BLYTHE COURT
(Novella)
“Romance with a Kiss of Suspense”
ISBN # 978-0-9885738-7-1
Copyright © 2015 Nora Covington
Published by Holland & Eyre Press
All Rights Reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
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Work of Fiction
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Novella
Approximately 36,300 Words
Dedication
In honor of my second great grandmother, Ann Seddon.
Born 1829 in Little Hulton, Lancashire, United Kingdom;
Died 1898 Lancashire, United Kingdom.
Sections
My Presentation
The Search
The Weekend Party
Off to the Hunt
Loveless Proposal
The Marquess
Return to Blythe Court
The Way of Things
Multiple Choices
The Dinner Party
Passion Realized
Trip to London
Unspoken Secrets
Final Confrontation
Invitation to Death
Tragedy and Truth
About the Author
My Presentation
The skirt of my dress billowed around my body as I sat upon my sore tailbone in the middle of the parlor. “This is impossible,” I screamed, pounding my fists on the floor. Close to expelling an unladylike curse, I pulled myself up into a standing position and heaved a sigh.
“Now dearest,” Mother cajoled, “I have confidence that you can master the technique before your presentation.”
“I sincerely doubt it,” I said, flinging back a loose strand of hair dangling in front of my nose. “I have absolutely no sense of balance.”
“Once again,” Mother instructed, wiggling her finger at me to carry on. “Extend your right foot behind your left.”
Determined to succeed this time, I moved into position. My hands clutched the fabric of my dress on both sides.
“Back straight, Ann. You are slouching.”
“Yes, Mother.” I pulled my shoulders into alignment and bowed my head to the floral-patterned carpet beneath my feet. The ball of my right foot balanced behind my left one, resting level and straight upon the floor.
“Slowly lower yourself downward, bending your knees. When they almost touch the floor, remain—”
“Damn!” A curse spewed out of my mouth as I lost equilibrium and tumbled hard onto my already bruised bottom. The fall jolted me so severely that tears welled in my eyes. My fifteen-year-old brother burst into hysterical laughter, watching me from the threshold of the parlor double doors.
“Make sure you don’t yell ‘damn’ in front of the Queen, sis, or you will never marry.” Ralph held his stomach as he continued to roar a hearty laugh. “Ann is going to be an old maid, old maid.”
“Good gracious, Ann Seddon,” Mother gasped. “Such vulgarity!” My mother glowered at me in disdain with her usual scrunched brow of displeasure. Embarrassed over my curse, I felt my cheeks grow warm as they burst crimson red.
“Forgive me,” I said. My voice trembled. “I am frustrated and tired. May we stop for the day? My presentation before Queen Victoria is not for another week.”
“At the clumsy rate you are going, you will never be ready,” Ralph snickered.
“Oh you,” I growled. A plump pillow resting on the divan tempted me to fling it at the rascal. It didn’t take long before I acted on the impulse and let it fly through the air straight at his head. He ducked just in time to escape. In horror, I watched it soar through the doorway and hit my father in the face. He stood rigid after the jolt, and I cringed at the scolding that would momentarily ensue.
“What in the world is going on here?” he bellowed. Father wobbled his head a few times, shaking off the effects of the blow. He bent over and picked up the pillow from the floor.
“Oh, Father,” I implored, running toward him. “I am so sorry. Forgive me.” I glared at my brother, incriminating him in the act. “The pillow was meant for Ralph. He’s been teasing me and calling me an old maid.” Father cleared his throat and handed me the projectile.
“I came to investigate what the ruckus was all about,” he said.
“Ann cannot complete the full curtsy,” Mother replied. She walked forward and jerked the pillow from my hands, giving me another disapproving glare over my childish behavior.
“Hey, I innocently stood by,” Ralph interjected. “Can’t a brother watch?”
“You scoundrel,” I replied. “Stop teasing me and laughing at my failures.”
“Ralph, do as your sister bids,” Father’s commanding voice boomed. “Leave her in peace.”
“Yes, sir.” Ralph lowered his head in defeat and shuffled down the hallway.
“Well, I will leave you and your Mother to continue with your lessons.” My father narrowed his eyes and a small smile curled the corner of his mouth. “As good as you are at flinging a pillow across the room, I am confident you can perform a simple curtsy.”
“Thank you for your assurance, Father.” Having earlier braced myself for a stern reprimand, I was pleasantly surprised to witness a hint of humor emerge from my austere parent. He had been keen on marrying me off as soon as possible, which undoubtedly served as the motive behind his encouragement. He glanced at Mother and back toward me and nodded, then turned and left the room.
“All right, one more time,” Mother said.
“I would rather go to my room and practice alone.” With lips pressed together in a hard line, I boldly postured my preference. “Perhaps I shall master it without your wiggling finger and Ralph’s laughter at my failed attempts.”
