by Janet Aylmer
Julia and the Master of Morancourt
Janet Aylmer
Twenty-year-old Julia Maitland is ready to find a husband. Lord Dominic Brandon has proposed, delighting Julia's socially ambitious mother, despite Brandon's unsavory reputation and rumored ties to smuggling. Though her father favors Jack Douglas-who lacks a title but will inherit his father's fortune-Julia has eyes only for Kit, Jack's younger brother, who will inherit very little. When Julia accompanies her Aunt Lucy to the estate of Lucy's recently deceased childhood friend, she is stunned to see Kit, who inherited the estate and new surname from his godmother, making him the Master of Morancourt. The attraction between the pair blossoms but Julia knows a loveless union still awaits unless she can convince her family otherwise. Aylmer is more enamored of the period than of her characters, and the plot serves as merely a framework for sumptuous descriptions of Regency-era events and fashions. Despite a treasure trove of Austen-era trivia, a stronger narrative would have made the love affair more compelling.
Janet Aylmer
Julia and the Master of Morancourt
This book is for
Joss and Stephanie
who know why Dorset is so special
One
The noise of the wheels of the old carriage rumbling along the uneven track almost drowned out the sound of the shoes tapping on the floor.
Almost, but not quite.
“Julia, why do you keep tapping your shoes?”
There was no answer. Her sister was intent on looking out of the window, at the rather grey day, at the bare green fields and the low stone walls that divided them into a green patchwork quilt. Beside her, on the worn leather seat, was the old tapestry bag containing their riding boots, waiting ready for the treat to come.
“Julia,” persisted Sophie, “why are you tapping your shoes?”
Their father stirred from dozing on the seat opposite them and opened his eyes. “What did you say, Sophie?”
“Why is Julia tapping her feet, Papa?”
Lewis Maitland looked down at the worn old red shoes.
She had insisted on wearing them. Perhaps they were familiar, comforting, in a situation he knew that Julia would have preferred to avoid. Her face seemed paler than usual, and she had drawn her hair back from her face this morning in a rather severe style, the golden-brown curls more disciplined than usual above her brown riding skirt and short yellow jacket.
But his eldest daughter had heard his voice and, ignoring her sister, turned her head to look at him. He returned her quiet smile before Julia said, “If you keep being a nuisance, Sophie, Mr. Douglas may not allow you to ride any of his horses.”
Her sister did not look in the least abashed at this remark, but decided that it might not be a good idea to ask the question again.
“Papa, are you warm enough?”
Julia leant across to tuck the rug around him more snugly. His greatcoat had several capes, but it worried her that he was feeling the cold so much nowadays, and he always refused to wear any gloves on his thin hands.
Her father reflected, not for the first time, how very different the two sisters were. His eldest daughter had inherited her mother’s grey eyes, and her determination, certainly, but in most other respects—her calmer personality, her sympathy for other people, her love of books, and her practical and independent mind—she was quite unlike Olivia.
Sophie, on the other hand, was quite irrepressible, ran at everything in life at full tilt, and could be very thoughtless about the needs of others. Harriet, the youngest, was a mixture of the two. But she was almost sixteen now, and it might be that she had changed during her last few months away at school.
Sophie fidgeted on her seat, and Julia said, “I suppose that what you really want to know is how long it will be before we get there?”
“Well, why shouldn’t I? We seem to have been sitting on these uncomfortable seats for ages. Papa, you promised me that the journey would take no more than thirty minutes!”
“It is only twenty minutes since we left home, Sophie.”
She looked rebellious, and twisted her hair in her fingers beneath her chip straw hat.
Their father, anxious to preserve a precarious peace, changed the subject.
“Harry Douglas has several good horses, and he has been very kind in saying that you may ride one, Sophie. Aren’t you looking forward to that?”
“Oh, yes, of course I am, Papa. But I don’t like sitting in the carriage for so long, and it keeps making that really horrible squeaking noise. I hate it!”
Her father turned the conversation back to the ride that she and Julia had been promised later in the afternoon.
“You will see that the stables were built at the same time as the mansion, but the farm buildings are a more recent addition. I believe that they have been constructed by Harry Douglas since his wife died, when young Jack decided that he was more interested in farming, like his grandfather, than in any other occupation.”
Sophie was not interested in buildings—what she wanted was to go out straight away on one of the horses housed in the stables. “Does he ride often?”
“Mr. Douglas?”
“No, his son Jack—he is the person Julia is really going to see, isn’t he?”
Her father looked at Julia, but her head was turned away from him, so he looked back again at Sophie.
He did not answer her directly. “Most people who live on a large estate would need to ride some of the time, but I don’t imagine that Harry Douglas will want to go out today, so I will probably stay in the house with him whilst you and Julia ride with Jack, and maybe his brother.”
“Brother?”
“Yes, there is a younger brother, just back from the war with Napoléon.”
“What’s his name?” said Sophie.
“Christopher—the family call him Kit.”
