The Bishop’s Daughter
Karen Woods
Sleeping Beagle Books
Jacksonville, Illinois
ISBN: 9781441438157
Copyright 2009 by Karen Woods
The Bishop’s Daughter is a work of historical fiction.
All Rights Reserved.
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Blessed is every one that feareth the LORD; that walketh in his ways. For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: happy shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee. Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table. Psalm 126
Author’s Note
This is a work of historical fiction set in the set late in the Georgian period, largely during 1812. Most of the people you’ll meet within these pages are purely fictional, creations of mine to carry this tale. There are some real people depicted in these pages, however; the Prince Regent, Lady Jersey, Spenser Perceval, William Wilberforce, Justice Manfield, etc.
There were, according to the Census of 1801, 287 Peers (the total number of Dukes, Marquesses, Earls, Viscounts, and Barons), 540 Baronets, 350 Knights, and about 6000 Squires and gentry entitled to bear a coat of arms. There were 26 bishops sitting in the House of Lords as Lords Spiritual, who, while they might have risen to speak in the House of Lords, nevertheless, usually refrained from casting a vote on any matter of law or state, preferring to stay above politics.
The Duke of Monmouth was a forfeit title at this time, the last holder having been executed in 1685 on a charge of treason against James II. A fictional second creation of the title occurred, for purposes of this tale, in 1715, with the current Duke, Peter Sommersby, being the third of his family to hold this recreated title. Monmouth is in Wales, not far from the English cities of Gloucester and Hereford, and northwest of the Welsh city Cardiff.
The Earl of Newport was by the time of the Regency an extinct title, the last holder of that office dying without male heirs in 1681. That Earldom saw a fictional second creation in 1725. George Keppel is the fifth Earl of Newport in this second creation of the title, having taken the title after his elder brother, James, died without legitimate heir in 1809.
There are a number of purely fictional titles used in this work; the Marquess of FitzSimmons, the Earl of Callington, and the Duke of Old Sarum. FitzSimmons is used here as a courtesy title for the Duke of Monmouth’s eldest surviving son, Edmund, who is known to his friends as Fitz. Both Callington and Old Sarum were, at this time, rotten boroughs, each sending two members to Parliament. Neither, in this age, had patents of nobility attached to them by name. Both boroughs would be later abolished by the Reform Act of 1832.
The bishop of Salisbury in 1812 was John Fisher, who is not, by any means, to be confused with John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, executed in the age of Henry VIII after refusing to sign the Oath of Supremacy. I hope the descendants of Salisbury’s Bishop Fisher will forgive me for supplanting him with the fictional character of the Reverend Doctor Andrew Sommersby, brother to the Duke of Monmouth.
Slavery in England remained legal at this time, although the slave trade had been abolished in 1807, and made a felony in 1811. But it wouldn’t be until 1837 that the last Negro slaves in the British Empire would be free, at a cost to the British government of twenty million pounds sterling. Many people worked quietly for decades to achieve this abolition of slavery.
There were one hundred ten Cruizer class brig-sloops built between the years 1797 and 1826. The Bellona and the Raider are both fictional members of this class. They are two-masted, eighteen gun brig-sloops, each with a one hundred twenty-one man crew.
Spencer Perceval, Prime Minister of England, a younger son of the Second Earl of Egmont, was assassinated on the evening of Monday, 11 May, 1812. John Bellingham, a mentally unbalanced man, was indicted for this murder on Thursday, tried in the Old Bailey on Friday, 15 May 1812, and executed the following Monday, 18 May, 1812. I am indebted to the Old Bailey for placing the trial transcripts on-line.
May God bless you, dear reader,
Karen Woods
Prolog
Wednesday, 21 June 1809
Lydia Sommersby came slowly into the great hall of the Bishop’s Palace at Salisbury, leaning heavily on a cane as she carried in the morning’s post in her free hand.
“Mama!” Jane said, rushing from the piano to her mother’s side. “You should let the footmen bring you in the sedan chair.”
“It is bad enough that they’ve carried me down the stairs. I won’t be carried around the house when I can walk,” she answered.
“Doctor Nelson told you to stay off your feet as much as possible,” Jane said. “Come, sit down on the chaise, Mama. But your feet up. Papa would be quite put out at you for not obeying the doctor.”
“Your papa is not home today. And you will not tell him I was up and moving about.”
“Not if you sit down and take it easy, Mama.”
Lydia sighed. “You are as bad as he is. Resting is not going to change anything. But I will take up a place on the chaise, if that makes you feel better. Then I will have my lap desk and do my correspondence. I owe your Aunt Augusta and Aunt Katherine letters. Speaking of letters, the one on top seems to be in the hand of George Keppel, if I am not mistaken.”
“It does appear that way, Mama,” Jane said as she helped her mother to the chaise and pulled a lap robe over her mother’s legs.
“I have asked your papa to reconsider his stand on your marrying, so that I could see you settled. He is considering it.”
Jane sighed heavily. She didn’t want to think about losing her mother.
“Sit, Daughter, and read me the letter from Mister Keppel.”
Jane took a seat beside her mother. She broke the wax seal on the letter and unfolded the single sheet of paper.
Quickly, she read the letter silently to herself. Her mother seemed blurry, everything seemed blurry. Then Jane realized she was crying.
“What is it, dearest?” Lydia Sommersby asked, clearly alarmed.
She thrust the short note at her mother. The words were permanently burned into her mind.
George had written: “My dearest Jane,
My brother, James, has been murdered. I am the Earl, a title I never wanted. There is so much I wish to tell you, but cannot.
All hope of sharing my life with you has been dashed.
I must ask for the return of my letters.
I can only pray you will forgive me, my dearest Jane.
With my deepest and most sincere regrets,
George Keppel, Newport”
Chapter One
Tuesday, 5 May 1812
Miss Jane Sommersby longed to step outside onto the terrace to enjoy the cooler night breeze, yet she felt trapped within this sweltering, crowded, London ballroom. She glanced at the terrace door and thought about escape, not only escape from the crowd and heat, but also from Lord Newport, as he was now slowly making his way across the room towards her.
