The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series)

by Georgina Young-Ellis

  “I hear you play the violin, sir,” said James. “I am looking forward to hearing you.”

  “Yes, it is one of my passions.”

  James urged him on. “You have been playing a long time?”

  “Since I was a child.”

  “Which composers do you enjoy most?”

  Cassandra watched her son carefully.

  “Oh, I am a great fan of Bach. Your mother has also led me to be more of a follower of Beethoven’s—and of course Mozart, Vivaldi—”

  “I know mother loves Chopin—”

  Cassandra let a teaspoon clatter onto the table. James looked at her.

  “I am sorry, is that a composer?” Ben asked.

  Cassandra raised an eyebrow to her son.

  “An American one,” answered James quickly. “I forgot that you would not know him.”

  “Ah, I did not know there were many renowned American composers. Mrs. Franklin, you have been hiding something from me.” Ben had a twinkle in his eye.

  “I did not bring any music with me from America,” Cassandra demurred. “And I do not have anything by the Americans memorized. There are not many to speak of.”

  “Pity. Will you play something for us now? Anything you choose.”

  “I do not know if James is in the mood—”

  “Of course, Mother! I have not heard you play for such a long time. I was raised on music, you know,” he said to Ben. “It is, in a sense, a passion of mine as well.”

  “I am very gratified to hear that,” Ben replied, patting him on the shoulder.

  After she played, Cassandra invited Ben to stay to dinner. It was satisfying, she realized, to have the two men sit with her at the table and enjoy such easy conversation. Ben departed shortly after the meal. James went to nap in the window seat, and Cassandra curled up on the sofa with a book. She had begun to nod off when she heard the clatter of wheels on the drive.

  Who on earth?—Cassandra could not complete her thought before Lady Holcomb and Jane were being ushered in by Mary. Cassandra received them graciously, but could not hide her surprise. Lady Holcomb offered her apologies, but stated that she could not stand on ceremony when something as momentous as the arrival of her dear friend’s precious son had occurred. Cassandra knew that her curiosity had simply overcome her, and she made allowances for her good friend’s impetuousness. She and James entertained the two women until late, and she could see that James was becoming weary. Still, he held up admirably, she thought, and for Jane’s sake, added extra tragedy to the story of his split with the beautiful Rebecca van Riper. When they finally left, he kicked off his boots, slouched down on the sofa, and threw his legs onto the low table before it.

  “This is exhausting! How do you do it?”

  “I try to keep these kinds of visits to a minimum, even with the families I genuinely like. I usually pay or receive two or three visits a week, but when I first arrived it was every day for at least a month. It’s wearing.”

  “I’m going to have to do this every day for a month?”

  “Well, not all day, like today, but probably either morning or afternoon. I like to visit in the morning to get it over with, and from now on, I shall make sure every visit is scheduled, so we are not surprised. Today was an exception. But I am sorry to say, it goes with the territory, and you chose it. Having second thoughts about your stay?”

  “No, no,” he replied, “I’ll put up with it. It’s worth it to me to have this experience. By the way, that Jane wasn’t too bad.”

  “Forget it, she just turned seventeen.”

  “She was looking me over pretty good.”

  “Oh, you would be a great match for her, but obviously that is not going to happen.”

  “No, she was a little insipid anyway. And what’s with this “lady” thing? Why is your friend Lady Holcomb, but you’re Mrs. Franklin. Why can’t you be Lady Franklin?”

  “Because I did not marry a baronet.”

  “What’s a baronet?”

  “You did not study this?”

  “I was in a hurry.”

  “Well, a baronet is an inherited rank among commoners. In other words, if you are a baronet, you are called sir, but you are not nobility, and your wife is referred to as a lady.”

  “Is it like a baron?”

  “Actually, it is a rank just below baron, but a baron is nobility.”

  “Can a woman be a baronet?”

  “Usually a baronetcy can only be inherited by a man. A woman rarely inherits it. If she does, then she is called a baronetess, but they would refer to her as dame so-and-so.”