Julia was getting bored with her younger sister’s conversation. She did not know anything about Kit, but she had already heard that Jack Douglas was very careless of his horses, and a daredevil rider. That was one of the matters that she had decided to put out of her mind when her father had pressed her to agree to the visit. At least Jack should get on well with Sophie, for she was fearless in the saddle, as impetuous as she was in her conversation.
Julia turned to look again out of the carriage window. Most of Derbyshire was a mixture of valleys and steep hills, but this locality seemed to be an endless fl at panorama of fields and walls. However, it was at last giving way to gently rounded slopes and groups of trees close to the road. Perhaps they had not got too much further to go now, and certainly Sophie would probably lose her temper if she had to sit still very much longer.
Soon after, the noise of the wheels on the track began to change from a loud rumble to a more gentle and even sound. As they rounded a bend, tall brownish stone pillars came into view with a lodge in the same local stone on each side, the two houses being linked by an archway over a handsome pair of iron gates. The carriage slowed, then paused, and a man came forward from one of the lodges to let them through.
“Papa, Papa, we’re there at last!”
“Not quite, Sophie. You’ll see in a while.”
Julia soon realised that her father was right, as it took fully another ten minutes for them to reach the house. She could see that Sophie was very impressed by the size of the park, for their father had said little about the Norton Place estate beyond hinting that the family was financially very secure.
Here, the gravelled drive was bordered on each side by low well-kept wooden fences to keep the sheep and deer from straying onto the track.
The only trees visible were in the further distance, on the lower slopes of t
he hills that formed a natural bowl surrounding the mansion. To one side, a stream widened into a lake close to the house, and then tumbled down a waterfall and away along the valley. On the other, the extensive block of stables built at right angles to the main building enclosed a courtyard where the carriage was brought to a halt at the foot of a long flight of stone steps.
Julia had not expected to be pleased by the appearance of the mansion, but found herself liking the gracious symmetry of the main facade and the tall windows, and the simple but elegant formal garden on each side.
An elderly groom came forward and opened the carriage door so that they could alight. Sophie tumbled down onto the forecourt, and the groom came forward to help Julia and their father descend at a more sedate pace.
“Welcome, welcome, Lewis!” The booming voice came from a stout red-faced gentleman standing between the stone pillars at the top of the wide stone steps by the main doors. He came down the steps to greet them.
“Thank you, Harry. May I introduce my daughters, Julia Maitland—and not forgetting Sophie?” Both the young ladies curtsied to their host.
“Indeed, you are both very welcome. I wish that we had such fine young ladies living in this house.”
Julia found his rather effusive style of speaking rather disconcerting, but Sophie was delighted. After all, she was eighteen years old now, but was always chafing at her more junior status in the family. Only the fact that Harriet was two years younger made her feel like the grown-up young lady she felt she had now become.
“Do you want the bag with you, Miss?”
They both turned, and the groom gestured towards the tapestry bag still resting on the seat of the carriage. Before Julia could reply, Sophie pushed forward and took it. Clutching the handle, Sophie started to walk up the steps.
“Sophie!” She stopped as Julia checked her. “Wait for Mr. Douglas to conduct us.”
Their host laughed. “I like to see a young lady with spirit.” And to the coachman he said, “Please take the carriage round to the stables.”
Then Mr. Douglas took their father’s arm and they walked up the steps with the two sisters following behind.
As she passed through the front door, the butler took the tapestry bag from Sophie and put it on a chair with a velvet seat. She was about to protest but thought better of it when she saw Julia’s expression.
Sensing her urgency, Mr. Douglas said, “I don’t know where Jack is, but he can’t be far away. Reuben, go and tell him that Miss Maitland and Miss Sophie have arrived. He’s probably somewhere in the farm buildings.”
The groom hurried away, and their father followed Harry Douglas through the doorway.
Inside, a handsome wooden staircase with a graceful balustrade curved away towards the rear of the hall and then split into two parts to reach the first floor. Beyond stone pillars on each side, panelled doors could be seen leading to several spacious reception rooms, and straight ahead the park outside was visible through several tall windows. Large paintings hung on the walls above more velvet chairs, and a large Turkish carpet occupied the centre of the floor. Mama would be impressed by all this, Julia thought.
The soles of her shoes echoed on the wooden floor as they were led along a wide corridor to the left, passing a large formal dining room, and they were about to enter the main salon at the end when Julia caught sight of a library on the right side of the corridor. Mr. Douglas paused and spoke to someone within.
“Kit, here are Lewis Maitland and his two daughters.” And he led the way into the room. The library was large and lined with tall bookshelves on every side, which were full of volumes from floor to ceiling.
Sitting at a table on the far side of the room was a young man with dark hair who looked up as they came in. He laid down his pen on a list that he had been writing and, rising from his seat, came forward to meet them, limping slightly. His clear green eyes met Julia’s grey ones as their host made the introductions.
“Mr. Lewis Maitland, Miss Maitland, Miss Sophie, this is my son Kit Douglas,” and to his son, he continued, “Miss Maitland, I am told, is very fond of books.”
Turning to Julia, he added, “Is that not so?”
