Blythe Court (Novella)

by Nora Covington

  I sat motionless in utter shock over my father’s revelation. Perhaps what lay ahead would not be as awful as I pictured in my mind. The most attractive man in the county and the most impressive estate imaginable would be mine. A smile pulled my cheeks upward accenting my childlike dimples.

  The carriage came to a halt, and a tall footman stepped forward, opened the door, and helped us out. The entire household staff lined up outside to greet our arrival. The duke and duchess appeared with warm smiles.

  “It is good of you to come,” the duke remarked. “Ah, here comes another carriage,” he said, looking past my father’s shoulder. “It will be a steady stream of guests in the next hour.”

  I glanced at the doorway and saw John. He caught my eye and nodded but made no indication of pleasure upon seeing my arrival. Even in the bright sun, he appeared like a Greek god, and I cursed myself for being attracted to his appearance. He stepped forward and gave a quick bow.

  “Lady Seddon, it is a pleasure to see you again.” He turned his attention to my father and mother exchanging pleasantries and afterward offered his arm to escort me indoors. Both of our parents grinned in self-assurance of their success. When I touched him, it resurrected my previous impression of wariness over a potential union of our hearts.

  We stepped through the doorway, and the entrance hall astonished my senses. Giant pilasters rose to a high ceiling, and medieval tapestries adorned the walls. John halted in the middle of the foyer, and I closely surveyed the impressive interior.

  “Mr. Rhodes, our head butler, will show you to your rooms,” the duchess announced. “The footman will bring your luggage. It will afford you the opportunity to relax before our evening festivities.”

  John released my arm.

  “I hope that you find your accommodations to your liking,” he said. “I have requested that your room overlook the gardens and pond.”

  His voice sounded strained, and I concluded he found no pleasure in what had been arranged for either of us. My heart, full of disappointment, withdrew into the shadows of my soul for protection. Spending time with him during the weekend felt more like a burden than a delight.

  “Thank you,” I responded. “I am sure that I shall be comfortable.”

  Mother nodded at me to follow her up the staircase, which I did without glancing back at my intended. A moment later, I found myself far too curious to see whether his eyes followed my departure, so I peeked over my shoulder. He had disappeared.

  * * * *

  Dressed in one of my finest evening gowns, I sat at an enormous table filled with guests that arrived for the weekend. The dining room was located to the east of the entrance hall, a library to the south, and two impressive drawing rooms to the north.

  A quick perusal of the table afforded me the opportunity to examine any other single men in attendance. I soon learned that only two other gentlemen from prominent families arrived, but neither appealed to me. Understandably that would be my reaction since I had been ruined by the fetching male sitting to my left. He accidently brushed his hand against mine as he picked up his fork.

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  A flicker of kindness sparkled in his eyes, and I immediately snatched it as a keepsake in hopes of what lay ahead.

  “Of course,” I replied, making sure that I returned a demure and well-mannered response. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught my mother’s occasional glances. Father engrossed himself in a manly discussion with the duke while my mother chatted intermittently with the duchess.

  “Are you acquainted with everyone at the table?” I asked John, curious about the attendees at the weekend house party.

  “Yes, I am acquainted with them all,” he replied. “Shall I discreetly give you names between sips of my soup?”

  My eyes sparkled at the thought of irreverent gossip between courses. “If you do not mind.” He wasted no time in pointing out the guests.

  “At the far end of the table sits Sir Riley of Yorkshire and his wife, Lady Elizabeth.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You will discover that her laugh sounds like a snorting pig.”

  I had never choked on a spoonful of soup, but it would have been easy to do so after his irreverent disclosure. As he recited names, I found it impossible to keep my eyes off his face.

  “Lady Seddon,” he said. “Pay attention, for I will be testing your memory later.”

  Embarrassed, I ceased my gawking but discerned that he merely meant to jest rather than scold. As he spoke, I noted other females who apparently could not keep their eyes off John.