Mother cocked her head to the right, pondering my suggestion. “You might have a point there,” she answered.
She stepped forward and expressed a sympathetic grin. At first I thought she might embrace me to offer comfort but alas she kept her distance. We were not allowed to openly show affection to one another at Hartford Court. My father, an Earl in the county of Hampshire, thought it a despicable practice to display emotions while in common areas. Behind closed doors and out of the ears and eyes of servants were the only exception. However, even then, both my parents lacked the ability to warmly embrace me upon any occasion. It saddened me that only my governess Miss Peel, who would soon depart my care upon my seventeenth birthday, displayed any affectionate enthusiasm on my behalf.
“All right, I will excuse you to practice in your room. My only request is that you advise me when you overcome your lack of balance. You know that I worry about what Her Majesty will think of you.”
“I promise to keep you informed of my progress.”
“Perhaps Aunt Adeline will help,” she added as an afterthought.
The Dowager-Duchess and sister of my father would be my sponsor during the presentation. Due to arrive in a few days, our household would soon be filled with
her extravagant entourage.
“Well, I hope to have mastered it by then,” I groaned.
The very thought of Auntie giving me instructions sent shivers down my spine. I loved her, of course, because she was my aunt. However, it didn’t mean that I necessarily enjoyed her company. I thought her to be the perfect example of aristocratic snobbery. Her regard for the lower class bordered on contempt, while I never possessed such emotions. People were people and deserved our respect and kindness regardless of our status in the scheme of societal rank.
Not wishing to discuss the matter further, I pulled up the hem of my skirt and swirled around, heading for the doorway. I had no problem whatsoever with my skills in balance when it came to escaping Mother’s overbearing expectations.
While sprinting up the staircase, I pondered the dreadful fact that soon she would begin her pursuit of the perfect mate for me to wed. I almost pitied those poor male souls who would be exposed to her wiles. At least my involvement would be minimal, except to display myself as an engaging and desirable young lady.
The undeniable fact remained—my parents would choose my husband. Even though the practice of arranged marriages had lessened compared to decades past, my parents refused the contemporary thought that I should be permitted to marry for love.
* * * *
At last, I had conquered the difficult curtsy only a few days before the ceremony and felt confident that I would do well. Mother and Aunt Adeline insisted on watching me beforehand to make sure that every inch of my royal bow was correctly executed. After receiving accolades of approval, the next few days were spent ensuring that my dress appeared flawless in every aspect.
The garment, especially procured by the best seamstress in the county, looked absolutely stunning upon my slender frame. The lengthy train, on the other hand, proved to be a challenge. My aunt insisted that I practice how to handle the yards of material flowing behind me, so she took a long tablecloth and pinned it to the back of my day dress for another practice session.
“You must move gracefully, Ann, and glide across the floor,” she admonished me.
Having mastered the walk, the honored day arrived. I looked ravishing in my white dress and flowing train, with a tulle headdress and feathers. As the carriage halted in front of St. James’s Palace, I observed a line of beautiful young ladies with their sponsors enter through the doorway. I knew beforehand exactly what to expect since my aunt had taken me step-by-step through the entire procedure.
We exited the carriage, and I carefully folded my long train over my left arm. Aunt Adeline stood next to me with her face aglow with pride. My parents, of course, were bursting with excited anticipation as they watched us progress forward.
Carefully, I stepped into the palace and glanced at my surroundings. We had entered into a long gallery that led to the Presence-Chamber where I would wait until properly announced. My parents would remain behind.
“You already know what to expect,” my aunt reminded me.
“Yes, I have it memorized completely,” I assured her.
A few moments later, we halted before double doors. A few other young ladies were in line before me, waiting to enter the Presence-Chamber. As instructed by my aunt, I lowered my train. The Lords-in-waiting hastily spread it carefully behind me, preparing me for my steps forward. A card with my name inscribed upon it had been handed to another Lord-in-waiting. A moment later, he succinctly and loudly announced my arrival to the Queen of England.
“Lady Ann Seddon of Hampshire.”
Suddenly, my heart fluttered, and I feared fainting. Inhaling a deep breath, I approached Her Majesty, nervously clinging to a small bouquet of white baby roses and carnations. At that moment, a pivotal point in my life had arrived.
After gliding across the carpeted path as instructed by Auntie, I stood before the Queen and began my curtsy. With all the grace I could amass after hours of practice, I flawlessly lowered myself before the Sovereign in humility. With my head bowed, I could not discern her facial expression as she gazed upon my presentation. As a daughter of a peer, her Majesty kissed me on the forehead rather than I kissing her hand. The overwhelming moment passed before me like a dream, and I rose to an upright position after a victorious display. I had all but forgotten my aunt standing nearby who witnessed the formality.
