ladies who were most likely to be his bride, but all of them knew he carried a torch for Cecily. D’Arcy Dancer, the gadabout from Ireland, was another suitor, and one who seemed to understand her peculiar brand of wit. The two of them were frequently heard exchanging barbed commentaries on the attendees at the balls.
In fact, it was at a ball in London, attended by both Mr. Shelley, the poet, and the King – a real festive one – that the adventure really began. Peter Nunn had been a doting suitor to Cecily, and Cecily had responded the way a polite young woman was supposed to. But she was only eighteen years old and could not really make these decisions for herself, or so the rumor had it.
“Cecily,” said D’Arcy Dancer, as he met her by the chairs set up at this particular dance in Hampstead, for the elderly members of the good company. “Is that not Peter Nunn yonder in the particularly small chair near that famous Lady Catherine?”
“Which Lady Catherine is she?” Cecily responded.
“The Lady Catherine who is known to have written a three-volume novel about the poor blacksmith’s daughter and the lord.” She was quite well-known as a scribbler of bawdy work, and so it was a scandal to be seen talking to her. “She’s bound to put me in her book,” was how dear Cordelia once put it.
“By Jove, it is!” she said, laughing behind her fan. For it was a wonderful ball, and nearly anyone who was anyone was there. Jonathan and Garance were apart at the time, Garance was in Spain or some other heathen country being feted by the wealthy and influential over there, while he, like the medieval scholar, was burning the midnight oil at Oxford.
“Should we approach him and try to make amends?” she proffered.
“Make amends? For what? We are known to be courting, are we not?” said D’Arcy.
“I have promised myself to no one, dear D’Arcy,” replied Cecily.
“I did not claim otherwise, my dear lady,” said D’Arcy. “However, you must know that the gossips are working overtime to try to imply that we are the couple-du-jour, as the French would say. Now how did Miss Helen Wiglesworth put it? – I shamelessly flirted with you? But really! We both know that Peter is a bore. A frightful bore.” D’Arcy stopped talking and became aware that Cecily was staring at him as though he were a brute not to see the misery he had imposed on poor Peter by stealing her away.
He nodded. “Very well, my dear, let us visit him.”
She dragged D’Arcy across the crowded dance floor and elbowed her way through the crowd of elder statesmen. Medals jangled as they pushed through them.
“Peter!” cried Cecily, as Peter was talking to Lady Catherine Smith. “I have not seen you since my brother’s wedding. What have you been doing since that time?”
“Oh, it’s Cecily,” said Peter Nunn, averting his eyes as though looking at the sun. “Since last I saw you I have been in deep mourning, my dear.”
“Oh Peter, that is frightful!” said Cecily. “What relative did you lose?” It was difficult to see if she were feigning ignorance, or just not thinking.
“I lost my heart, Cecily,” he said with emotion, as I saw Lady Catherine scribble something in her little notebook. It wasn’t hard to see that this would definitely end up in a book: the jilted lord and the lady on the arm of her far-too charming new suitor! This interaction was beginning to attract attention from those nearby. Helen Wiglesworth and Cordelia de Montmorency were both eavesdropping rather noticeably.
“Lady Catherine!” said D’Arcy, rather too loudly to the lady writer. “Have you been writing another book?”
“I beg your pardon sir, but have we been introduced?” She seemed not to know she was talking to the greatest wit in all England, at least in his own humble opinion.
“I believe the introduction was just made by Peter Nunn. For I am the cause of his grief. Allow me to introduce myself: I am D’Arcy Dancer, gentleman.”
“You are, are you?” she said blandly as though she were unimpressed.
“Indeed, my lady, I am,” he responded. “I am a Dancer of the Bedfordshire Dancers. We are Normans who came with King William in 1066.”
“I see,” said Catherine, who was clearly not impressed.
“My family moved to Ireland. I come from the scandalous side, of course!” he said with a wink.
“D’Arcy!” cried Cecily, laughing. “You are frightful.” A playful slap on the shoulder clearly hurt Peter as he was sneering in what was an inadvertent manner. He spoke not a word, feeling, no doubt, that his weighty words were not given their due.
