“Is he the firstborn?”
“Mother,” I said in a scolding tone. “What does it matter if he is first, second, or third?” Her questions were irksome.
“It matters, my dear, if he is to assume the dukedom upon his father’s death,” she spouted. “I don’t wish you to marry a struggling secondary son who must earn his fortune.”
“Yes, he is,” Father replied, giving my mother a cautionary look to calm down. “At present, he has taken the duke’s secondary title of the Marquess of Dorchester.”
“Excellent!” squealed Mother.
My father turned toward me and announced another tantalizing detail. “I hear he is one of the most sought after bachelors in London. After reviewing his lineage, I can say that it is rather impressive.”
“Well, this could be the one,” Mother confidently announced.
“Don’t you think I should meet him first before we jump to conclusions?” I asked. Mother ignored my comment and continued to badger Father.
“What is his name?”
“John Broadhurst,” he replied. “Lord Bellingham remarked that the ladies appear enamored over his handsome appearance.”
“He probably has a wart on the end of his nose,” I remarked morosely.
“Ann,” Mother retorted, keenly displeased with my comment.
“Don’t you think it would be preferable if you allowed me to search on my own and let nature take its course?” I asked, holding my hands as if were praying.
“Absolutely not,” Father swiftly replied. The brow above his right eye arched, accenting a pleased twinkle in his eyes. “I have a distinct feeling that this young man may be the one.”
“And how can you be so sure?” I pressed for an explanation.
“As fate would have it, the Duke of Dorset arrived at the club and joined us for a drink. We had a rather interesting conversation.”
“You did?” Mother’s mouth gaped open as she took a step closer to Father.
“I can only say that after an extensive exchange regarding our available offspring, the duke agreed to his son meeting you this evening.”
“Splendid,” mother yelped. Turning her attention toward me, she barked her next order. “Come along. We have much to do.” Mother stepped toward the parlor door. “Now, Ann.”
“Now?”
“If you are to meet him this evening, we only have a few hours to prepare you.”
“We need not depart for another four hours,” I reminded her, hoping to calm her down.
“Appease your mother’s need to pamper you,” Father encouraged me.
Of course, Father was right. If I didn’t succumb to Mother’s insistence in transforming me into a desirable creature, we would all be victims of her cantankerous attitude later.
“Coming,” I replied with feigned eagerness.
After perusing my various garments, I asked to wear my sparkling ball gown of gold silk, and Mother agreed with my choice. In the hours that followed, my mother’s personal attendant helped to arrange my hair into a stunning coiffeur, adorned with a jeweled comb. After a few dabs of modest makeup and perfume between my breasts, I had transformed into a gorgeous creature.
“Now, young lady, remember to display your ladylike qualities with singular purpose and decorum,” she firmly instructed.
“Of course, I shall be on my best behavior.”
I wrestled with the enormous pressure to successfully meet my parents’ expectations to perform. Tonight I could very well meet my future husband.
* * * *
Upon our arrival, my parents eagerly scanned the landscape of attendees to look for the Duke of Dorset. My father’s keen eye caught sight of him at the other end of the ballroom.
“There he is,” he said.
Of course, I had no idea to whom he referred to mingling about on the crowded sidelines of the ballroom floor. Already, couples were waltzing to the current selection. As women swirled by, I could feel a breeze as the voluminous skirts of their dresses swirled around in circles.
As we drew closer, I saw a man about my father’s age watch as we approached. He nodded toward my father and expressed a reserved grin. Of course, I glanced at him, and his wife who stood by his side. However, his son had his back toward us as we approached.
“It is a pleasure to see you again,” the duke said, greeting my father warmly.
As soon as he spoke, his son slowly turned around. My breath hitched in my throat. His appearance bordered on sheer perfection. Every feature of his face lined in perfect symmetry, accented by his shiny brown hair. I estimated his height a few inches above six feet in his well-tailored, silk waistcoat. To my surprise, he was clean-shaven, which I frankly preferred. I had never been too keen at the thought of finding a man’s lips buried beneath a prickly mustache.