  “So, why didn’t you choose to make yourself Lady Franklin or Dame Franklin?”

  “Because the system was not used in America.”

  “And Ben isn’t a baronet?”

  “No, because his family is not old money. They are merchants, kind of nouveau-riche, which is somewhat frowned upon. He is not terribly proud of it.”

  “There’s no way he can become a baronet?”

  “Well, originally, the baronetcy was created by King James to raise money for the realm, and rich commoners could buy the rank. It is like being a knight, but not a knight of the garter, which is a special honor. However, I do not think you can buy a baronetcy any more; you would have to inherit it.”

  “If you married a baronet, would you be a baronetess?”

  “No, I would only be a lady.”

  “Well, I think you look like a baroness or baronetess or lady or dame or whatever you want to call it, living in this unbelievable mansion with all these servants and stables and stable masters and head gardeners.…I’ve never seen anything like it. So I’m going to start calling you Baroness Franklin, or maybe Baroness Cassandra. It sounds better than baronetess, and is more impressive than lady.”

  “You had better not,” she said in a mock threat. “Now let me get back to my book.”

  “Fine. I’m going upstairs.”

  “Go on then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The next day they received an invitation to call at Darrington, the mansion of Sir and Lady Charles, at the hour of two o’clock.

  “Now James,” Cassandra admonished as they rode along in the carriage under the overcast sky, “This visit is an important one. Not that making a good impression isn’t always going to be vital in maintaining our illusion of normalcy, but Lady Charles has a sharper eye than most. I feel like she senses in me something inherently different and mistrusts me as a result.”

  “Maybe you’re just being paranoid.”

  “I do not think so. You can judge for yourself.”

  “What’s her daughter like?”

  “Oh, she is nice enough, and her niece, Miss Fairchild, is a little goofy, but sweet. Oh, and remember, even if they use first names with each other, you have to refer to them as Miss Charles and Miss Fairchild, and they will call you Mr. Franklin.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if I forget?”

  “You cannot forget. It will seem inappropriately intimate if you start referring to them by their first names so soon after meeting. As a matter of fact, you have to be very good friends or openly involved in a romantic relationship before you start using first names, and even then, it is not always done.”

  “It seems excessively formal.”

  “Well, maybe so, but I did not make the rules.”

  “What do I call the husband, is he Sir Charles?”

  “No. He is Sir Robert Charles, or just Sir Robert. However, I do not think we will run into him today. I believe he is in London.”

  Cassandra had only met Sir Robert once, at a formal dinner party given in her honor back in March, and he had seemed distant and acted superior. As predicted, he was not around when Cassandra and her son arrived for James’ grand introduction, conducted in Lady Charles’s dignified parlor. Cassandra was worried that James was intimidated at first, but the giggles and glances from Miss Charles and her cousin soon put him in his element
. In no time he was telling his heart-breaking tale, and the young ladies were appropriately outraged at the callousness of the cruel Miss van Riper. Lady Charles was all kind condescension toward her guests, and Cassandra began to feel that perhaps the lady was beginning to accept her after all.

  She noticed James’ attention drawn to the pretty face of Miss Charles, who at nineteen, considered herself ripe for romance, if not marriage. Cassandra knew that Lady Charles had been scouting for the perfect match for her daughter, and had not yet found anyone satisfactory. Cassandra was certain that the woman would never consider James. After all, he was an American with questionable heritage. And there was all this business of becoming a professor—Cassandra thought her son was safe from any designs the woman might have on him, but was not so sure about those of her daughter.

  Before she knew it, Cassandra heard the word dancing mentioned, and the conversation quickly turned to talk of a ball. Beads of sweat sprang up on James’ forehead, but the girls were thrilled with the idea and Lady Charles immediately took up the cause.

  “Oh, a ball! Yes, how delightful; we must have it here! We have a very elegant ballroom, as you know, Mrs. Franklin, and we hardly ever use it. We shall invite the Clarkes, the Moores, the Holcombs, and that odd Mr. Johnston—” she said with a glance at Cassandra, “poor bachelor that he is. Oh, and the Whites, and—” her list went on and on.