“Lady Catherine, did you just write down the sentiments of our friend Peter Nunn?” said D’Arcy, clearly calling her bluff. Everyone knew she was scandalously parading the lives of the wealthy and titled to the middle classes in her frightful novels. It was disgraceful!
“I beg your pardon, young man –”
“D’Arcy!” he said. “It is D’Arcy Dancer, as I just told you. Perhaps you are losing your memory, dear lady?”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said the dour dowager. Nonetheless, it was clear to anyone who observe Peter Nunn that he was tickled pink to think that his misery would be the subject of a thrilling novel by this popular scribbler, Lady Catherine Smith. He really was too much of a bore!
“I believe I saw you write something down in the little scribble pad of yours,” he said, smiling at Cecily.
“I am an author, young man,” said Lady Catherine. “And as such, I am sometimes overtaken by the muse of inspiration and must needs put my ideas to paper.”
“I see,” he said, one eyebrow arched. “I hope you’ll understand that, as the suitor of the lady to whom your inspiration was referring, I must ask you not to use that in one of your novellas.”
“I shall do what I shall do.” This woman would make a wonderful queen.
“Very well,” said D’Arcy. “But do let me fill in the missing plot pieces for you. You see, Peter Nunn, excellent student at the Maths in Oxford – did you score a first Peter?”
“Well, no,” said Peter.
“Be that as it may, you are brilliant in numbers, rather like Jonathan, who is still studying the maths there. I believe he is scoring a first, at this moment. But let that one lie, shall we?”
D’Arcy turned to Lady Catherine and went on. “Peter was courting his friend Jonathan’s sister, and his sister did her duty by receiving his blandishments. Peter is a stalwart fellow, as you can see, and he is also – Cecily, what is the word you used to describe Peter the other day?”
Cecily turned crimson under this strain. She was either blushing at D’Arcy’s brilliance, or mortified by it.
“I cannot recall,” she said, pulling on his coattail in a vain attempt to get him to disengage.
“Oh, surely you remember! You spoke of Peter fondly. You said he reminded you of a plate of liver.”
“I didn’t!” she protested.
“Ah, but you did. I recall it as though it were yesterday.”
“It was yesterday.” And as she said this, she knew she was found out. Cecily’s brilliance was well-known, and many people had been pleased to share her bon mots with others, and so all ears turned to hear the rest of the jibe.
“You said he was like a plate of liver; probably very good for you, but frightfully hard to swallow.”
At that point, several of the wits who were standing around tittered. Cecily turned on them and said her best line of the night.
“I daresay, none of you is as good for me as Peter was,” said Cecily with venom. “But then, there you are, all armed for a battle of the wits like Samson, the great Israelite hero: with the jawbone of an ass!”
All the fops stopped their tittering and withered under her brilliance. Lady Catherine pulled out her notebook and scribbled something in it.
“I say, Lady Chaterine, you seem to have a shortage of wit in your novels,” said D’Arcy. Turning to Cecily, he whispered, “I chose to mispronounce her name, because I knew it would get under her skin. And this silly old bird should know that relating the true-life stories of the nobility is a frightful invasion of privacy.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Lady Catherine.
“You find the need to purloin the wit of the gentry for the consumption of hoi polloi. I find that practice as shameful as a thief in the night.”
“Young man!” said Lady Catherine. “I find you to be frightfully impertinent. What right do you have?”
“What right do you have, Lady Chaterine? Do you not know that the word is the beginning and the end of all consciousness? ‘In the beginning was the word’ says St. John. ‘And the word was with God and the word was God.’ Would you then take the words of others and pass them off as your own? Shame, I say, shame!”
It was clear that D’Arcy was angering Lady Catherine, but she had become such a bore by this time that D’Arcy no doubt felt sure Cecily would love him the more for shaming her. And indeed, Lady Catherine rose, in quite a fury, and strode away in a particularly manly fashion.
“D’Arcy! We must go, for you promised me a cotillon. Dear Peter, do visit us soon, won’t you?”
