Family Scandals

by Denise Patrick

  Corinna looked up just in time to see a ball flying toward her. Catching the object was more of a reflex than by design, but it pleased the children nonetheless.

  “Throw it to me.” Michael put his hands out, and she was drawn into the game.

  The rest of the morning was spent in the enjoyable company of the duchess and her children. John was brought in by his nurse and the toddler squealed with excitement at the prospect of playing with his sister and brother.

  When the duchess asked if the twins could join them for luncheon, Corinna readily agreed. Leaving the nursery, she was still smiling as she made her way downstairs when she met Marcus. The sight of his windblown appearance caused her heart to do a little jig.

  “I would love to be the reason for that smile,” he said in greeting.

  “You might be part of the reason,” she replied playfully.

  He chose not to take the bait, but took her hand in his and turned to walk back downstairs with her. Sensation skittered up her arm and she felt the tingles clear to her toes. When they reached the bottom, she turned to the butler.

  “Pulliam, would you inform Mrs. Barker that we will have lunch served in the informal dining room? Oh, and the table should be set for six.”

  “Of course, m’lady.”

  She and Marcus entered the lavender drawing room.

  “Are you settling in?” he asked.

  “I think so,” she replied. She turned to look up at him. “I spent a part of the morning with Mrs. Barker. She showed me around some of the ground floor rooms. They really are quite beautiful. Your grandmother had exquisite taste.”

  He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Heat washed through her and she had to stiffen her knees to keep from melting into a puddle.

  “There are no rooms you want to change?”

  “None that I’ve seen so far, but I haven’t had the chance to go through the upstairs rooms. I suspect some of the bedrooms might need refurbishing,” she replied. “Oh, and Felicia says that St. Ayers Place in London needs to be completely redone. Perhaps that’s where I should concentrate my energy if I want to renovate something.”

  “Brand has said as much as well. He says that the house as is is not currently habitable. He has extended an invitation for us to stay with them at Waring House when we come to Town.”

  “Did you accept?”

  He chuckled. “Of course. The alternative would be to stay with my sister.” Gold-flecked brown eyes stared into hers. Like sunlight on polished mahogany, the warmth touched her and spread all the way to her toes.

  The luncheon gong sounded.

  “Is your sister such a dragon?” she asked him as they headed out the door.

  “No, not really. But she is one of those people who will take charge if there is no obvious leader in a situation.”

  “Oh. And your sister is?”

  “The Countess of Barrington. I understand you have already met both her stepdaughters.”

  “I have?”

  He nodded. “Amanda and Cassie.”

  She came to a halt midstride, turning to look up at him, shock on her face. That carriage ride seemed like three lifetimes ago. Her shoulders began to shake and, despite the hand she clapped over her mouth, laughter echoed off the high ceiling of the foyer. Pulliam, ever-present at his post, turned to look at her and a footman crossing the area glanced her way as well, but she could not seem to stifle her laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Michael’s voice intruded on her glee, and they looked up to find Felicia and the twins descending the stairs.

  “I’m hoping to find out myself,” Marcus remarked.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she giggled, resuming her walk toward the dining room, and trying to force herself to stop. “But it was Cassie,” she gasped.

  “Cassie?” he asked. “What has that minx done?”

  They entered the small dining room overlooking the front gardens. Small and informal, there was an oval table set for six positioned near the windows.

  She shook her head. “It was Cassie,” she giggled, “who first suggested that-that you and I would suit.”

  Felicia smiled. “Oh, you’re right,” she said. “I had almost forgotten about that day.”

  Brand entered and he and Felicia helped the twins into their seats, before seating themselves. Marcus held out a chair for her.

  As the footmen began to serve, Felicia explained, “Amanda was headed for Miss Ridley’s anyway, so I mentioned you to her and she volunteered to bring you back. I remember now that she told me Cassie had tried to marry you off before you even arrived.”

  Corinna, beginning to feel more comfortable with herself in her new role, said, “Actually what she said was that instead of a reference you should give me a season. It wasn’t until Lady Wynton mentioned our destination that she said Marcus, whom she called Edward, would be a good choice.”

  “Why did you change your name, Uncle Marcus?” Caroline asked.

  “I didn’t,” he replied. “I was named Marcus Edward, but my mother always called me Edward when I was growing up.” He shrugged. “I happen to prefer Marcus, but one does not gainsay one’s mother.”

  “Maybe she liked Edward better because it was her brother’s name, like mine,” Michael chimed in.

  Marcus smiled at his nephew. “Actually, it was her father’s name.”

  “Oh, like John.” This observation came from Caroline. “I was named for Papa’s Mama,” she informed him, then turned to Corinna. “Who were you named for?”

  Corinna smiled. “I was named for my grandmother and great-grandmother,” she answered.

  “Was your grandmother or great-grandmother Corinna?” Felicia asked.

  “That was my great-grandmother. My grandmother was Constance.”

  “That’s quite a mouthful,” Brand remarked.

  “Yes, it is, but my parents apparently thought that they couldn’t just put the two together, so they added Amelia between them. Like Marcus, I have been called by my second name for most of my life. I suspect there are very few people who know me as Corinna rather than Amy.”