Yet, she knew her attempt at escape would be counter-productive. Newport would follow her out onto the darkened terrace. The last thing she could afford was to be caught in a compromising situation with him.
“Cousin Jane.”
She looked toward the familiar voice of her cousin, Edmund, the Marquess of FitzSimmons. “Fitz,” she replied, feeling herself smile at him. She hadn’t expected him here.
His answering smile didn’t dim the sadness in his eyes. He was, as she expected, nursing a broken heart over Sally.
“How long have you been in Town, Cousin?” Jane asked.
“I arrived just before sunset.”
Yes, she could believe that. He looked bone weary in addition to heartsick. Knowing Fitz, he had left Wales before dawn today and had ridden hell-for-leather, changing horses every few miles after exhausting each animal.
“Does your mother know you are in town?” she asked.
“She does now,” her cousin replied with a dry chuckle. “I see her looking at me with a mixture of pleasure and dismay.”
There was only one reason he’d have abandoned his duties on his father’s estate and left his own racing stud in Wales in the hands of a steward. “You’ve come to Town in search of a wife, then,” she said. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
“Yes.”
That one tightly spoken word told her all she needed to know. He was here out of duty, looking to settle for a conventional marriage for the sake of securing an heir.
“I should be delighted to help you find someone suitable,” Jane offered, knowing no one she presented to him would ever measure up to the only woman he’d ever loved, the only woman he’d ever love. Yet, each lady would do her duty to him, as he would to whatever lady he chose. She supposed he could make a good marriage, by the standards of society. Yet, he deserved, Sally deserved, far more than this. It made her sad.
He nodded, slightly. “Thank you. I shall call on you tomorrow afternoon and we shall go riding in the park where we will be able to talk more freely.”
“I shall have to consult my calendar. I believe I already have a commitment,” Jane replied.
His expression reminded her of a small boy denied a treat.
“Then you are not available tomorrow afternoon for a ride in the park with your favorite cousin?” he asked.
“Oh, has Reggie’s ship docked?” she teased, trying to banish some of the sadness from his eyes.
Fitz chuckled, then said with clear affection, “You remain the same incorrigible chit you always were.”
“I fear you are all too correct in that. Your mother cringes at the very thought, however, I do prefer to ride for exercise in the mornings. Come around for breakfast at nine. We can ride out after we eat. The parks are empty at that hour.”
“Very well. Have you a partner for the supper dance?”
“Yes, Fitz, she does,” Lord Newport said. “Me.”
“Newport, how are you?” he greeted the other man warmly.
Jane’s heart skipped a beat as she looked at George Keppel, Lord Newport, the man who had shattered her world by marrying another woman three years ago.
“I am well,” Newport said. “Miss Sommersby, this is our dance, is it not?”
She should have simply told him he was mistaken, and gone to the dance floor with Fitz. Yet she found herself saying, “Cousin, if you’d excuse us?”
Then she wondered why she had done this. Of all the men in the room, Newport was the last person she wanted to dance with. Wasn’t he? And yet, she had to honestly admit part of her wanted to be nowhere else than on the floor sharing this dance with him. It wasn’t sensible. Still, she couldn’t hide from the truth, unpleasant as it was.
“Of course. I should allow my mother to introduce me to at least one suitable female this evening,” Fitz allowed, clearly not cherishing the idea of his mother’s idea of a suitable match for him. Then he walked away.
“Had you promised this dance to another?” Newport asked.
She kept her voice low. “A little late for you to ask, is it not? As a matter of fact, I managed to redirect the original gentleman to another miss who would be far better suited to him. Were intelligence and ambition readily translatable into currency, together they would not have the price of a twist of tea.”
“You always did have a way of sizing up people quickly. It is part of what makes you such a good chess player,” he said in clear amusement.
His smile still took her breath away. She wondered what that said about her sanity. Nothing good, she supposed. She forced herself to breathe as she took his arm and went out onto the dance floor to join the forming set.
“Your step-mama is looking at us rather intently, my Lord.”
“She likely is.”
“She does not appear in the least happy,” Jane replied.
“I should imagine not.”
When they met in the steps of the dance, he said, “I would not have thought it possible. Yet, you are even lovelier than you were five years ago when you were presented.”
Jane smiled and chuckled. “Banbury Tale, that,” she dismissed as they parted.
“No. Not at all,” he denied when they met again. “You were lovely at seventeen. Now, you are simply beautiful.”
Jane sighed. “No flattery, I pray. I look into my glass at least twice a day. I have never been confronted with great beauty.”
When the forms of the dance allowed them to come back together, Newport said, “Your glass has never caught the mischievous lights in your eyes when you make a jest, or the satisfied smile that lingers on your lips and glows from within your eyes when you are delighted in something, or the depth of emotion expressed on your face when you play the piano-forte, or the soft wonder in your eyes when you hold a kitten.”
The steps of the dance separated them before she could reply.
When they came back together, he added, “While your features are lovely, it is the way they become a showcase for the splendor of your soul that shines through those features that makes you truly beautiful. That beauty will never fade.”
“My lord,” Jane replied the next time they met. “One can easily see why it is that you are so well thought of as a barrister and lawmaker.”
“Do you accuse me of empty flattery?” Newport demanded.
When they met once more in the steps, Jane said, “I accuse you only of being adept with words, my lord. Besides, all flattery is, by definition, empty.”
At the conclusion of the half hour of that dance, Jane took Newport’s offered arm and went with him into the supper room. They took seats away from other people.
“You seemed to be in intense conversation with Fitz when I joined you two earlier,” Newport offered.
“My cousins all dote on me, and I adore them in return. As you well know.”
“It is good to have family.”