“I shan’t!” said the sniveling twit. “For I am in the depths of despair.”
Lady Helen Wiglesworth, who had shed some of her unsightly fat, was trying to soothe the poor dear with a pat on the hand.
“D’Arcy! You must learn to hold your tongue when you are in good company,” said Cecily, forcibly pulling him away from these poor unfortunates.
“Cecily, you astonish me!” he replied. “You with the barbed insults for all and sundry, and you tell me to hold my tongue? That is too rich! But I love you the more for it.”
And in this way, Cecily entered society and took it by storm with the brilliance of her delightfully acid tongue.
Shortly before Christmas, D’Arcy Dancer went around to Cipriani Potter’s apartments in London because he wanted to know about Little Chip’s experiences on the continent with The Parisian Nightingale.
“D’Arcy!” he said as Lord Dancer strode through the door in his remarkably well-appointed flat. “I daresay you’ve changed. What on earth is happening to you?”
“Little Chip, you haven’t changed a jot. I do believe you are drinking monkey glands or something to keep you young. Perhaps some evil spirit has taken your body hostage.”
Little Chip laughed heartily. “So, what brings you to my humble home?” he said, handing him a delightful glass of port.
“I am eager to renew our acquaintance, for, I hear, you have once again taken the Continent by storm.”
“Garance is the one who is taking Europe by storm,” he laughed. “You must know that she is a most unconventional woman.”
“I was at her wedding and shall never forget the figure she cut. Resplendent is the word I would use to describe her on that day.”
“She is more resplendent every day, dear boy,” said Little Chip. “Garance has been travelling with me and her maid Camille – you remember Camille? She is like the repository for all the dull parts of Garance that she didn’t want to include in her person.”
D’Arcy laughed, for he knew that was an accurate representation of the sturdy maid who had accompanied the starlet, Garance, for as long as anyone had known her.
“In any case, Garance travelled with me and Camille, her maid, to some of the great capitals of Europe where she performed for kings, queens, princes, and the Pope. She remains one of the standout performers of her day, and her fame was growing greater and greater with each concert we gave.”
“Yours has not suffered for your association with her, Little Chip,” said D’Arcy.
“Indeed,” he replied. “In fact, I have been inspired to write my first symphony based on the themes I wrote for their wedding.”
“Very good!” he said. “Has it had a premiere?”
“It shall. I have it to be premiered with my former teacher’s new symphony by the London Philharmonic Society.”
“You and the music of that dead Austrian?”
“Deaf Austrian, actually. He is still very much alive.
“Of course. I am sorry for the oversight.”
“That is quite alright. And yes, I arranged for him to get the commission. He is a capital composer, but rather short of funds just now, and the London Philharmonic Society is awash with cash. He was most grateful. In any case, his Ninth Symphony is to be premiered with my first. That shall be very exciting, I should think. Will you attend?”
“Yes indeed. I shall certainly be there. But tell me, what else is happening on the road?”
“Well, of course, I have returned because Garance is here for Christmas to Lincolnshire, and I understand the reunion was the most heartfelt meeting of two people in anyone’s memory. She wrote to me only yesterday about it.”
“I suppose that is good news.”
“You know, dear boy, their marriage is something wonderful. For years, people will be saying that Jonathan and Garance, who started off their marriage with such a slight chance of success, managed to create a magnificent bower of love that would eventually end in a child.”
“Is she with child?” asked D’Arcy, scandalized.
“At the moment, she is, and trust me, there’s no question as to the paternity.”
Sadly, the symphony by the Austrian master didn’t materialize in time for the concert, but Cipriani Potter’s little symphony was delightful. At the concert, Cecily appeared, dressed in the most magnificent Paris gown that anyone had ever seen in London. She sat in a box, fanning herself modestly. It was clear to all who were there that she had grown into a remarkable beauty, and it was a puzzle to all of society that she had not yet married. Peter Nunn was there, looking frightfully wealthy, having spent a fortune on a new wardrobe from the best tailors in London. Even Peter turned the heads of many of London’s most eligible spinsters.