  “Who is the young lady with the auburn hair and purple gown?” She occasionally glanced over at the two of us.

  “That is my cousin Charlene,” he replied. He paused and slightly lowered his voice. “She has her eyes set on Reginald Brighton, a mere accounting clerk in Dorchester. It is the family scandal, you see, and I fear she will elope and cause a stir.”

  I felt relieved she was not my competition but amused at her audacity to seek love rather than duty.

  “I dare say she is a courageous young woman, but no doubt she will be a poor one if she marries beneath her position,” I said. “Although, I do not blame her for pursuing love.” The way I vocalized my thoughts, they sounded snobbish. I immediately regretted my statement.

  “Not only poor,” John interjected, “but dead to the family. My uncle will not allow her to set foot in their home again if she disobeys his wishes.”

  “Do you think it fair?” I asked, eyeing him curiously to obtain his opinion.

  “Fair has nothing to do with it,” he said. “Whatever opinion I hold on the matter will be my own.”

  The tone of his curt reply told me that he did not wish to share his thoughts, which I found unkind. I envisioned the steel sword pointed in my direction, so I dropped the subject entirely.

  The footman served the next course, and I turned my attention toward my dinner plate to contemplate what lay ahead for the weekend. Since my father revealed that the marriage contract had been handed over to the solicitor to draft, I wondered if I should expect a proposal during the activities. Curious regarding the schedule, I began prodding him for information.

  “Shall I expect the barking of hounds in the early morning hours to wake me up?” The hunt usually started at dawn with howling dogs and eager horses. Men in their tweed jackets, with dangling shotguns over their arms, would eagerly mount their saddled steeds and speed off into the countryside.

  “I expect you will,” he answered. “Most of the men come to enjoy a good fox hunt over the weekend.”

  “Poor fox,” I sadly replied. “Frightened, chased, and outnumbered by yapping canines to be shot dead.”

  “I take it you do not approve.” John sounded displeased about my comment. “Do you mean to tell me that a beautiful lady like yourself does not own a fox fur?”

  “Well, if you put it that way, I insist you hunt to your heart’s desire. I shall not give up my winter coat with its fox collar that I find most comforting and warm.” By now, he must think me a hypocrite.

  “Spoken like a genuine lady of class.” He appeared amused over my selfish pursuits.

  Our dinner dissolved into superficial conversation, which offered me little else to learn about his character. I conversed with others sitting nearby, making the most of my attempt to present myself as a lady with manners and dignity.

  As the meal ended, the women at the table rose in unison and departed for tea. The men stayed behind for cigars and drinks. I did not give John any parting words or glance as I left. His guarded demeanor exhausted me, and I doubted that we would have a worthwhile personal conversation the entire weekend.

  We entered the large sitting room down the hall, strikingly adorned in Elizabethan décor. There were twelve women in the group. John’s mother, the duchess, quickly came to my side inviting me to sit with her on the settee. My mother followed closely behind, and I noticed that Charlene lingered nearby. The family members appeared intent on learni
ng more about me, which I found to be natural under the circumstances.

  Though I conversed briefly with the duchess at the ball, we did not have the opportunity for an in-depth conversation about any particular subject. We had exchanged only a few words before other ladies caught her attention. After she had drifted away to speak with them, Charlene sat down next to me.

  “I am Charlene Broadhurst,” she announced without smiling.

  “John mentioned you were his cousin,” I replied. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Are you enjoying your stay thus far?”

  “For the most part, yes,” I replied. “Hopefully, the weekend will become more stimulating.”

  “Oh, I am sure it will. Give the men another hour, and they will fill the room to play a silly game of charades.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and then watch the interaction between Sir Riley and Lady Whittemore,” she said in a low tone. “They are having an affair.”

  The tidbit of scandalous chatter perked my ears. Even though I knew it was not good behavior to partake in the sin of gossip, I enjoyed juicy secrets.

  “Oh, dear,” I replied. “Does everyone know?”