“Yes. Family is a blessing. Speaking of blessings, how are your daughters, my Lord? The twins should be nearly three years old, by now.”
Jane noted that he looked uneasy at that topic. And well he should.
“No, they are only two years and some months. Emily and Charlotte are blonde and fair as their late mother was. They are quite affectionate and babble ceaselessly in the manner of all children of that age. They could benefit greatly by having a mother in the house. As I could benefit from having a wife.”
She heard the love in his voice for his children and was both touched and hurt by it. Those girls could, should, have been theirs, instead of his and the late Lady Newport’s. Now for him to say those children needed a mother, and he a wife, in quite the tone he had used, as if he expected her to jump at the opportunity to be his wife and the girls’ mother, made her even angrier at him. However, it was an anger she could ill afford to show, not in public at any rate. So, she kept her voice polite and asked, “And your younger brother?”
“Bertrand is ten,” he said. “He is in his first year at Harrow.”
Jane nodded, completely understanding his point. “That is such a challenging age for a boy,” she replied.
“He has been quite happy at school.”
“Your step-mama appears well.”
“She is much the same as she always has been. I bought a house on Park Lane for her to use as a base for her campaign to snare a second husband. I thought she’d have an easier time of it, if she had a fashionable address.”
“Given the Banns I have heard called for her and Callington for the last three Sundays, she has been successful.”
“Indeed. She is to become Lady Callington, Friday morning at St. George’s, Hanover Square. They are extremely well suited to one another,” Newport said.
“Given Callington’s rather shocking reputation, that is a terrible thing to say of her,” Jane replied, her voice low.
“Miss Sommersby, we have never needed to shield our words from one another. Pray, do not begin now. Tell me, honestly, your impression of my late father’s second wife.”
“I have seen her at balls, and at Almack’s, this season. Once, and only once, I saw her at Church. We have run into one another at Hatchards, as well as at Haywards and Carters. Yet, we have not spoken beyond polite nothings. She moves with a much…different…crowd than I do, my Lord.”
“An understatement, as she runs with the Carlton House set. Yet, surely, you have formed an impression of her.”
“Her face was always her fortune.”
“Indeed. Continue. What do you truly think of her?”
“She is like many a great beauty: ultimately vain, intensely selfish, given to the pursuit of pleasure, and excessively silly.”
“I fear you understate the matter,” he said.
“I cannot believe the Dowager would wish you well in your search for a wife, my Lord. As long as you lack a son of your own, her son is next in line to be the Earl of Newport. ”
“You have synopsized the situation well. Yet, she has given me full legal custody of Bertrand.”
“You and your brother have my sympathies,” Jane replied.
“Sympathy is not needful...I thought, had feared, you would have married by now, Miss Sommersby.”
“You know my father’s views on the marriageable age of ladies. My mother died just before I attained my majority. This is the first season since I finished my mourning for her.”
“I recall those views of your father, entirely too well. Now, you are two and twenty, and the matter rests entirely in your own hands. Are you contemplating marriage?”
“That was the point of this Season. If a gentleman I can trust offers marriage, I shall accept him.”
“Meaning you no longer trust me, I take it?” Newport replied, his voice low and pained.
She sighed as she looked at him. She forced her voice to remain in both a conversational volume and an even tone. No one else, including Newport, needed to know how deeply he had hurt her. “Your lordship can surely expect nothing else, the circumstances being as they are?”
“Pray, stop stiff-necking me with ‘my Lord’ and ‘your Lordship’. My friends now call me Newport. I should like it if you would count yourself once more among their number.”
“That is a good deal to ask. Perhaps, we may, someday, return to that state of ease with one another. I should rank the odds of that to be roughly on the same magnitude as your learning to walk on water,” she told him. “Something not beyond all possibilities, but requiring a miracle, nonetheless.”
“On the contrary, no miracle necessary. I most certainly can walk on water, at least when it is in the form of ice and snow, on the winter ground.”
Jane chuckled. “Now, there’s a legal mind at its’ highest form. You be careful about walking on ice, my lord. It is treacherous, indeed.”
“No more so than this conversation,” he dismissed with another chuckle. “You will go to Almack’s tomorrow?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Are you to attend the Langfields’ musical evening on Thursday?”
“Yes. I am to perform.”
“So, what piece will you play?”
“A fairly recent composition by Beethoven, Sonata in fa mineur, the first movement. It was published five years ago in Vienna.”
“I have seen the score. He set the more conventional forms of the sonata on its ear with that piece. Of all the ladies in town, you are surely the only one able to do justice to that rather challenging piece.”
“That is a matter on which you must make your own judgment upon hearing my performance.”
They were spared any further private conversation when Fitz and his partner for the supper dance, the Honorable Miss Alice Downing, joined them at the table.
Chapter Two
Riding home in the carriage with Aunt Augusta, the Duchess of Monmouth, Jane couldn’t help thinking about George, Lord Newport, she mentally corrected herself. He was pursuing her, again. And he was just as charming as ever.
Her aunt spoke to her. Jane realized she hadn’t actually heard the other woman.
“Pardon me, Aunt? I was not attending,” Jane replied.
Her aunt laughed. “Indeed you were not. I said, Newport is well respected. He hasn’t the largest of fortunes, but at fifty thousand a year, it is quite substantial. Not that you particularly need to wed a fortune.”
“You are likely unaware Newport and I once had a private understanding. We carried on a private correspondence for two years before he asked for the return of his letters.”
“No. I was not aware of that. He broke off your betrothal?”
“It was never officially a betrothal. You mustn’t paint his character quite that black. Father refused to grant permission for us to marry, while allowing us to continue a private correspondence, until such time as I came of age and could legally make my own decision.”
“Why would your father have done such a thing?” her aunt said in clear dismay.
“Father believes no lady should marry until she is of legal age. As a clergyman, he cannot prevent early marriages, if the guardians of minors approve. But he is against those unions.”
“That sounds like your father. But to turn down an Earl?”