And D’Arcy Dancer, looking more than usually interested, kept glancing at the box where Cecily sat with her mother, who looked positively grand! It was well-known that he had visited Cecily many times, and had been well-received, but never had Cecily encouraged him to propose. The mystery of her intentions was the talk of good society, of course, and someone needed to solve it, one way or the other.
There was a theory that Cecily, inspired by the great love Jonathan had for his foreign wife, was courting some unknown Frenchman. Others felt that Cecily had some mad idea that she would enter public life as a crusader for the rights of women. Of course, those who felt this were in the minority, but their voices were often heard in the houses of the wealthy, who like nothing better than an unsolvable mystery.
“Mother,” said Cecily. “I see before me a great many young men who are glancing surreptitiously at us. Do you think we have become the subject of idle gossip?”
“My dear Cecily,” replied Margaret. “The only mystery is why, as the most eligible young lady in England, you have yet to decide on your husband. I suppose we shall have to endure these minor annoyances until you make up your mind.”
“Very well mother,” said Cecily. “I shall endeavor to close that mystery within the year.”
“Oh, my dear Cecily!” cried Margaret, just as the orchestra began to play. “That would be a very great joy to me.”
“In that case, mother, I shall make it a contest.”
“A contest?”
“Yes. We shall see how these men with their wandering eyes do when put under the microscope.”
Margaret laughed. “Cecily, you are far too interested in these frightful science matters!”
“The key to science is testing a hypothesis. Consider each one of my suitors a subject of study. I shall let science decide my husband.”
The music swelled to drown out her comments, but Margaret laughed joyfully behind her fan, hoping she would be entertained for a while, and finally satisfied by the conclusion.
Amy looked around as a little girl hurried past her table, almost knocking over something on the tabletop. She gasped.
“Mary, be careful!”
Her daughter stopped and turned to her. She did look adorable in her bridesmaid dress and the ring of flowers in her hair. Even if the flowers were slightly askew and her dress was stained with chocolate.
“I didn’t mean to, Mama.” She said.
Amy found herself smiling. It was difficult to be upset with the little girl. Even in her terrible moments, she was able to make people smile. Derby certainly found it difficult trying to keep a straight face when the four-year-old was having a tantrum.
“I know you didn’t.” She beckoned the girl over and adjusted the flowers on her head, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Just watch where you’re running. We may be at home, but we have to be careful.”
“All right.” Mary hugged her. “Love you, Mama.”
“Love you, too.”
Mary hurried away. She was off to play with her cousin. Olive was dancing with a little boy about eight, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but with her. Then Mary jumped over to them, and she and Olive began dancing. Relieved, the boy hurried away. Amy laughed. Then she caught Sarah’s eye across the room. Sarah was standing beside her new husband, her arm slipped through his as she watched her daughter. If her friend had been radiant at her wedding to Merseyside, this one had her blossoming.
After losing her first husband, Sarah had declared she was happy to be a widow and look after her daughter. But things hadn’t gone her way. Two years before, Geoffrey Harrison had arrived from Scotland after being in America for several years, and he had been immediately infatuated with Sarah. Sarah had refused to believe anyone saw her as a potential wife when she had another man’s child, but Geoffrey had been persistent. He went out of his way to make sure Sarah knew he was serious.
Amy was glad that Sarah had finally given in. Geoffrey was a little unorthodox in his methods, but he was a good man. She liked him, and Derby certainly approved of his new brother-in-law. What had sealed it for Sarah was how Geoffrey treated her daughter. As soon as he made it clear he was including Olive in his life with her mother, Sarah had done a turnaround.
And now, two years after they met and eighteen months of chasing Sarah, they were finally married. Amy was surprised Sarah had held out that long.
“How’s Mary getting on?”
Amy looked up. Derby had approached the table without her realizing it. Their son Philip was in his arms, head rested on his father’s shoulder as he slept. Amy stood and kissed her husband, stroking her son’s head.
“She’s managing, but I think she’s going to struggle soon. She’s getting a little erratic.”