  Charlene coyly grinned. “Of course they do. Why do you think we have weekend parties? It is to mingle so unhappily married couples can partake in a tryst here and there. As long as it is discreetly done, no one really minds.”

  The smile on my face faded. Would that also be my future—a husband committing adultery? I glanced at my mother who appeared engrossed in shameful chatter and suddenly wondered whether my father strayed from their marriage bed. If he had, did she know? My pleasant evening turned sour at the thought, and Charlene apparently realized its effects.

  “I apologize, Lady Seddon, for speaking of such indelicate matters. It is thoughtless of me in light of your relationship with John.”

  “What relationship?” I curtly responded. “He has barely paid an ounce of attention to me since we met.”

  “It is difficult for John to do so,” Charlene replied.

  “Why?” I scowled.

  “I dare not say anything further,” her voice quavered. “Already, I have said far too much.”

  To my surprise, she rose to her feet and wandered over to another group of ladies, leaving me behind to consider her words. As I glanced around the room, which would one day be my home, I decided that I did not care for the atmosphere. The lovely décor somehow turned disagreeable in my eyes. Mother wandered over and sat next to me.

  “Mingle dear,” she encouraged me with a pat on my arm. “Do not sit here like a wallflower.”

  I wanted to ask her about Father but decided that it was not the time or place to do so. Remaining ignorant about such dreadful and hurtful things would be safer than dealing with the disappointment of my father straying to another’s bed.

  “Yes, of course,” I said, rising to my feet. I joined John’s mother again and a group of other ladies. The usual superficial chitchat ensued.

  The door opened and the men arrived smelling of cigars and brandy. All the ladies perked up like wilted flowers watered by their presence. The atmosphere erupted with animated men and women who wanted to play games. I glanced at John, who wandered over to my side. His arrival suggested duty and not want, but I restrained my disenchantment.

  “Will you join in a game of charades?” I asked. He nodded his head affirmatively and expressed a weak grin but said nothing in return. I knew he already played a game with me from the moment we first met. Something about John Broadhurst was not all that it appeared to be. His steel sword, pointed in my direction, guarded a well-kept secret.

  Off to the Hunt

  My prediction came true. Below my bedroom, window hounds of all shapes and sizes barked loudly waking me out of a sound sleep. Curious to see the group of men and their horses, I grabbed a robe and put it on before looking down through the window. John stopped directly underneath, no doubt for my benefit. He glanced up, and when he saw me peering down, he tipped his hat and winked at me. I could not believe my eyes and at first thought that I must be dreaming. A few minutes later, they rode off following yelping dogs, and John disappeared into the woods. He did look quite dashing in his tweed jacket and hat.

  A soft knock came at my door. When I answered, I found a young woman clothed in a black dress trimmed with white lace on her collar and cuffs.

  “Yes?” I said wondering what she wanted.

  “My name is Miss Melanie Wright, your ladyship. Please call me Melanie,” she said, giving a quick curtsy. “Miss James, the housekeeper, asked me to serve as your lady’s maid during your stay this weekend.”

  After deciding she posed no threat, I opened the door wider. She held a tray with tea, slices of bread, and butter.

  “I will be waking you each morning,” she announced, “and will bring your morning tea.”

  “Well, that sounds more agreeable than barking dogs,” I replied.

  “Oh, yes, the hounds,” she said with a giggle. Melanie set the tray down on my night table. “Shall I have the maid bring hot water to fill your tub?”

  The thought of lounging in a warm bath sounded relaxing. “Yes, if it is not too much trouble.” Why I felt the need to say that, I had no idea. I frankly enjoyed being pampered by a maid all to myself. I shared my mother’s attendant, but with her constant demands, the woman barely had time for me.

  “No trouble at all,” she replied.

  Melanie stood in front of me with her hands clasped together, looking at me inquisitively. She appeared younger than most lady’s maids and had a pleasing appearance. Her lovely golden-brown hair accented her glowing complexion. When she spoke, her voice sounded soft and gracious. I found her presence most agreeable.

