by Jenny Plumb
The ladies withdrew after dinner, leaving the two old friends to take a glass of porter together and smoke cigars at table. Benedict leaned back in his chair, unbuttoned his waistband, giving a sigh of relief.
“I must commend Cook on a wonderful dinner, she is a treasure.”
“Indeed!” Thomas responded, sipping his port.
“Thomas.”
“Hmm?”
“I have a question to ask of you, one that has niggled at me for years, it is of rather a personnel nature but might I ask?”
“Of course.” Thomas was intrigued.
“Please do not be offended by this enquiry, my dear fellow, but I wondered whatever caused you to fall in love with the lovely Margaret? As I recall, she was far from amenable when you married her!”
Thomas surprised Benedict by chuckling at his question.
“I confess, I wasn’t expecting that question! But since you ask, Margaret is a very beautiful lady; the first time I saw her she was laughing merrily, her whole face lit with happiness. Her lovely blue eyes twinkled with mirth, her whole demeanour joyful. The next I saw her, nearly a year had passed, and she looked so disconsolate and wretched. I longed to put that smile back upon her pretty face, now so sulky and scornful. I asked her to dance with me but she coldly spurned me, haughty as any queen. She was quite magnificent in her set down, but her pretty blue eyes were so deeply melancholy that I determined to rescue her, to bring happiness back into her life, and so I attempted to court her, all to no avail. I saw that she was souring, month upon month, year upon year; her mother filled her impressionable young head with spite and unachievable expectations.”
“Huh, such as marrying me.” Benedict referred to Amelia Beauchamp’s determination to marry her daughter to him as the king’s second cousin.
“Precisely,” Thomas agreed. “After a time I realised that I was getting nowhere and decided that I needed to concentrate on two particular things if I was to have any chance at winning her: the first, to restore my family’s good name and fortune, the second to learn how to make Margaret happy, once I had won her hand. I embarked upon a mission of practice with every harridan I could entertain, learning that which sweetened their natures and would best effect change, the rest you know.”
Benedict raised his glass to Thomas. “I salute you, sir, for your amazing success in achieving both your aims!”
Thomas inclined his head, accepting his friend’s admiration.
Chapter 5
The following morning was St. Stephen’s Day, the day alms were handed out to the poor. The weather bloomed fair but icy, and the walk to give coin to the poor turned out to be a surprisingly fun excursion. The older children threw snowballs at the adults and then turned the fight onto one another. The younger ones sat perched upon the sleigh, tugged along alternately by Thomas, then Benedict.
The less fortunate of the parish waited silently in the bitter cold, standing outside the large wrought iron estate gates, huddled together for warmth dressed only in their thin and ragged clothes. The outside estate retainers, such as groundsmen, gardeners and stable hands were gathered inside the grounds, dressed in warm greatcoats, they huddled near a lit brazier where roasted chestnuts sizzled. Occasionally, the men took handfuls of the hot nuts over to the poor wretches who stood shivering outside the gate.
The gardeners and undergardeners began to sing carols loudly and lustily as they saw the family approach, waving cheerfully to the children as their master arrived to distribute monetary alms.
After charity and duty were dispensed with, the family romped home together, playing in the deep snow. Thomas and Benedict threw snowballs at each other and the children before launching the sledge downhill. Piled high with their shrieking, rosy cheeked offspring, the sledge sped downward, tipping over at the bottom of the slope, tilting the children into soft drifts of cushioning snow, amidst giggling shrieks of excitement.
On their return, they found the household staff lined up within the hallway, each member of staff respectfully awaiting their own monetary gift. Once a servant had received their coin they bobbed a curtsy or bowed, all waited until the final gift was given before they dispersed, making haste to visit their own families.
On St. Stephen’s Day, a cold collation was laid in the dining room for luncheon, self-served by the family; thus, enabling as many of the staff as possible to visit their loved ones.
After lunch, Nanny put the babes down for their afternoon nap. Rose and Margaret gathered their daughters and made their way to Rose’s private boudoir. Rose’s eldest son Harrington stayed behind with his father to play with his new wooden hobbyhorse.
After the two women left the room, their husbands continued their seemingly never ending discussion on horse flesh, as Harrington charged about the room yelling, “Tally-ho!” The two men simply raised their voices above the child’s excited cries and carried on their discussion regardless.
Once seated before the fire, their daughters playing happily at their feet, each engrossed with her dolls and crib, the two women settled back for a cosy private chat.
“So you, too, have received an invitation to this mysterious ball to be held upon New Year’s Day?” Margaret had been waiting to raise the subject of the invitation ever since she had first arrived.
“I was about to enquire the very same of you, my dear. Yes indeed, and I wish to attend, but only if you will agree to accompany me.”
“Thomas has forbid me, so I shall need to be back before the hunt returns.”
“Margaret dear, is it wise to be present if your husband forbade you?” asked Rose with a frown of concern.
“I have corresponded with Imogene and she received an invitation to this ball for herself and her house guests. She has had no such warning from Charles. I tend to think that perhaps Thomas is simply being his usual overprotective self.”