“Give her another fifteen minutes or so, and then we’ll tell her it’s bedtime. And speaking of bedtime,” Derby nodded at the two-year-old toddler cuddled up against him, “I think this one needs to go.”
Amy didn’t think it was possible to fall more in love with Derby, but seeing him holding their youngest child like that had arousal tightening in her belly. Swallowing, she turned and caught Victoria’s eye from her place across the room. Her children’s nanny approached her, assessing the scene before Amy had opened her mouth.
“I’ll take him up to his room, Lady Derby.” Victoria eased Philip out of Derby’s arms, tucking him into her embrace. “I’ll sort him out.”
“Thank you.”
Victoria walked away and left the room, Philip still snoring softly on her shoulder. Amy was glad she had Victoria with her. After her stepfather’s arrest, her stepmother had gone back to their home in London and started destroying whatever belonged to Amy. She had dismissed Clara as well as Victoria, telling them they were on their own. Amy didn’t care about her things – they could be replaced – but she was more concerned about the maids. As soon as she was aware of what Beatrice had done, Amy had tracked down both Clara and Victoria and, with Derby’s blessing, had employed them into his household. Clara was still her personal maid and Victoria now served as Mary and Philip’s nanny and governess. Victoria was certainly a lot more relaxed than before. Amy didn’t think she had seen her smile like this in the time Victoria had been in Lady Hartley’s employ.
Beatrice had really shot herself in the foot. Between her and Hartley, they had written up a lot of debts. They had planned to pay off everything with the money Leicester was going to give them, but when that didn’t happen, the creditors started to come after her. And then she had the nerve to turn around and ask her stepdaughter and her new husband if they would help.
Amy had really enjoyed writing that letter.
“Amy?”
“Hmm?”
Amy hadn’t realized Derby had been speaking to her. He slipped his arms around her, his hand rubbing her swollen belly as he kissed her. He smiled.
“You looked like you were in a world of your own.”
“I was just thinking.” Amy leaned into her husband, resting her cheek on his chest. “I’m glad that Sarah’s finally got some happiness in her life.”
“So am I. It’s taken her a while, but she got there.” Derby chuckled. “And speaking of happiness, have you seen your mother?”
“No. Why?”
“I have a feeling someone’s going to be making her smile soon.” Derby nodded across the room. “Look. She seems to be quite taken with the father of the groom.”
Amy looked. Anna Day had recovered pretty quickly from her poisoning, going back to her old self before she married James. Amy did wonder if her mother had had time to grief, but Anna brushed aside her concerns. She threw herself into being a grandmother, devoting herself to Mary and Philip.
Now she was by the terrace doors talking to Viscount Ian Harrison. The silver-haired man had her complete attention, and Anna was smiling in a way Amy hadn’t seen in a very long time.
“Maybe we’ll have another wedding soon.” Derby laughed.
“What?” Amy squeaked. “At their age?”
“They’re still young.” Derby grinned. “If Viscount Harrison can manage being husband number three.”
Amy giggled.
“After the last two husbands, I don’t think the bar’s been set very high.”
Derby hugged her closer, tilting her head up as he kissed her. They were raising a lot of eyebrows with their open displays of affection, but neither of them cared. Amy was happy, and that was what she was concerned about, not their approval.
“Do you regret anything?” Derby asked.
Amy blinked.
“Like what?”
“The last five years. Do you regret anything?”
“Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“I just wanted to check that I was doing it right.”
He was incredibly sweet when he was unsure of himself. Amy smiled and cupped his jaw.
“You’ve always done things right. And if you’re that concerned,” she added against his mouth, “You can certainly rectify it tonight.”
Derby grinned back.
“I like the sound of that. But don’t you think people would notice if the hosts slipped away?”
“We’re not the bride and groom. I’m sure it’s allowed.” Amy giggled and slipped her hand through Derby’s arm. “Just let me tell Mama to watch out for Mary.”
“Let’s do it on the way past.”
“You want her to know what we’re up to?”
Derby laughed.
“She’s been married twice already. I don’t think she needs much of an imagination. Are you brave enough?”
Amy grinned as her husband led her across the room towards her mother.