  Before the visit wound down, the date for the ball was set for a week from Saturday. The day being Sunday, there remained almost two weeks for Lady Charles to send out invitations and make all the preparations. Cassandra was glad that her house had not been volunteered. She hadn’t the slightest idea how to prepare for the event, and she doubted she even had the correct thing to wear.

  She did know how to dance, however, having studied period dancing extensively with experts when preparing for her trip, and now, looking over at James sitting somewhat uncomfortably in a stiff brocade chair, she figured that he probably had not. Thank God we have two weeks, she thought. Sure enough, as they returned home, a light rain falling on the carriage roof, James confessed that he had no clue how to dance according to the style of the early nineteenth century.

  “Well, it is not easy,” said Cassandra, “yet it does not take long to memorize the steps. The hard part is doing it with grace. I will have to teach you, and we had better get started today.”

  When they arrived home she sent a note off to Ben:

  My dear,

  I set a challenge before you. A ball has been arranged at Darrington, Saturday after next. My poor son has been devoted to studying, but not dancing and does not know a minuet from a quadrille. When you come on Monday for our practice, can you plan to stay and lend your expertise? I can teach him, but I shall need help!

  Yours,

  Cassandra

  Mother and son spent the evening in the conservatory marching out the steps of the dances that were sure to be performed at the ball while she hummed the appropriate tunes.

  Monday morning they visited with the Clarkes, and Monday afternoon Ben joined the Franklins at Sorrel Hall to play for them on the violin as they danced, and also to fill in the man’s part of the dance wherever Cassandra’s knowledge lacked. James was an able pupil and advanced quickly.

  On Tuesday afternoon Cassandra abandoned James for her appointment with Ben at the gamekeeper’s cottage, and returned home late in the afternoon. Ben surprised her that evening after supper by making an appearance just before eight o’clock to play the violin while she and James danced for an hour, perfecting the steps. Afterward, Ben and Cassandra played one of the Bach Violin Sonatas they’d been working on.

  “The two of you are amazing together,” James told her as she walked back into the sitting room after seeing Ben off at the door. He was lounging in a chair with his feet up on a velvet ottoman. “I think he’s a great guy, but what will you do about him when you leave?”

  She stood rearranging some flowers she’d placed in a vase on the mantel. “I have not exactly figured that out yet.”

  “I think he’s in love with you.”

  “Yes, so he says.”

  “Geez, mother, that’s a little cold. What, are you just going to leave him in the dust come January?”

  “I do not know!” She plucked a wilting rose from the vase and tossed it into the fireplace. “I will just have to figure it all out when the time comes. Besides, anything could happen before I leave.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, relationships end for all kinds of reasons.”

  “You don’t seem like you really care.”

  “Watch your contractions.”

  “You do not seem like you really care.”

  “ ‘As if’ you really care.”

  “Mother! Stop correcting me!”

  She went to the piano and began to straighten up the music books scattered over it. “Look, I like him a lot, but I view him as more of a distraction than anything else. I was dying of boredom before he came along, to be perfectly honest.”

  “Really? But this experience is what you always wanted.”

  “Yes, I thought so; I just thought it would be a lot…more…interesting. Now it has become interesting, I promise you that.”

  “So you just plan to break his heart? Isn’t that, I mean is that not changing history?”

  “I do not think so. I am not preventing him from doing anything, or leading him into any major decisions. Besides, time travelers take the chance with every interaction that they could change history. However, I do not think I am doing so.”

  Cassandra heard the sound of shuffling feet at the door and turned to see Mary standing there with a tray on which sat two glasses of wine. Mother and son exchanged glances.

  “Yes, Mary?”

  “Master Franklin ordered wine before bed—“

  “Oh, of course, I shall take it; you may go.” Cassandra took the glasses off the tray and stood holding them until Mary was out of hearing range.