Surprised, I sucked in a much-needed breath of air. Nervously, I glanced at his mother and father, who were assessing my qualities or lack thereof. Suddenly, my father burst into a flurry of introductions. As I stood staring at the duke’s son, I heard the exchange of formal titles between parents. Mesmerized and lost in girlish adoration, the duke’s voice brought me back to reality.
“Lady Seddon, may I introduce you to our son, the Marquess of Dorchester.”
At that moment, we both remained silent. As he quietly considered my appearance, I continued to inspect his attributes. His piercing gray eyes, spotted with gold flecks, reminded me of a polished sword. He stood rigid, displaying no outward delight over my features. Instead of encountering my knight in shining armor, I felt as if I stood before a sentinel warning me not to intrude upon the territory of his heart.
Any enthusiasm I entertained at first glance of his person, he instantly crushed by his cold and aloof gaze. I glanced at my parents as if they were ridiculous to recommend him as a potential husband. Perhaps I should have swooned like the other ladies nearby who watched our dull interaction. Even though he appeared like a dashing prince, he lacked the essential charm needed to make a good first impression.
After our awkward introduction, my disenchantment made it impossible to utter any good-natured remarks in return. I merely smiled demurely, attempting to draw out a reaction.
“Lady Seddon, it is indeed a pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” he began, bowing at the waist and extending his gloved hand. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me this evening?”
Both sets of our parents watched as our first interaction occurred. I knew they expected me to accept, but I hesitated for a few seconds, considering his outstretched hand. When my gaze shifted to his eyes, his brow creased in worry as if I might turn him down. Had I chose to spurn him, I would never hear the end of it from my father and mother.
“Yes, I would be pleased,” I replied, hiding my real sentiments. I placed my hand on his palm, and he gently led me to the ballroom floor.
He remained silent as he slipped his hand around my waist. We twirled around, dancing to a Viennese waltz, in a room filled with potential husbands and wives. His skills were impressive, and I kept up with his lead. As the music played, I waited for him to start a conversation but he said nothing. When I glanced at his face, he showed no outward interest in me whatsoever. I thought him rude, so I prodded him to speak.
“You appear restrained,” I said. “Is your mind elsewhere?”
His eyes shifted in my direction. “I apologize, Lady Seddon. You are correct that I am distracted by other matters.”
Handsome yes, but he sorely lacked appeal. “Then why did you ask me to dance if you were not interested in being in my company?” I posed in a wounded tone. In reality, I felt angry about his slight of attention as if my desirability merited more than he cared to give me.
“No doubt for the same reason you accepted my invitation to dance,” he solemnly replied. “Our families have expectations.”
His answer pricked like a thorn. It was cruel and cold, insinuating that I did not deserve anything beyond his unpleasant obligation to perform.
&nb
sp; “Well, you should be commended, Lord Broadhurst, for fulfilling your duty,” I snidely snapped. My demureness retreated due to my exasperated mood. Had my mother heard the tone of my voice, she would have surely slapped my face.
The music ended, and we swiftly released one another. He dropped his arms to his sides and took a step back to put distance between us as if I were a leper. His outrageously handsome face did nothing to sway my opinion of his poor manners. To my vexation, my rapidly beating heart betrayed my sensual attraction to him nonetheless.
“Please excuse me,” I said. I swung around and headed for the door to the veranda to inhale a much-needed breath of fresh air. When I burst through the doors and walked out onto the patio, a cool breeze met my hot cheeks. A second later, I closed my eyes and inhaled a lungful to calm my irritation.
“How utterly infuriating,” I grumbled beneath my breath. “He is ill-bred, without manners, self-absorbed, and… and…” My voice trailed off when I realized that my mother had come to my side.