  “I have three names, too,” Michael piped up. “Caroline and Mama only have two, but Papa has four.”

  “I think we lost although I’m not sure what we were playing,” Marcus remarked to Felicia. “Our parents apparently didn’t name us properly.”

  Felicia merely laughed. “Caroline will be thankful someday when she is standing in front of an altar and the bishop isn’t putting everyone to sleep as he intones all the names she was saddled with.”

  “Ouch!” was all Brand had to say to that.

  Truro was a beautiful town, set in a lush valley not far inland from the port city of Falmouth. The broad river of the same name provided much of the commerce that fueled the economy of the town and surrounding area.

  Traveling up High Street, Felicia pointed out the Assembly Halls, theatre, and other sights before the coach turned off down a smaller side street, eventually stopping before an establishment whose sign proclaimed “Madame Guisset, Modiste”. Felicia, however, informed her the shop was now run by the two Mademoiselle Guissets, Marie and Brigitte, Madame having left this world some five years before.

  They were met by Marie. Tall, slim and slightly angular with dark hair fashionably coiffed, Corinna guessed Marie was probably near her early forties. Greeting Felicia effusively, she was very pleased to hear of the return of Marcus and make Corinna’s acquaintance.

  In no time at all, Corinna was standing on a stool in the middle of a small room clad only in her corset, chemise and drawers, being measured, while Felicia and Caroline were served tea and biscuits. The next two hours proved exhausting. Corinna had never been poked, prodded, measured, molded, folded, and laced so much in her life.

  It was also exciting and exhilarating. Not since her parents were alive had she been treated with such deference, and allowed to pick and choose styles, fabrics, materials and trims and such in seemingly unlimited quantit
ies. She was surprised at the wide variety the sisters seemed to have on hand and that they could promise to complete her order in a minimum of time.

  Caroline loved every minute of it as she and her mother looked over fashion plates, discussed colors and trims, and provided a running commentary to Corinna. She also didn’t hesitate to voice her opinion, as she did when the modiste suggested a color she didn’t like.

  The sisters also had bonnets and ribbon on hand for matching colors and creating complete ensembles. By the time the three of them left, Corinna had the promise of at least half of her order within a week, and the rest within two. She was astounded.

  “They are wonderful, and very exclusive,” Felicia told her once they were in the carriage. “I suspect they are as English as you and I, but I do not doubt that their grandparents, perhaps, did come here from France.”

  When Corinna noted her astonishment at the variety of fabrics and colors they had available, Felicia explained Falmouth was a busy port with cargoes coming and going to the continent all the time.

  “Sometimes the Guissets have a particular fabric before you even see it in London. And I think they have contacts in France for supplies.”

  The next stop was the shoe and bootmaker. Then on to another store for gloves, and finally, the mantua maker. They were quick, and soon all three of them were refreshing themselves at a small pastry shop. A quick bite, a cup of tea, and they were soon on their way home.

  Once in the coach, Caroline kept up a steady stream of chatter and observations all the way home. It had been easy to catch her infectious enthusiasm at being allowed to participate in their shopping expedition.

  As she entered the foyer, Pulliam informed her that all the men were out. Glancing at the clock, she noted the time before heading upstairs to rest before dinner. She hadn’t realized they’d been gone so long. The men would be back soon. It was past tea time and getting close to the twins’ bedtime.

  Entering the sitting room, she crossed to a window seat and opened the window before curling up with the book she’d left there the night before. The fragrance from the garden below wafted through the window, reminding her of another garden in another time.

  Christine Houghton’s garden had been her pride and joy. It reflected not only her skill at gardening, but also her love of the land, the flowers and anything else that grew. Corinna had many fond memories of sitting beside her mother, digging in the warm, fragrant earth. Planting, pruning and weeding, alongside the gardeners. Her sisters and brothers had not cared for any of it, but Corinna remembered that even in the winter the house had flowers in the drawing rooms and parlors. Even now it was difficult to walk through a flower garden without remembering her mother, and the pain of her loss. Perhaps that was why she enjoyed the topiary so much. It did not resurrect so many painful memories.

  The door opened then closed. Looking up, she expected to find one of the maids. Instead, Marcus stood across the room, leaning back against the door, smiling as he watched her through hooded eyes.

  “Felicia tells me you made an effort to bankrupt me today, but didn’t accomplish it,” he teased. “Why is it I don’t see any tangible results of those efforts?”

  She smiled back. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a few days to see the results and determine whether it was worth it.”

  Pushing away from the door, he crossed the room to stand before her. As she looked up into warm brown eyes, the sweet taste of this morning’s chocolate came to mind.

  Sitting beside her, he took her left hand in his and, reaching into his waistcoat pocket, extracted a slim gold ring.

  “This belonged to my mother,” he told her as he slid it on her finger. “Eliza insisted it be kept for me after she died. I can only think this is exactly what she expected me to do with it.”

  The ring fit perfectly and Corinna stared at it in awe. The plain gold band shone in the muted light of the room, seeming to glow on its own. Neither showy nor ostentatious, its plainness suited her perfectly.