My introduction signified that the Queen approved of my admission into society as a suitable young lady worthy of being courted. Truth be told, I found the act of bowing before the monarch more exciting than the prospects of marriage that loomed before me.
After standing erect, I genuflected to Prince Albert and the other members of the royal family. Another name was announced, and I backed out of the room gracefully without tripping over my train. As we exited, my aunt lauded me with congratulatory remarks.
“Stellar presentation, dearest. I am very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Aunt,” I said, finally taking in a deep breath to calm my jitters. Each second sped by so quickly that I barely took note of the Queen’s appearance or that of Prince Albert. Saddened at how swiftly the moment passed, I wished that I could return and take a long look of admiration upon the royal family.
We returned to the large gallery where other families waited for the return of their daughters. Upon seeing my approach, my parents smiled.
“Well, did all your practice pay off?” My father grinned at me broadly.
“Yes, father, I did not fall,” I answered, gathering my train back up on my left arm once again. The dress was dreadfully heavy with its numerous yards of fabric.
“I’m so very proud of you, my dear,” Mother added. “Now, it’s time to find you a husband.”
I rolled my eyes and braced myself for the search. Tonight I would attend my first ball.
The Search
After the regal and lavish debutante ritual, the social season began. Parents throughout England could not wait to introduce their available daughters to eligible bachelors in want of a wife.
Like any other young woman of wealth, I had been painstakingly bred to be the spouse of a distinguished man of title. My mother told me, in no uncertain terms, to put aside the idea of romance before marriage. Nuptials of convenience were to blend family fortunes and keep pedigrees intact. My parents would negotiate my matrimonial contract with another family as if I were a horse to be sold and used for breeding. After all, it would be my responsibility to birth a male heir.
As a young lady, I accepted my lot in life and did not often entertain the thought of amorousness. Nonetheless, I did have preconceived ideas of what I would and would not tolerate in a marriage relationship. Even though I had been told not to expect too much from wedlock, I hoped to secure an amicable bond with a benevolent man. If I found an ounce of happiness, as my mother put it, I would be grateful.
Mother did not hesitate to warn me about the challenges of marriage. Early on, she encouraged me to seek other avenues of entertainment should I suffer from a lack of attention. Pursuits such as shopping for the latest fashions, traveling abroad, taking the waters at Bath, and social events were always agreeable activities. In addition, I enjoyed the out-of-doors and pursuits such as horsemanship, a rousing game of croquet, and competitive archery matches. Honestly, I held no fear of being able to amuse myself while my husband went about doing whatever it is that husbands do to run their private affairs.
My primary responsibility in marriage, of course, would be to produce an heir. Somehow, I hoped to curtail the number of children I would be expected to bear, dreading the thought of constantly being pregnant year after year. As long as a few young boys were brought into the world, my matrimonial duty would be complete and a lineage ensured.
After my presentation, and with those goals in mind, I entered into a whirlwind of tea parties with prospective mothers-in-law. My parents wasted no time in presenting my qualifications to respectable and influential families. Grand balls and other activities filled my calendar while searching for the right man to wed. Mother whis
pered tantalizing names of prospects into my ear, announcing how many pounds a year they were worth and what title they would inherit upon the death of their father. My parents assured me that I deserved the finest match my dowry could provide.
All the same, rather than being excited about the prospect of becoming a wife and future mother, I found the introductions tiresome after the first few weeks. My poor mother had begun to wring her hands with worry that I might pass the season without a proposal. However, my father had many connections within society and evidently had his eyes upon a few prospective beaus long before my coming out. He had spent a significant amount of time carefully studying ancestral lines of various families in Burke’s Peerage.
As we sat together for afternoon tea, contemplating my current state of affairs, Mother expelled her discouragement.
“I cannot believe that we have not found a suitable bachelor,” she sighed. Her brow furrowed, sadly gazing at me as if I were doomed to be a spinster.
Even though my younger brother’s voice haunted my thoughts with his taunting words of “old maid,” I attempted to keep positive.
“You need not worry, Mother,” I assured her with a warm smile. “I shall not cry myself to sleep should it take another season to find a husband.”
“Another season?” Mother’s eyes widened in horror.
“I believe the problem is all but solved,” Father said, interrupting our moment together by entering the parlor.
“Have you found someone?” Mother rose to her feet in anticipation.
“Perhaps,” he said, glancing over at me with a reassuring smile. “Lord Bellingham and I chatted over a glass of brandy and a good cigar at the gentlemen’s club this afternoon.” Father paused for a moment, trying to suppress a sly smile. “Naturally, I mentioned that you were experiencing your first season, and he mentioned that the Duke of Dorset would be attending the ball this evening.”
“A duke you say?” Mother briskly queried, brightening in countenance as if she had been resurrected from the grave.
“Yes. Apparently, his son has been encouraged to take a wife.”
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