“When Newport sought my hand, he was merely Mister George Keppel, a barrister and a Member of Parliament. He did not come into the title until his elder brother died three years ago. I received a letter, written on the day of that burial, asking for the return of Newport’s letters.”
“Well, you an adult, now. And he is a widower.”
“Yes. Both of those are true.”
“If Newport comes up to scratch, will you have him?”
“I do not know, Aunt. He broke my heart. It is beyond ironic, though, that I read the notice of his marriage to Lady Lucinda Winston on the very day I put the packet of his letters in the post to him. He never did return my letters.”
“That may say something substantial, in and of itself.”
“We could debate all day if it meant he continued to love me, in spite of having married another, and thus wanted the letters as that was all of me he expected to ever have, or if his keeping my letters was merely an indicator of his boorish manners.”
“The only way to know would be to ask the man, bluntly, about it,” her aunt counseled.
“I could not.”
“You should sit privately with him and have this discussion, Jane.”
“His twin daughters were born not quite five months from the date of their marriage,” Jane said, her voice tight.
Her aunt was silent for a long moment. Her aunt’s voice was tight as she spoke, “Twins often come early, my dear niece. My Gussie and Lizzie were born nearly two months early. Neither of them survived a week. The Duke and your Aunt Katherine were barely eight month babies. It is always a something of a miracle when premature children survive.”
“When any child survives to adulthood,” Jane allowed.
“True enough,” her aunt allowed in a quiet and pained voice. “More children die than survive. It is heartache.”
“I am sorry, Aunt Augusta. I did not mean to cause you pain.”
“Life causes the pain, child,” her aunt dismissed.
“Have you ever heard of four, not quite five, month babies surviving and thriving?” Jane demanded. “His daughters are by all accounts healthy and happy. Have you ever heard of infants coming that soon actually thriving?”
“No,” her aunt admitted on a sigh.
Jane continued, “Yes, twins do often come early. But, these would not have been strong enough to live if they had been conceived during the marriage. So, she had to have been several months with child at the time of their marriage. He was dallying with her while he was writing to me with his declarations of his undying love for me. That betrayal is more than I can tolerate.”
“He did the best he could to make things right. He made sure those babies had a name. Would you have preferred he walked away from her? Would you have had him abandon those innocents?”
“No,” Jane admitted. “I wouldn’t. No child should ever be abandoned. Especially if the child’s mother dies in childbirth, as Lady Newport did. Still, I fear his daughters would be a constant reminder of his untrustworthiness.”
“I understand the fear. Still, you would not be the first lady to have her husband’s children by another woman in her nursery. At least you would know both of them at the beginning and that the children are legitimate. That is much more easily dealt with charitably than discovering one’s husband’s infant by-blows suddenly residing in one’s nursery, several years into one’s marriage. That is a betrayal truly hard to endure. However, those young ladies are innocent in this.”
“I know. However, he is not innocent at all.”
“Men are seldom, if ever, innocent, my dear.”
“Why knowing his character, do his smiles still take my breath away?”
“Head and heart are often in disagreement. You should try to find a way to talk to him, privately, about this. Tell him how deeply he hurt you. And let him make amends.”
“He has clearly proven he is not to be trusted. Without trust, what is there between a man and a woman? Nothing worth much, I daresay.”
“No man is to be trusted absolutely, Jane,” her aunt replied, weariness in her voice. “Every last mother’s son of them will break a woman’s heart at one time or another, in ways big and small. It is just the way men are. Expecting anything else is nearly as fruitful as asking for the sun to rise in the West or for there to be snow in July. One must live within what is.”
Jane looked at her aunt and sighed. She didn’t want to pursue that any further. The ways in which her uncle had broken her aunt’s heart during their forty years of marriage were something she’d rather not know.
Her aunt continued, “You still love Newport. I can hear it in your voice.”
“Most people would say love has precious little to do with marriage,” Jane said on a sigh.
“Then again, that American, Franklin, had it right when he, rather scandalously, said, ‘Where there is marriage without love, there will be love without marriage.’”
Jane laughed. “Oh, Aunt!”
“I know ladies who are proud of the fact they have never loved their husbands. I feel great pity for them,” her aunt replied. “Marriage is difficult enough when there is abundant affection between husband and wife. Without that affection? I shudder to contemplate it.”
Jane was silent for a moment. Then, seeking a way to divert her aunt, offered, “Oh, before I forget to tell you, Fitz will be coming for breakfast tomorrow, or rather later this morning, at nine. Then he and I will be riding out.”
“Would you care to tell me why my son would possibly prefer to stay with Arthur and Anne at their rather small house near St. Paul’s, rather than at Monmouth House?”
“He is a grown man, Aunt. I doubt he actually will be with Arthur very long.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I suspect he shall make his selection of a bride, sweep the young woman off her feet before she knows what hit her, obtain a special license, let Arthur read the marriage service over them, then take her back to Wales as his wife. He can be quite charming and persuasive when he wants to be.”
“You know my son very well,” her aunt said.
“If Sally had received her freedom, instead of the court denying her petition to have Captain Miller declared dead, Fitz would still be happy in the country. He would have married her already. She is the light in his sky and has been since they were children. But, the situation being what it is...”
Her aunt sighed. “There are times, my dear niece, you see far too much.”
“I am not a green debutante who thinks of nothing except her appearance and the latest on-dit.”
“No, that you are not. Have you selected what you shall perform at the Langfields’?”
“Yes, Aunt. I’ll play a piece by Beethoven.”
“I wish you had made a selection by an English composer.”
“I could play one of my own compositions.”
“Somehow, I do not think the polite world is quite ready for women composers.”
“No, Aunt, it is not. That’s why I publish my music under a masculine pen name. Women composers are viewed by the public as akin to a dancing horse; a curiosity is one is amazed to see but which one does not expect to perform with anything remotely approaching grace or dignity.”