Rose tittered. “Immy wrote to say that she deliberately withheld the invitation from Charles, because she fears he will deny her attendance and you know our Imogene, she will do anything to avoid a spanking.”
“Whereas you, my dear Rose, have kept the knowledge of this ball from your husband, no doubt with the hopeful expectation of just such a chastisement!”
The two friends giggled. Imogene was a shy and obedient wife, one who avoided trouble whenever she could. However, she had confided to her friends on more than one occasion that she rather enjoyed matters when her husband Charles took her in hand, but only so long as it was mildly.
“Well one thing is for certain, we can be assured of Claudia’s presence at the ball, for she is always up for anything involving mischief!” Margaret said with a chuckle.
“What do you know of Harriett’s sister, um, I cannot recall her name?” Rose mused.
“Helen, I only met her the once, whilst visiting Oliver and Harriett along with Imogene when we were all invited up to Yorkshire... Octavia, you do not snatch like that!” Margaret leaned forward to intervene in the children’s tiff. She added a sharp reprimand to her small daughter who was now clutching both dolls, a cry of injustice came from Rose’s daughter. Margaret reached over and plucked a doll from Octavia’s possessive grip, handing it back to her rightful owner.
Peace restored, Rose continued her questions about Helen and Harriett. Talk soon moved onto their choice of ball gowns. Tea was served by Roberts himself, the loyal butler considered the family to be his own, as did Nanny. They would never abandon their posts, no, not even at Christmastide.
“So Imogene and her guests arrive on New Year’s Eve?” Margaret asked as she sipped delicately at her china tea. Rose confirmed that indeed they were expected for New Year, right through until the twelfth night wassail.
Merriton Hall at New Year...
Richard was thoroughly sick of his wife’s continued whining. Either she was too cold or too hot, too bored or tired, had a megrim or stomach complaint. He found himself contemplating what had been unthinkable only a week previous; he was seriously considering spanking his
wife. Richard was actually so determined to enact his decision that he positively looked forward to meeting Sir Thomas Wiggington, the man he had heard so much about from Lord Charles. What he hadn’t expected was to find that the man in question had a most delightfully attractive wife. He had been falsely led to believe that Margaret Wiggington was a shrew, but instead he found her to be utterly delightful.
Margaret Wiggington was everything womankind should be, respectful, delightful, extremely pretty and deferential to her husband. Everything, in fact, that Helen was not. It did not escape Richard’s notice that Margaret was of a similar build to Helen, except for her shiny brown hair with a hint of chestnut whereas Helen’s locks were of wheaten gold, but the lovely expressive blue eyes were similar. The difference lay in the lady’s demeanour. He could not believe that this lady had ever behaved like a shrew.
Thomas watched as Richard Lancaster kissed his Margaret’s hand for the umpteenth time that day. As he watched, he felt something move within his chest, it slithered over his shoulder and down his spine. He recognised the feeling only too well. It was an emotion he’d acquired from years of watching Margaret dance with every other fellow except him. Thomas had stood invisible to her on the sideline, unnoticed by either Margaret or her very ambitious toady of a mother. He knew for a fact that he was suffering from a very large dose of green jealousy. He strode over to post himself beside his wife. Slipping a possessive arm about her waist he tucked her into his side in a proprietary manner. Margaret glanced up at Thomas’s set face with confusion writ clear upon her pretty countenance.
Richard gave a slight bow, Thomas inclined his head. “I would speak with you on a private matter, Sir Thomas, when you can spare me a moment of your time.”
“A business matter?” Thomas asked.
“No, a delicate matter, but one that Lord Charles assures me you could help me with, sir.”
Thomas studied Richard Lancaster with sharpened interest. Did the chap mean that he had marital problems? He gave the man a positive smile while casting his eye over Helen Lancaster who was seated beside the fire, a fire screen set beside her, protecting her pale complexion from the heat. She had a rather familiar dour expression set firm upon her delicate features and she positively oozed irritability. Hmm, so that was the way of it. Something did not sit fair with that young woman. It quickly dawned upon Thomas that Richard was more likely to be enamoured with Margaret if his own wife was as embittered as she appeared to be. It behoved him to ensure that the couple’s marriage ran along smooth lines if he wanted to protect his wife from Richard’s amorous overtures.
Richard observed Thomas as he bent to graze his lips along Margaret’s pretty cheek and ended by whispering into her ear. He watched an endearing dimple appear as she smiled sweetly up into her husband’s twinkling eyes. He sighed, if only Helen gazed at him with half that adoration. He wondered what Thomas Wiggington said to his wife to gain such a reaction from her. She dipped into a small curtsy, prettily taking her leave and moved across the room to speak with her friend Claudia. Richard smiled as he watched the two ladies chatter. He determined he would follow Sir Thomas’s advice to the letter. He wanted a wife as amenable and sweet natured as Lady Margaret.
Thomas hailed Benedict who made his way across the room to join them. “I wonder if I might have the use of your study for a half hour or so?”
Benedict winked. “Ah-ha, I thought as much, Margaret playing up, is she? The tawse is still in the right hand drawer of my desk; take as long as you need, dear fellow.”