  “After you bathe, I’ll help you get dressed, my lady. The duchess likes to gather for morning prayers in the chapel at nine o’clock, and you are welcome to attend.”

  Morning prayers? I wanted to roll my eyes over that bit of information. Would Lady Whittemore be confessing her sins after spending the night in Sir Riley’s bed?

  “Perhaps,” I responded reluctantly.

  “Very well,” she said, giving a quick curtsy. “I will have the chambermaids bring the hot water.”

  The young lady disappeared through the door, and I nibbled my bread and drank tea. A full day of activity stretched before me. While the men hunted, the women would be strolling the gardens and then join them later for a picnic lunch. A smile spread across my face as I recalled the wink from John. Had he begun to lay down his sword? Only time would tell.

  * * * *

  After a long walk to the top of a hill, we found the men lounging in the grass. The servants had arrived beforehand, setting out baskets of food, blankets, wooden folding chairs, and serving chilled champagne. I had never seen such an extravagant outdoor picnic in my entire life.

  The day turned warm and sunny, and I chose a yellow day dress and large brim hat to keep the sun from burning my nose. The long morning stroll exhausted me, although when I saw John I perked up and smiled. He immediately came to my side, glancing approvingly at my attire and bonnet. I thought his sudden interest suspicious but welcomed the attention.

  “So, your lordship, did you procure my next fox collar?” I gave him an impish smile. He shook his head no.

  “Your father shot one, but alas it looks as if I may come home empty-handed.”

  “What a shame,” I replied. He appeared disappointed over his failure in the manly pursuit.

  John quickly glanced at his father who gave him an encouraging nod. Afterward, he took me by the hand and led me over to a blanket that we claimed together. A footman brought us a basket to share. I took advantage of the moment by checking its contents while John poured us a drink.

  “We appear to have cheese, bread, and various cuts of meats to dine on,” I said, laying some items before us. It felt natural to be by his side, but I wondered what he thought about the moment.

  “Do you feel pres
sured by your parents?” A part of me wanted to see if his change in performance happened for my benefit or to please others.

  “I could ask the same question of you,” he replied.

  He leaned back on his elbow and nibbled on a piece of cheese. His long legs and lean body were so attractive that I wanted to throw myself at him. Thankfully, my parents had not chosen a bald and overweight man as my future husband. Perchance this arranged marriage had been a blessing in disguise.

  “Somewhat,” I replied, shoving a piece of chicken in my mouth. I felt annoyed that he merely answered my question with a question. After swallowing, I asked again. “So what about you?”

  He lowered his eyes and fingered a piece of bread. “Pressured is maybe not the right word to describe my emotions.”

  “There are times that I wonder if you feel anything.” My voice sounded exasperated, but I could not help expressing my sentiments.

  “You can be assured, Lady Seddon, that I do indeed possess passions about many things.”

  “Just not about me, apparently.” I sulked and turned my eyes toward the landscape, allowing the various hues of green to soothe my worries. “You know,” I said, not looking at him, “you do not have to go ahead with this arrangement. Surely, there are other choices.”

  I really wanted other options. A part of me wanted to fall violently in love and be swept off my feet. It would be exciting to be his passionate pursuit. By now, though, I had resigned myself to a mundane relationship and life filled with babies. Perchance I would chase illicit pursuits to fill the void. Would I have the nerve to sin for pleasure?

  “My title and duty have their demands,” he solemnly replied, “and I am prepared to acquiesce to our parents’ wishes.” He reached out and touched my hand tenderly. “I am sure that we will grow to enjoy each other’s company as the years pass. Of that, I have no doubt.”

  The tingly spark I sensed at his touch had the same pleasant outcome. Whatever ill feelings I harbored over his poor attitude vanished. I wanted more than to enjoy his company for the rest of my life. I hoped marriage had to offer something beyond companionship and bearing heirs. What about love? What about passion?