Her aunt laughed. “Oh, Jane. What am I to do with you?”
“Since I do not know what I am to do with myself, why should you have any inkling of what to do with me?”
“You shall have a house and family of your own, soon. I see how the gentlemen look at you.”
“There are times I believe they are looking at my fortune, instead of at me.”
“There’s always some of that. There are two P’s of marriage, progeny and property.”
“Mother always said marriage was a mixed bowl of P’s; partnership, propriety, payments, perseverance, perceptions, politics, performance, peacemaking, perturbation, peevish-ness, paradox, power, passion, parlourmaids, pastry-cooks, postillions, peers, pastors, patriarchs, pianofortes, pity, pride, pain, plasters, pleasures, peccadilloes, pomposities, pastures, picnics, patriotism, pin-money, property, progency, but most of all prayer and patience.”
“I do miss your mother. Although you do not favor her in looks, you are very much like her in demeanor.”
“Aunt, that is by far the kindest thing anyone has said to me in some time. I do miss her.”
“As we all do. You know, Jane, we should find your father a second wife. I have a lady in mind for him.”
“I doubt he is ready to think about that, Aunt.”
“Gentlemen are never ready to think about that, Niece. It is our duty to see to their comfort, even when, I daresay especially when, they themselves will not do so.”
Chapter Three
Jane came into the breakfast room, a few minutes before nine on Wednesday morning, wearing one of her new riding habits. Her aunt sat at the end of the table, working through the morning post.
“You have a letter,” her aunt said. “It is beside your plate.”
Jane served herself from the warming dishes on the sideboard and poured herself a cup of hot chocolate.
“You have several invitations for the next few weeks, Janey. We shall have a busy time, ahead of us.”
“All weeks in the Season are busy, Aunt Augusta, between calls, dinners, theatre, musical evenings, balls, and such,” Jane said as she sat down beside her aunt and opened the letter. It read, “My dear Miss Sommersby, I feel I must warn you about the Earl of Newport. I have seen how he looks at you. I am quite terrified for you. The man is not to be trusted with any woman’s safety. Frankly, he is little different from a fiend. His late wife complained often of his ill-treatment of her. If you are wise, if you care about your safety and happiness, you will not encourage him in the least in his pursuit of you. Women who become involved with him do not live long and happy lives. I remain, your friend.”
Jane looked up at her aunt. “Aunt. You need to read this.” She handed her aunt the letter.
After scanning the missive, her aunt said, “It is a woman’s hand. I have heard of such things, anonymous notes sent to romantic rivals, to frighten them away from the gentleman in question. Yet, this is the first time I have actually seen one of those dire missives. Quite obviously, someone does not want you to become involved with Newport.”
“What should I do about this?”
“Save the letter, for now. If the person has written once, chances are she will write again. Perhaps, we can determine who it is. What she has written is quite likely actionable as it defames a peer of the realm. That is a serious crime. Save the letter. It may become evidence.”
“You think so?”
“At any rate, it is the woman’s opening move. It may be her only one. Yet, it is quite likely not to be. To whom, other than to you, is Newport paying court?”
“I really couldn’t begin to say. I suppose I must attend more to his actions.”
“That would be a good idea.”
“Good morning, Mother, Cousin Jane,” the Marquess of FitzSimmons said as he walked into the room and headed towards the sideboard.
Jane folded up the letter. She motioned for Harrison, the house steward. She handed him the letter and quietly asked that it be taken to her room.
“Good morning, Son. How are you?” her aunt said.
“I am well, Mother. Would you care to come riding with us this morning?”
“No. I have far too much correspondence today to have time to be out of the house. Your father has already left for a morning of meetings at the Home Office.”
“Do you need my assistance, Aunt?” Jane asked.
“No, Jane, go out riding with Fitz,” her aunt replied. “With a bit of quiet, I should be able to answer these invitations and supervise the workers in the ballroom. There is much to be done yet in preparation for your ball next week.”
“As long as you are certain you do not need my help, Aunt,” Jane said.
“Youth should never be wasted. Go, enjoy your exercise. It seems a lovely day. Remember, though, Madame Reynard’s shop, today at noon, for the fitting of our gowns for your ball.”
“You are taking a large amount of enjoyment from this, Mother,” Fitz observed, with a smile.
“And why should I not? Your cousin is the only young lady I may ever chaperone through a Season. I cannot see me doing this for Arthur’s daughters, Katherine and Elizabeth. I shall be much too old to have the strength to endure the rigors of the Season, if I am even alive, in sixteen years. I intend to enjoy this to the fullest. Life goes by so terribly quickly. It seems like such a short time ago I was a young lady in my Season. Life goes by entirely too quickly. Take the advice of an old woman. Enjoy each day God grants you.”
“Now, Aunt, you sound like my mother,” Jane replied.
“I can only hope to be as wise as Lydia was,” her aunt said, sipping her tea.
Twenty minutes later, she and her cousin were mounted on fine horses and riding side by side.
“Very well, cousin,” she said. “Tell me what qualities you seek in a bride.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug.
He spoke, “Naturally, she has to from a good family and be a well behaved woman. She should have the ability to converse intelligently. She must be sensible, not flighty. She must have good household management skills. She has to be healthy. She has to come with a considerable dowry, not that I need or want her money, but I do not want a woman marrying me for the money I will have when I become the Duke.”
“Naturally, Cousin. The larger question I see is: Are you, yourself, healthy, so that you shall not be bringing any unspeakable diseases to your bride and future children?”
He made a choked sound. “I am free from all disease.”
“I am delighted to hear that. What other traits do you desire in a bride?”
“She has to have a sense of humor, and not be given to either excessive gaming or excessive use of spirits. She has to be young enough to give me children. I do not require a debutante or a great beauty. But I’d prefer a woman who was, at least, easy on the eyes and who was likely to age well.”
“This too is expected. Continue.”