“Yes, sir—what a well-stocked library! Perhaps I might be allowed to have a look at some of the books later on? It’s true, I am fond of reading.”
“But of course,” said Mr. Douglas, looking at his son who, after a slight pause, said, “Miss Maitland, would you like to look at the list of our latest acquisitions now?”
“Oh, I should love to do that. Would you excuse me, Mr. Douglas, for a short while?”
“But of course, my dear. I rarely look at a book, being much more of a practical man myself. The library here was created by my wife, who brought some of the books from her family’s home. And our son Kit here has continued her interest.”
Behind them, Sophie fidgeted at the delay. Noticing this, her host said to Julia, “Lewis and I will take your sister into the drawing room for some light refreshments before you both go riding.”
And he led his other guests out through the panelled double doors towards the corridor, leaving Julia with Kit Douglas.
“Miss Maitland, if you will come to the table, you can look at my list of books and choose some volumes to see.”
Julia crossed the room and sat down on a chair that he had pulled forward next to him. There were several sheets of paper filled with neat writing, which he explained listed the titles and authors of a pile of books on the far side of the table.
“These are some volumes that I purchased on the Continent, before I came home. Which ones will you choose?”
Kit Douglas handed the sheets to her and she looked through them quickly. Then she pointed at three books on the list.
“You have unusual tastes in literature, Miss Maitland.”
She looked at him rather warily, and then caught a hint of humour in his expression, so she said, “My father has always encouraged me to read widely. You consider that inappropriate for a young lady?”
This time he smiled quite broadly. “If I had any sisters, Miss Maitland, I’m sure that they should have access to the same range of volumes as I do.”
He chose the books that she had indicated from the pile and handed them to her. “I purchased two of these whilst I was in Spain, for my regiment was quartered in an old town where there was a very interesting bookshop.”
“Oh, have you been to the Peninsula? Did you meet my brother David there?”
“No, I did not have that pleasure. My father said that he was in the same regiment as the Brandon brothers.”
His manner seemed to her to be rather serious, but that was more to Julia’s liking than the brasher style of many young men.
“You, too, like books very much? Are these all from the Continent?”
“Yes, all those here on the side table—but we have many others on the shelves, as you can see.”
Julia looked quickly through two of the books, conscious of being scrutinised with a clear gaze. When she came to the last volume, the smallest one, she opened it carefully, and then cried out with delight. For it was a Book of Hours, bound in pale brown leather and beautifully illustrated with pictures in many colours highlighted with gold leaf, and with the text written in Latin on cream-colored calfskin.
“So you like La Passerelle?” he said.
“Oh yes, very much. Is that the French title?”
He took the book and opened it towards the end of the volume.
“Not the title—perhaps you would call it a nickname. If you look at this picture, can you see that there is a bridge, reaching across to the next world? See how the artist has coloured the details of the bridge very carefully, using extra detail in gold leaf as it reaches towards heaven?”
“Oh, of course—bridge, gangway—that is la passerelle in French!”
“Yes, exactly right. I came across the book by chance, and I had to buy it.”
She smiled at him. “I can quite understand why.”
/>
He hesitated, and then said, “I purchased it as a gift, but I was unable to deliver the book to the person for whom it was intended.”
There was something in his manner that prevented her from asking more. In any case, it was none of her business.
He coughed politely, and Julia remembered where she was.
“Perhaps we should join the others in the salon now, Miss Maitland. Otherwise, you may not have time for any refreshments before our ride. I hope that you will allow me to accompany you and your sister?”
She inclined her head without speaking, and followed him along the corridor to where her father was sitting with Mr. Douglas and Sophie in the salon, eating some small cakes with a glass of cordial.
“Please excuse the delay, Mr. Douglas, it was entirely my fault,” said Julia, as she sat down to join them.
“Not at all, my dear, I am pleased that you enjoyed yourself,” said her host.
Before they could make any more conversation, there was a commotion at the other end of the corridor, and a thick-set young man of middle height, wearing riding boots and carrying a whip in his hand, came rushing into the room, followed by the groom.
He came up to Sophie, who was sitting next to Mr. Douglas, and said, “I’m here now, Father. Are you Miss Maitland? I hope that you are ready?”
“Jack!” exclaimed his father, but Sophie, unabashed, said, “No, I am Sophie Maitland. That is my elder sister, Julia, over there, with your brother.”
Harry Douglas interrupted them. “Here you are at last, Jack! Introduce yourself properly to our guests, for goodness’ sake. You should have been at the front door some twenty minutes ago to greet them.”
Julia was surprised at his impatience, for she had persuaded herself in advance of the visit that Jack, as the elder son, would be his father’s favourite. But the tone of voice Harry Douglas had just employed was very much more demanding than that he had used a few minutes earlier to his younger son.
Jack Douglas had his father’s broad frame and red face, his loud voice and his rather rough way of speaking. His style of dress was untidy, his fair hair unruly, and his hands large. By comparison, his younger brother was nearly a head taller, and his clothes, though not in the very latest fashion, were neat and well kept, his complexion tanned by the sun, and his wavy dark hair carefully combed.