“Why are you out here, Ann? You should be back in the dance hall with Lord Broadhurst.”
My mother’s hand grabbed my forearm. From her tight squeeze of my flesh, I felt her displeasure.
“He acted like a conceited bore,” I announced. “The entire time he spun me around the floor his mind wandered elsewhere. He paid no attention to me whatsoever. When I reminded him that he held me in his arms, he barely came alive.”
“Perhaps he was nervous,” my mother said. “You are, after all, an elegant young lady. Some men might feel intimidated in your presence.”
I discarded her remark as inconsequential and was about to spew out my exasperation further when Lord Broadhurst walked out onto the veranda. He glanced about and caught my eyes, which I quickly averted elsewhere by turning my head in the other direction.
“It appears that he wishes to speak with me now,” I informed my mother. “He is standing by the door.”
She glimpsed at him and grinned approvingly. “Be forgiving,” she said. “Our families have high expectations that this match will be advantageous.” After leaving her pressured encouragement, she departed and returned indoors.
Lord Broadhurst slowly approached and halted a few feet away. He bowed at the waist and viewed me with a hint of remorse on his face. To my shame, he still had the power to weaken my knees at one glance. I felt unworthy of any attention he might bestow when only moments ago I cursed him for giving me little if anything. His presence confused me.
“I believe I owe you an apology,” he began in an unwavering tone. “My mind has been beset with matters that weigh heavily upon my heart, but it was unkind of me to allow them to interfere with our dance.” He lowered his head, appearing like a child asking for mercy. “I humbly ask your forgiveness for my rude and insensitive behavior.”
Somewhere amongst his gallant prose, I lost myself in his dark eyes and smooth tenor voice. His lips moved, and with each word, my heart pounded in response. I found it utterly impossible to remain ill-tempered toward him. By the time he had finished his apologetic recitation, I had already absolved him of any sin.
“We can all be prone to wandering minds at one time or another,” I said demurely. My eyelashes batted wildly, and I felt helpless to stop my childish plea for attention. “I accept your apology and offer one for my abrupt departure.”
The corner of his mouth tilted upward in a slight grin, but his eyes stayed dull and lifeless as if he did not mean a word of his expressed regret. Nevertheless, my mother’s parting advice of forgiveness encouraged me to be a lady. I mimicked the tilt of his lips, determined to give him nothing more in return. We stood gazing at each other in silence, and I wondered what thoughts traveled beneath his thick hair.
“It appears, Lord Broadhurst,” I said, being the braver of the two to start a conversation, “that our families wish us to get to know one another.” He glanced sideways as if to avoid the topic.
“Yes, my father has indicated that our union would be beneficial.” His inexpressive voice sounded as void of excitement as mine.
“The advice seems to be prolific amongst our parents, for I have been advised to turn my attention toward you.”
I hated being the obedient daughter. His personality left much to be desired, but possibly my life would find some solace in gazing at his striking countenance until death parted us. My mind had wandered into a morbid pit.
“I might as well be forthright, Lord Broadhurst, that I would much rather marry for love than blending family fortunes and giving you an heir.” I postured myself like a snobbish imp. However, when I realized that I inferred intimacy and babies, my cheeks burned with shame. His brow over his right eye rose, and a flicker of amusement flashed across his face. Understandably, he found my brashness amusing. “It appears that perhaps you hold the same sentiments,” I added. His lighthearted smile faded as if I doused him with a bucket of cold water.
“Duty to my father and title are unalterable, Lady Seddon. I must do what is expected of me.” He reached out his hand. “Would you allow me another dance? I will endeavor to place my best foot forward this time.”
He held his gloved hand palm up, and I glanced into his eyes. While I considered whether to accept or not, a premonition of impending unhappiness swept over my soul. Conceivably not this evening, but one day he would shatter my heart. Of that, I was certain. The thought frightened me. I glanced past his shoulder and saw my mother watching us from the doorway. I, too, had been expected to submit to my place in the scheme of society.