“She has to enjoy horses and racing, as much of my current income is derived from the stud, and I want to be able to discuss business matters with my wife, without having to explain everything endlessly.”
“I’d anticipated that much.”
“I’d prefer a woman who is musical. I do love music.”
“I know you do.”
“She has to be willing to live simply in the country until such time as I come into the title. She has to have a charitable nature and be willing to look out for the tenants. I’d prefer if she enjoyed politics, as that will, eventually, be a big part of our lives.”
“Those will be difficult to find in one woman, Cousin.”
“I do not know about that. Each of those is present in you.”
“I fear there are not many ladies in the marriage mart who are like me, Cousin.”
“But you are here,” he said.
“You cannot mean to marry me,” Jane replied, shocked at the very thought that he was asking her to marry him.
“Would you not care to be a duchess?”
He wasn’t teasing her, she realized. This was a serious offer. And he was hurt she hadn’t immediately agreed. She mentally scrambled to find a way to answer him that wouldn’t hurt him further. She said, her voice low, “You have always been as a brother to me.”
“I wish I could promise you we could always live as brother and sister. Yet, that would be a lie. I would require children from you, several fine sons to insure the continuation of the title. Once that was accomplished, I would not come to your bed again, unless you desired my company. In exchange, you would have my name, my substantial fortune, and considerable status, first as the Lady FitzSimmons then as the Duchess of Monmouth, to be patroness to the causes dear to your heart, like the education of the blind and of poor children. You are my friend. Our friendship needn’t change with the addition of breeding.”
She rode beside him for a long time, thinking. “Cousin,” she began.
“So, you are still speaking to me. I did wonder if I’d offended you so thoroughly that you would never again speak to me.”
“I could do the pretty and give you the ‘I am deeply honored’ speech. However, I shan’t do that. I do love you, in my own way, as a brother. We could make as good of a marriage as many in the ton, likely better, as we have a longstanding, deep, friendship as a basis.”
“That was my thought,” he agreed.
“Yet, you must know another man holds my heart, and has for years.”
“Newport.”
“You are extremely observant.”
“I know both you and Newport. He and I read law together at Oxford. He told me he had planned to offer for you, five years ago.”
“He did. Father deferred his suit until I came into my majority.”
“Subsequently, Newport married Lady Lucinda Winston right after he came into his title. The twins were born fairly hard on the heels of his marriage. And Lady Newport died.”
“That all is true,” Jane allowed.
“I am surprised you even speak to him, let alone dance and eat with him.”
“I am civil to nearly everyone. Besides, if the former relationship between Newport and myself ever became publicly known…well, ladies’ reputations and prospects have been irreparably damaged over less. I cannot afford to be remotely seen as ‘used goods’.”
“You are hardly ‘used goods’.”
“Some would call me so, if the former agreement between Newport and myself were to be publicly known.”
“You are still in love with him.”
“I do not trust him. How I feel about him is irrelevant without trust. Emotions are not always trustworthy.”
He sighed. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“What about with the lives of any of your children?”
“You would never harm any child.”
“Then will you marry me?”
“Your own heart is still owned by another lady.”
She saw him stiffen.
“Now, do not go formal on me!” she chided him. Then her voice softened, “Sally is my friend, as well as our cousin, albeit of the second degree. Some called it calf love between you two. I never did. I have always hoped the two of you might have married.”
“Her father refused my suit, when we were both ten and seven, saying I was too young to marry and he would not make his daughter into an old maid in order to wait on me to finish my education and establish myself in a career. Of course, when I asked for her hand, William was still alive, and my prospects were that of a younger son. Her father gave her to Miller, who was already established in his naval career.”
“Captain Miller should have been declared dead.”
“I agree. He was absent from their marital home for seven long years before she filed the petition. He’s now been gone for nine, nearly ten, years.”
“She did all she could do. Everyone believes him dead. I feel so badly for the two of you. This all is a tragedy.”
“I would marry her, if that were possible. I know many people believe Sally is my mistress. I would not wish you to believe that of me, or of her. I would not have insulted her by offering her a slip on the shoulder.”
“Sally would slap your face, or far worse, if you were to offer her carte blanche.”
“Rightly so.”
“As I wrote you last week, you have my greatest sympathy and you’ve remained in my prayers.”
“You far too kind to me.”
“We have known one another all my life, and most of yours. We know one another better than most people ever know another.”
He sighed. “This is true, Cousin.”
“We can keep open the option of marriage between us for the rest of the Season. We should, however, look for suitable partners for ourselves elsewhere. If neither of us finalizes an attachment to another by the end of the Season, then we can have the banns called in July in both our home parishes and marry in August at the Cathedral in Salisbury with my father officiating.”
“What about a settlement document?”
“My property and income are in trust as the sole surviving descendant of Josiah Chambers and will never belong to my husband, whoever that may be, nor be attachable by his debtors. Under the terms of the trust I will direct the investments and disbursements for as long as I live, then my female descendants, if any, will share that directorship following my death. Should I have no female children, the trust will pass in its entirety to my male descendants. At which point the trust shall be no more. Should I die without living issue at all, the principal sum will be given to St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, to be used for the relief of the poor.”
“Your grandfather set that up to protect your mother’s assets.”
“He did. I can send a note around to my solicitor, Mister Edwards, giving him permission to discuss my business affairs with you, and to allow you to inspect the trust’s books.”
“Matthew Edwards?”
“Yes.”
Her cousin smiled. “He and I were at Oxford together. His family have been London solicitors for generations. Good men all.”
“My grandfather trusted them, implicitly. As do I.”
“Then, you are taking my offer seriously?”
“A female who does not take any offer of marriage seriously is mad.”
He laughed. “And mad is one thing you are not.”
“There are people who might argue that point.”
He chuckled. “That, my dear, could be said of myself as well.”
“We each may each find someone with whom we could be more than merely comfortable companions,” she said.
“Or we may not.”