  “Do you think she heard what you said?” James asked his mother.

  “I do not know. At any rate, she would not understand what I was talking about.”

  “True.”

  She went to hand one of the glasses of wine to James. “I am going to bed.”

  “Did you ever consider the possibility that Ben is supposed to meet and marry someone else?” James said, taking the glass.

  “Like who?”

  “What do you mean, like who? I do not know.”

  Cassandra considered Jane Holcomb’s pretty face. “Well, if he is meant to do that, he will. I shall be gone in six months.”

  “Just be careful, mother.”

  “I will be. Do not worry. Goodnight.” She turned to go.

  “Goodnight.” James replied softly.

  Chapter 10

  August 10, 1820—It seems everyone in and around Selborne is in mad preparation for the ball. Ladies are rushing off to Basingstoke to buy gloves and fans and slippers, things that are not readily available here. Charlotte even dispatched a servant to London to find a particular handbag she’d lusted after the last time she was there.

  I’m having the wonderful Selborne seamstress, Miss Freeman, make me a gown, as Mrs. Merriweather helped me determine I have nothing in my wardrobe fit for a ball. Miss Freeman and I chose a moss-green silk which she said would set off my hair. It is to be the high-waisted fashion currently in vogue, the bodice embroidered with a darker green silk thread of a floral design, sprinkled with tiny, glittering beads. The short, capped sleeves will be slightly full, while the neckline will fall just below the tops of my shoulders. The skirt will flow from under the bust line to the floor, just allowing the shape of my leg to show. I also plan to wear long, off-white, silk gloves to help cover the freckles on my arms.

  James and I decided that he did not have the appropriate formal wear for a ball either, and anyway needs to augment his wardrobe and linens if he’s going to stay for a while (a point we have not yet settled).
And so we went to Brick and Son, the Selborne tailor, who crafted a few pairs of slim trousers in black, brown, and grey, a short, black frock-coat, several high-collared white shirts, and some undergarments. He will be the most dapper young gentleman in the neighborhood.

  ******

  The Saturday of the ball arrived, hot and muggy. Cassandra woke late and after a light breakfast, still had not seen James. She wandered out behind the kitchen to gather ripe tomatoes from the garden when the sound of splashing caught her attention. She walked across the lawn toward the lake and glimpsed James’ head popping up out of the water. He saw her and waved.

  “Come swimming, Mother, the water is perfect!”

  Cassandra laughed. “I have no bathing costume,” she yelled to him, moving closer. “And what is that you are wearing?”

  “My bathing costume! I ordered it from Basingstoke, and one for you too!” They arrived this morning. I left yours in my room since you were not awake. Go put it on! Come on!”

  The sun was starting to beat down on her through the haze. “But my hair! And the ball tonight!”

  “You have plenty of time to wash and dry it. Trust me, this will refresh you like nothing else.”

  “Very well!” She ran back to the house, up the rear stairs and found the garment lying on James’ bed. She’d had some idea of what to expect, but when she saw it, her enthusiasm waned. It was a dress of grey wool, with long sleeves and a modest neckline. She picked it up. It was heavy. When she examined it, she saw there were weights in the bottom hem to keep the skirt from floating up. Tears stung behind her eyes for a moment. How could she enjoy a swim in a thing that made her feel hot just looking at it?

  She threw the suit back on the bed and marched down the stairs and back out to the lake. James was splashing around in a black tank-top style, one-piece suit with legs that went about half-way down his thigh. She felt a pang of indignation that men could swim in practically nothing, while women had to be fully clothed.

  Well, my house, my rules, she thought. She went into the boat house and stripped out of her pale yellow muslin gown. What remained was a chemise and bloomers. She walked out onto the short dock of the boathouse, and before anyone could see, jumped in. When her feet touched the bottom, the water was at her chest. The floor of the lake was sandy, and she could feel the reeds brushing against her legs. The water was clear and cool, kept that way by the stream that fed it from the north and that flowed out again to the south. She swam to James, several yards away. “This is wonderful!”