With trepidation, I placed my hand on his and watched his fingers wrap around mine. I surrendered to the unavoidable path of matrimony with a man I barely knew.
The Weekend House Party
Soon after the ball, we received an invitation to Blythe Court for a weekend house party. Since I finally had come of age to enjoy such festivities, I looked forward to the engagement for many reasons. The affair would comprise not only our family but also other prominent individuals from society who had single sons in want of a wife. I determined to keep my options open since I found the personality of the marquess guarded and aloof. Of course, I wondered who would be my competition amongst the guests of single ladies in quest of a mate.
Regrettably, like most country estates, the men would probably be off hunting during the day, leaving the women to fend for themselves. While they killed helpless foul, foxes, and rabbits, the women of the household would drink tea, take strolls in the garden or gossip. Opportunities to mingle would occur with picnic lunches with the men, dinners, and entertainment in the evening.
Although Blythe Court was conveniently located about ninety minutes from our own residence, I had never heard of the estate. We traveled by carriage from our manor house in Hampshire to Dorset, the adjoining county. My parents were enamored with London society, and they rarely visited elsewhere. As we sat bouncing in our ride through the countryside, my curiosity piqued.
“Do you know anything in particular about the residence?” I asked my mother.
“It is an impressive estate,” my father interrupted.
He always answered questions for my mother, which I found most annoying. I often thought he had emotionally browbeaten her, as I had begun to feel about my prospects for marriage. To my surprise, my mother shot him an annoyed glance and embellished his short report.
“The duchess told me that it was built in 1346, but modifications were made in the early seventeenth century. The south lawn faces a large pond, and the estate is circled by formal gardens.” My mother grinned proudly over her knowledge of its history, which surpassed my father’s curt declaration.
“It sounds quite impressive,” I replied, snickering and using my father’s one-word description. Unfortunately, my flippant response received swift reprisal.
“I expect you, young lady, to spend the majority of your visit in the company of Lord Broadhurst,” he spewed with authority. My mother joined the discourse.
“Under no circumstance
s are you to wander off unchaperoned,” she warned. “At least not until he proposes, then in some circumstances you may do so with my permission.”
My stomach balled into a knot. Any prospects beyond the man they already picked were clearly out of my reach.
“You speak as if you have already married me off,” I protested. “Shall I not be afforded the opportunity to talk with more congenial gentlemen in attendance?”
“Our solicitor is drawing up the marriage contract even now,” my father brashly announced.
“What?” I wanted to lean forward, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him like a rag doll. “Why on earth would you do such a thing without speaking to me about it or asking my opinion for that matter? I have merely shared a few dances with the boorish man.”
My father’s face turned beet red, and he opened his mouth to put me in my place. Thankfully, before the ill words were flung in my direction, Mother reached out and grabbed his forearm stopping his gruff reply. In a civil tone, she spoke kindly to me, but with firm conviction.
“Control your contentious attitude and act like the lady I bred you to be,” she said. “You were told since you were a little girl that Father and I would arrange your marriage. Our wisdom in choosing you a good match should be all that you need to know.”
“But—” My mother raised her hand halting my next words.
“We will speak of it no more,” she declared. “One day you will be the Duchess of Dorset. Is that not enough for you?”
My mother’s sharp words cut me off, and I leaned back into the seat surrendering rather than fighting. I glanced to my right, and my mouth opened in astonishment. We approached the front of the estate, and the horses trotted through a stone gateway onto a long pebbled path that led to the entry. An impressive three-story manor loomed before me. Like a curious child, I counted fifteen windows across the front façade and a massive arched doorway with columns on either side.
“My goodness,” I said, gawking at the structure.
“My goodness, indeed,” Father repeated. “The duke is deeding Blythe Court to his son once he weds. This will be your home.”
Blythe Court (Novella) Page 2
