To Find a Duchess

by Lisa M. Prysock

  The blasted will was annoying to say the least... it had nearly become a race to the altar, and it appeared as though his younger brother was far ahead of him in the marriage department. Lord Marcus James Hartford was informally engaged to Lady Jenna Bartlett. The young couple had all but announced their betrothal and William suspected rightly that the only thing holding Marcus back from doing so was William's own shambles... the shambles of a non-existent romantic interest.

  William was genuinely happy for his brother's success in finding a potential bride-- but finding a wife to fill the role of the future Duchess of Gloucester seemed far more challenging. He needed a wife who was sensible and efficient, not one who would fritter her day away on frivolous matters. He'd yet to see Catherine finish any needle project she held in her hands. She usually tossed her embroidery hoops aside to engage in endless chatter, useless flattery and frippery each time he entered the drawing room or parlor. She didn't like to read. She couldn't abide the idea of calling on sick tenants for fear of catching a disease-- not even to deliver very much needed baskets of food to those less fortunate than herself. She didn't sing or play the piano forte as most accomplished young ladies could do. She openly admitted that she didn't like to mend, sew or knit. She didn't like horses or taking long walks. She was always bored and always complaining. He couldn't imagine a lifetime with her. She hated history and politics and could not converse on any topics of interest except the subject of fashion or to engage in idle gossip. His dogs repulsed her. She deplored church services on Sunday.

  Regina had thrust Catherine upon him by urging him to dance with her at Almack's and other London balls, soirees and dances. She invited the Duncan family to visit the theater and museums during the Season and included them as guests for lengthy durations at Ivy Clifton, before the Season. As if that hadn't been enough, nearly every time he'd returned from anywhere he'd been, he returned to find Lady Catherine and her mother, Countess Duncan, in the parlor chatting with his aunt or having been invited to join them for supper. If they attended the symphony, theater or the opera, the Duncans were there also, with Catherine seated conveniently beside him in their box. Aunt Regina always seemed to see to that. How many meals had he struggled through trying to escape conversation with her? Rumors were starting to spread that they were engaged and Uncle James not only reminded him of this glaring problem but seemed to encourage it.

  Holding a conversation with her seemed harmless enough, but she always seemed to bring everything around to what new dress she was buying next or what person in society they shouldn't have anything to do with... or who had been cut and why. She had a knack for putting on airs to the point it rubbed his nerves raw. This, on top of having witnessed her actions with the Earl and the other fellow had completely turned him off. He had more important matters on his mind, things she couldn't possibly understand or care about. …How much the price a bushel of wheat or corn would fetch, for one thing.... if it was going to rain or not, for another.

  All of these thoughts passed through his mind as he walked briskly toward the stables. His mind turned again toward the problem of his inheritance. Marcus (who had spent years studying to become a barrister) had gone over the will a number of times and could only assume, like William, that this codicil was their deceased father's way of ensuring the continuation of family name and honor.

  Managing fourteen agricultural properties was a beast of a responsibility. It was William who had sat through countless of hours of agricultural and business studies. Though his Uncle James still ultimately managed the twelve properties tied to the codicil, William helped with most of the decision making and interacting with the overseers and managers of each. It was William who accomplished a vast amount of communication with many of the tenants on the various properties and handled much of the correspondence from the various overseers, in addition to the two he handled solely from his initial inheritance when he became of age.

  It was William who would climb out of his carriage unafraid and help a farmer drive a herd of cattle or sheep across a road when necessary. He spent hours looking after crops, purchasing new plows and farm equipment and making sure tenants were well taken care of. He traveled to each of the properties during the year and had developed an easy rapport with tenants and managing problems firsthand. He knew how to keep expenses under control in a way that would yield a profit for everyone concerned. There were sharecroppers to talk with and markets to contend with; buyers to navigate.