“Or we may not. If we do not, then we marry one another, at the end of the Season, knowing we have done the best we can do for ourselves. We, then, would go on with our lives and be happy together, with no regrets. Until then, we continue to look at the people the Season puts before us, seeking a suitable spouse, apart from one another.”
“Definitely. That sounds like a very good plan, Cousin.”
“Meanwhile, I have three suitable ladies to introduce to you. All of them meet your list of requirements in one way or another. Indeed, most of them shall likely be at Almack’s tonight. Do you have a ticket for tonight’s assembly?”
“I do. Tell me about the ladies you believe are suitable for me.”
“Miss Emma Barrett, the daughter of General Sir Allen Barrett, is a fine horsewoman. She shared her brothers’ tutors until they went to Oxford and she is an accomplished harpist. Beyond that, she is a truly good person whom I genuinely like.”
“Robert Barrett, her brother, and I were at Oxford together. Good family.”
“Yes, they are. Then there is Miss Juliet Chadwick. Miss Chadwick is the eldest of twelve children and has been her father’s housekeeper since the death of their mother eight years ago. They are an old Yorkshire family with connections to my grandfather Chambers. She is a good hearted woman. She was engaged to an army officer. Her fiancé died six years ago, a month before they were to have wed.”
“Go on.”
“Lady Melinda Carothers.”
“Smithfield’s sister?”
“Indeed.”
“Hmmm…They have fine stables.”
“They do. And Lady Melinda is as fine of a horsewoman as any you are likely to find.”
They rode and talked for almost another hour until they returned to Monmouth House in Grosvenor Square.
“Would you come in?” she asked.
“No. I have an obligation.”
“Shall we ride again, soon?”
“Of course. Shall we ride in the mornings, as long as both of us are in town?”
“I should like that,” Jane agreed.
“As should I. Too often in town, especially during the fashionable hours, the parks are far too crowded. You are wise to ride for exercise at this hour.”
“I am usually wise,” she teased.
“Except when you are foolish,” he teased in return.
“That too,” she agreed with a chuckle as she dismounted and handed the reins over to the armed groom who had followed them on horseback at a suitable distance, allowing them to talk.
“Brush Ruby down well and give her a measure of oats, will you, Jaime?” she told the groom.
“Yes, Miss,” the groom replied with a smile.
“Until tomorrow,” Jane said.
“I’ll see you at Almack’s tonight,” he replied. “Save two dances for me.”
“No more than two,” Jane corrected.
He sighed. “As you wish.”
Chapter Four
Jane watched her cousin ride off before she entered the house. She went to her aunt’s workroom. As usual, of late, Aunt’s sewing circle was busy working on duvets for the beds of a foundling home.
“Did you have a pleasant ride?” her aunt asked as she looked up from her sewing.
“Spending time with Fitz is always pleasant. He and I have always been the best of friends.”
“Yes, you have. It is a good thing to have good friends in one’s family,” her aunt stated.
“Indeed. I shall change, quickly. Then I will come to work.”
“Thank you, Niece.”
Twenty minutes later, Jane was in the workroom, wearing an apron over her morning dress and seated at the quilting frame working on one of the duvets the ladies were making.
It was less than a half hour later when the ladies all left. “Aunt Augusta?” Jane asked, hesitating, not wanting to raise the issue, but knowing she must.
“Yes, dear?”
“I can confirm Fitz is desirous of settling down and starting his nursery.”
Her aunt smiled broadly. “You cannot know how happy that makes me.”
“I told him I would assist him in his search for a bride.”
“That is most kind of you, my dear.”
“I wish him happy, above all.”
“I know you do. There have been times I have harbored hopes you and he might marry.”
She shrugged and smiled. “Perhaps we would not be so badly matched, after all. Time will tell.”
Her aunt smiled. “No, you should not badly suited at all. Oh, I plan to stop at Hatchard’s on the way home from the modiste, to purchase new books for your uncle.”
“Good. I have a list of volumes I should like to have, as well. Sally wrote me of a novel she has just read.”
A quarter hour later, they were in the barouche and on the way to the dressmakers.
“If we have any luck, perhaps Madame will have your white gown ready for fitting, as well. You were extremely wise to order that gown when you did. You never know when some gentleman might decide to sweep you off your feet, and have a special license in his pocket.”
“You may well be right about that. I’d originally thought I might simply cut down my court gown, making the skirt far less full than it is. But, that gown is hideous.”
“As long as the Regent allows his mother to maintain the fashions at Court that were in style during her youth, Court Dress will be hideous to modern eyes.”
Jane said, “We have Almack’s tonight. The Langfields’ musical evening is tomorrow. Friday evening, we have been invited to several routs. Although, I am so weary of making an appearance at one house after another, with so many people crammed into the house that one can hardly breathe, unable to actually converse with anyone, that I am willing to forego the routs, in favor of a quiet evening at home.”
Her aunt smiled. “They are sad crushes, are they not? Very well, a quiet evening at home sounds lovely to me. We could use some time to rest in the middle of the ever moving whirl that is the Season.”
“I should say. Saturday evening, we go to the theatre. Sunday is Church and a dinner party with Uncle’s political cronies, Sunday evening. Then Monday we start all over again with a ball at the Dennison’s, and ending next week with my ball on Friday evening.”
“The Season does necessitate a good calendar.”
“I am weary of the chase for pleasure, Aunt. None of this has a thing to do with real life. The seven hundred pounds I have spent on clothes and entertainments in the past few weeks could have paid the wages of a dozen housemaids for well over two years.”
“People might mistake you for a Methodist,” her aunt replied with a small laugh.
“One does not have to be a Nonconformist to care about treating people with justice,” Jane replied.
“No. We all do what we can in our own holdings to make things better for our tenants and villagers.”
“You and Uncle are good to your tenants. You always have provided well for them.”