  Looking up at him through moist eyes, she felt a lump rise in her throat, and barely managed to say, “It’s lovely. Th-thank y-you.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin, reminding her of a mischievous little boy. “You’re welcome.”

  Her heart suddenly skipped at that endearing look. Glancing down at the ring, she marveled that it fit so well. Remembering some of the things Douglas had told her about Marcus’s family, especially his mother, she wondered if she would have been considered an acceptable bride for him.

  “I wish I could have met her,” she said now.

  His smile dimmed the tiniest bit as he replied. “It is probably best you didn’t. I’m not sure she would have approved of you.” The question in her eyes prompted him to continue. “Not that I didn’t love her, but I’m afraid she was very much a snob. She did not even approve of Felicia, whose father was a Marquis.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  A shadow passed over his features and she wished she hadn’t asked the question. The carefree young man who had just smiled at her with warmth and tenderness vanished. He looked up, staring out the window behind her for a short time before he looked back down at her.

  “Sometimes I do,” he answered with a sigh.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Edward knows nothing of his mother’s background. What he might learn from the locals around St. Ayers should not tarnish his memories of her, but I leave to you whether to tell him more.”

  John, 6th Duke of Warringham in a posthumous letter to his son, Brand, 7th Duke of Warringham (May 1864)

  She was already awake the next morning when Irma entered the room carrying a tray. She watched, from the depths of the bed, as the young woman put the tray down on a small table then crossed the room to open the drapes.

  Light flooded the room, and she sat up as the maid turned toward the bed.

  Irma set the tray in Corinna’s lap. Pouring herself a cup of steaming chocolate, Corinna savored the taste as the maid disappeared into the dressing room and returned with her riding costume.

  “His lordship asked if you would join him this morning,” she said, laying it across the end of the bed.

  Corinna put down her cup and picked up a scone. “When?”

  “In an hour,” was the reply.

  The maid finished gathering the items necessary for her toilette while she finished the light repast on the tray.

  Approximately fifty-five minutes later, Corinna descended the stairs and found Marcus waiting for her in the front hall. Once they were on their way, Marcus looked over at her. “I trust you slept well?”

  “Like a log,” she responded brightly. “It still feels strange not to wake up in the nursery. I’m so used to hearing the children moving around in the playroom.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Neither,” she replied. “Just different.”

  They reached the end of the drive and Marcus turned and headed down a narrow track across a field. She followed, enjoying the sight of his broad shoulders encased in a black riding jacket. Soon they came upon another road and he slowed down as she came abreast of him again.

  “Are we going anywhere in particular?” she asked, as they headed down the lane.

  He turned and grinned at her, and she was suddenly struck by the change in him. He seemed to have shed the sorrow she had sensed in him since his arrival. He appeared more carefree and more like the Marcus who visited her childhood home.

  “I thought I’d show you the estate,” he replied. “It is quite extensive. I consider myself lucky that I haven’t gotten lost yet.”

  They talked as they rode. Marcus told her about his and Douglas’s escapades, both at school and in India. She talked about her time at school and the friends she had made. They relived some incidents from their shared past, reminiscing about Douglas.

  Reaching the first village, Marcus stopped at the small inn and introduced her to the innkeeper and his wife, a thin couple in their late forties. The Hedgespeth
s greeted them warmly, the missus insisting they have a spot of breakfast.

  “It’s all so exciting, you know,” Fanny Hedgespeth told her. “What with the earl coming home and now you being here. It will be nice to have a family up at St. Ayers again.”

  “Has the estate been vacant long, then?” Corinna asked her.

  “Well, no one has actually lived there for nigh on fifty years. Ever since the last earl was disgraced. We knew the estate belonged to the Duke of Warringham ’cause Mr. Boggs told us, but the duke only came around occasionally, and never stayed long. It wasn’t till the new duke came and buried the last earl’s daughter, that anyone even knew what happened to her.”

  Corinna nodded. That would have been Marcus’s mother, the dowager duchess. “Did the previous earl have any other children besides the one daughter?”

  “Nope, there was just the one girl. Pretty little thing, she was too, according to my mam.”

  “What of her mother, the countess?”

  “Me mam said she were nice enough, but when her brother came to visit, none o’ the locals took to ’em. I s’pose it was ’cause they was French, and with the war an’ all, no one hereabouts really trusted ’em.”

  They looked in on the village school before they left and she noted that the room, although small, was neat and clean, and the children were orderly and well-behaved.

  They rode over desolate moors and skirted fertile fields, from small stands of trees into wide open meadows, and from the top of rocky cliffs down to wide, smooth beaches, and hidden coves. The estate was a checkerboard of contrasts.

  In one of the fishing villages dotting the coastline, Marcus introduced her to Old Ben, an old sailor who had known the previous earl and his family. She listened as Marcus asked Ben a few questions regarding his mother. As they left, she asked him a few questions of her own, learning more about the former Earl St. Ayers.

  Marcus seemed deep in thought as they reached the top of the path. He turned and looked back over the water and she wondered if he was seeing France in his mind’s eye.