Thomas shook his head. “You mistake me, my friend. I need privacy to discuss something of importance with Mr. Lancaster.” He gestured toward Richard and Benedict bowed.
“My mistake; I apologise, Thomas. Of course you may use my study; it is at your disposal.” He stepped back and watched thoughtfully as the gentlemen left the room. He wondered what that was all about and then he noticed Charles watching him with a knowing eye. Benedict wandered over to his brother-in-law. “Out with it Haffenden, I can see that you are already in the know.”
Charles leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Well...”
“So dear sir, how may I be of assistance?” Thomas asked, as they each settled into the comfortable leather armchairs in Benedict Mortimer’s well appointed study.
Richard coughed nervously, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I think I explained it is of a rather delicate nature. However, Lord Haffenden seemed to think that you would be the fellow to best advise me on this matter. I am at a loss to know which direction I should take... d’you see?” He looked hopefully across at Thomas.
“Am I to understand that you are experiencing marital disharmony?” Thomas asked, direct and to the point.
Richard coughed once again. “I suppose my answer to your question has to be in the affirmative.”
“Please excuse my blunt approach, but have I leave to ask – do you love your wife?”
“Yes, I do indeed!” Richard replied a little indignantly.
“May I ask, again bluntly, did your troubles begin before or after your wedding night?”
Richard coloured up at the direct question. “Um, most certainly the latter.”
“So your wife does not enjoy your physical co-joining?”
Richard shook his head gloomily. “No, she does not, but then I am told that ladies generally cannot, so I expected nothing less. She has been out of sorts and out of temper lately. Nothing I do or say placates her, and frankly sir, I am at a loss at how I should proceed.” He spread his hands apart in a defeated gesture.
Thomas spent a moment digesting Richard’s remark. “I am astounded that some gentlemen still believe in this enlightened age of the eighteenth century that ladies should not be granted pleasure within the marital bed.”
Richard’s head snapped up. “I beg pardon?”
“Women need to be fulfilled in the bedchamber. In my opinion they should be cherished, petted and adored. If they break their vow of obedience, then their naughty derrière should pay the price. I have never yet found a marriage centered upon these principals to fail, Mr. Lancaster.”
“Oh! Well, I... well...” Richard floundered.
Thomas jumped to his feet and busied himself at the desk searching out paper, quill and ink. “There is no time to lose. I shall instruct you as best I can, but I shall needs be extremely candid, is that acceptable to you, sir?”
“Yes, do not spare my blushes, Sir Thomas; just teach me all I need to know!”
Thomas drew diagrams, flexed his fingers to show Richard how to use his digits to best advantage and explained his need for complete control within the boudoir. Finally satisfied he could impart no more knowledge to the beleaguered bridegroom, Thomas moved across to the decanter, one that Benedict had deliberately ordered placed, ready for his guests to enjoy. Thomas poured them each a restorative brandy.
“I have taught you all that I can on paper, the rest is now up to you, I wish you good luck with your quest, Mr. Lancaster.”
“I thank you kindly, Sir Thomas. May I count upon your discretion regarding our conversation today?”
“What conversation would that be, dear chap?” Thomas winked. The two men touched goblets and downed their drinks.
New Year’s Eve was spent in musical entertainment and song. Each member of the house party was to do their part in entertaining their peers. The older children started off the night by singing I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In. They sung in harmony, their family and friends watching with hearts in mouths as the young innocents sang so sweetly. They were only allowed to leave after giving them another rather more enthusiastically rendered encore, which was received with cheers and applause, many a parent found themselves choked and misty-eyed as their offspring finally departed to retire, led upstairs by Nanny to their nursery to prepare for bed.
The evening finished with an aria sung by Rose Mortimer. Her lilting voice was so beautiful that she had once sung before the governor whilst still living in Willi
amsburg, Virginia with her father. The ladies departed for their beds not long afterward, but the gentlemen chose to remain and linger, intent upon a nightcap whilst playing a frame of billiards. Then, later still, Roberts served them coffee, hot chocolate and mince pies in the withdrawing room. The men thought this a fine end to their evening and lolled about drowsily, enjoying the blazing warmth of the Yuletide fire.
Chapter 6
Helen lay in the darkened bedchamber hoping that Richard would not disturb her slumber when he entered. The worst of this visit was her surprise at the sharing of a bedchamber, especially since she had fully expected to be given separate sleeping arrangements. At least at home she had a door to her bedchamber fitted with a stout lock and key, one that she fully intended using a lot more frequently upon her return to Yorkshire.
Tossing and turning, she found it difficult to get to sleep and just as she settled comfortably, the door creaked ajar. She stiffened; slowing her breathing, she kept very quiet. Richard entered carrying a chamberstick. Helen peeked through slitted lids and was livid to see her husband light the Bougie candle set beside the bed. She huffed softly; it was typically thoughtless of him to light the room thus.
“Helen, are you awake?”
She sighed as he turned and spoke to her. “I was sound asleep until you blundered in and lit up the chamber like morning!” she spat, turning her back upon him and bashing her goose down pillow into submission with an angry fist. Moments later a light shone across her eyelids. Opening her eyes she found Richard standing there glowering down at her, a serious frown marring his handsome features.