“Much of that falls to Fitz now, as your uncle is occupied in Town much of the time at the Home Office and Lords. My husband needs me in Town to be his hostess, or I should have preferred to remain in the country. However, this is the life of a woman. Not that I am complaining. The Duke has been a good husband and father. He does his duty to the country, and I do my duty to him.”
“My father is very much occupied with the affairs of his diocese. I know he is appreciative of your allowing him to stay at Monmouth House when he has to be in Town.”
“There is no sense in his maintaining the expenses of a house in Town, particularly without your dear mama, as he is only here for brief times when significant measures are being debated in Lords. Otherwise, I know he prefers to be occupied with his writing and his diocese.”
“Then again, it is a good thing for men to have occupations, as it prevents them from being underfoot all the time. At least, that is what my mother used to say,” Jane replied.
Her aunt laughed. “Your mother always amused me.”
“Speaking of amusements, you will let me pay the bills on my ball, will you not?”
“Of course, I will not. Your uncle and I are only too happy to give this ball for you. We give only one large party each Season. This year, you give us a tremendous excuse.”
“Between the wines, the supper, the candles, the musicians, the extra servants, I would be surprised if the bills for this ball failed to exceed three hundred pounds. Not counting the cost of our new gowns, of course.”
“It will likely be more than that. We are to serve lobster patties, and a few other delicacies, along with very good wines.”
“Aunt, I wish you had not gone to that expense.”
“Monmouth can well afford it, whatever this party costs.”
“As can I. Uncle should not have to bear the brunt of this,” Jane replied.
“This ball is no more elaborate than any we have given before. As I said, we entertain lavishly only once a year.”
The coach pulled to a stop. The footman came to the door and let down the step.
They went into the exclusive shop of the dressmaker.
The shop owner greeted them with warmth.
“Bonjour, Madame,” her aunt replied at the same time Jane herself greeted the shopkeeper.
“Would you take a cordial?” the dressmaker asked.
An hour later, Jane stood before the mirror looking at herself in her ballgown. The dress itself was stunning, and quite the most expensive gown she had ever had or was likely ever to have; white silk overlaid white silk net which was embroidered all over in silver strip, until the dress seemed to float as a silver gossamer, trimmed in silver lace at the hem and bottom of the belled sleeves. She’d wear it with silk slippers covered in silver lace, along with white kid gloves that came up over her elbows.
“Mademoiselle?” the dress shop owner asked.
“It is perfect, Madame. Perhaps, you might have the white silk and brussels lace gown ready for fitting as well?”
“Of course, Mademoiselle. This is to be a wedding dress, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” Jane agreed with a small smile.
“C’est vrai?” the dressmaker asked, smiling. “Who is the lucky nobleman?”
“Can you keep a secret?” Jane asked.
“Certainly,” the dressmaker said.
“As can I,” Jane replied.
Her aunt laughed. “You have a wicked sense of humor, Niece.”
“Madame,” Jane said, turning again to the modiste, “I do wish to have the fitting for the gown. The sooner it is complete, the happier I will be. However, I have no firm commitment to wed anyone, at this time. ”
“Of course, Mademoiselle, I should be happy to do the final fitting today,” the Frenchwoman replied with a smile. “Go now with Marie, who will help you change.”
As she went to the changing rooms, Jane heard Madame Reynard say, “Now, la Duchesse, how else may I be of service to you?”
Leaving the shop forty-five minutes later, they went to the bookseller’s.
Jane stood at a display of recently published sheet music. She had a score in her hand, reading it. Lost in the music, she was jarred rudely from her interior world by a man walking into her and nearly knocking her to the floor.
His strong hands reached out to steady her, to keep her from falling. She looked at him. He seemed an average enough English gentleman, somewhere in his mid thirties, she guessed. Certainly, he was no one she knew. His suit said he was a gentleman. The cut and the fabric said he was not wealthy. His large eyes seemed to contain all of the world’s sorrows and more than a bit of the madness. Instantly, Jane felt a mixture of deep pity and wariness towards the man.
“I say!” she said.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he said as he steadied and released her. His speech was cultured, not common.
“No harm done, sir,” she allowed.
He stooped to pick up his book. She noted it was a Book of Common Prayer.
“Are you a clergyman, sir?” she asked.
“No,” he answered. “I deal in foreign trade, most recently with Russia.”
Now, that was interesting. “You have spent time in Russia, then?”
She hadn’t thought it possible but his eyes became even more unhappy for a moment, then burning rage flashed in his eyes accentuating the madness, before he brought himself quickly under control.
“I have spent several years there,” he said, his voice stark. “Before you ask, Russia is akin to hell, if you’ll pardon the strong speech, Miss.”
Then he hurried off.
“Are you uninjured?” her aunt demanded.
“The gentleman simply was not looking where he was going, Aunt. No harm done,” Jane replied.
Leaving the bookshop, Jane said, “I would like to call by my solicitor’s office, Aunt. Have we time?”
“Of course, give John Coachman the directions.”
Jane gave the address to the driver.
Twenty-five minutes later, the coach pulled to a stop before the offices of her lawyer.
“Your Grace, Miss Sommersby,” Mr. James, the clerk, said in obvious surprise. “Did you have an appointment?”
“No, I did not. I should like ten minutes of Mr. Edwards’ time, if he can see me. If not, I should like for him to call on me tomorrow morning around ten, at Monmouth House,” Jane offered.
“Allow me to check his calendar.”
A few minutes later, the law clerk returned. “He will see you now, Miss.”
Her aunt accompanied her into the solicitor’s office.
“Your grace, Miss Sommersby. This is a pleasant surprise. Pray be seated. Would you have a glass of lemonade, or perhaps a cup of tea?”
“Neither, thank you,” Jane said. “I’ll be brief, Mr. Edwards.”
“You know you may take all the time you need,” the solicitor said. “It is always a pleasure to have you across the desk from me.”
Jane nodded. “Kind of you. Let me get right to the matter at hand. My cousin FitzSimmons and I have begun discussing the possibility of our marrying.”