  William and Uncle James both knew it would be akin to a disaster to the family if the properties were split apart and younger brother, Lord Marcus, forced into agricultural and management pursuits. Marcus had no patience for walking the grounds, observing the day to day operations or meeting with managers, ordering seed or supplies. He preferred the history of art and the study of law and leisurely pursuits. He couldn't make heads or tails of looking at farm equipment and had no interest in innovative methods of irrigation, constant travel across England, making all sorts of decisions and pouring over ledgers to account for every expense. It was critical to their continued success as a ducal family for William to keep the properties from all of his father's estate together and intact.

  As Uncle James often said, “If it rains hail from heaven in the northeast of England, it doesn't rain hail in the southwest!” Though they hadn't endured a hail storm in many years, he knew it only took one or two bad years and they all suffered. His family was counting on him to find a wife and quickly. Thousands of acres of producing farm land were at stake.

  He simply hadn't met the right woman yet. This was a glaring disappointment to the ever growing aggravation of his increasingly obstinate uncle. He insisted his nephew find a bride in all due haste. He bellowed, “I really don't care exactly who she is! Any bride at this juncture will do! What on earth are you waiting for? By George, we've paraded the best women of England for years now, right under your nose.... and endured more dinner parties, soirees, luncheons, country dances... even some dreadfully boring evenings at the Opera. This has been even more than I can stand!”

  Reaching the stable, he was met by two stable hands spilling out of the impeccably kept structure. The outer walls were made of dark and lighter gray cobbled stones on the bottom half and dark red boards of lumber on the upper half. A dark brown three board fence created a large area to exercise the horses and two long rows of stalls on either side of a spacious aisle were kept clean and tidy daily. The smell of fresh hay and straw greeted him. An addition formed an “L shape” to the stable and served as the carriage house, containing numerous coaches, open carriages, a landau, a phaeton, Aunt Regina's personal curricle (though she seldom used it anymore) and various modes of transportation. Both of the stable hands greeted him and he requested his driver be located at once and made ready to journey speedily and to the other, gave orders for his personal coach to be made ready. The footmen began to assist with preparing the coach for the hitching process while the second stable hand scurried to lead out the young Duke's four magnificent white horses.

  He leaned against a stall containing a dapple-gray mare named 'Blue' who stared him down quietly as he waited, arms crossed over his chest. He continued to return the steady gaze of the mare while he thought over the conversation he'd just had with Regina that had been the breaking point this morning. Evidently he'd shocked her when he had walked out and slammed the door to her salon. (In truth, he'd never had to do that before...) If his words hadn't clearly conveyed his refusal to make an offer of marriage to Catherine, perhaps his unusual actions would.

  She couldn't understand that he'd not met any prospective brides he could seriously consider, in spite of the fact he spent a good deal of time in London, as he was required to take his seat in the House of Lords at certain times of the year. She suspected he spent a great many evenings hiding away in his study behind ledgers when he could be out and about socializing and choosing a wife. The past two years seemed a great lament, an anxious perplexity and a serious concern
to James and her concerning their nephew and this particularly difficult codicil of the will of Hartford's father.

  He recalled her words to him this morning, before the argument over Catherine had begun. “You must be willing to take a risk on love and be willing to make great changes in your life, for the good of all concerned William! Love will come in time. You must not maintain standards of perfection in finding a wife. I was not necessarily “in love” with your uncle when we married. There is no such thing as the perfect woman or the perfect marriage!”

  “But you don't know Catherine like I do,” was all he could reply.

  “People of great station in life must sometimes choose to love whom we marry. We all have faults and you must simply make up your mind to accept the good with the bad, as she will need to do for you, whoever and wherever she is! Lady Catherine comes from a good family. She will make a good wife for you.”

  He had been exasperated at that point. What could he say? He'd witnessed Catherine in two compromising situations and yet, somehow, felt compelled to keep the information to himself. He had no desire to participate in the spreading of facts which could injure her reputation any further than it may have already been progressing-- toward that end. This left William defenseless to their prattle beyond the obvious faults within her character.

  His aunt had rattled on, calling him by the name his closest peers did, “Hartford, love is a choice! Once that choice has been made, love is a very blind thing indeed, very blind! It is blind to all but duty and grows because we choose to love.” He could hear the echo of her words as he smelled the straw and the scent of horses and listened to the clop of horse hooves as they were led out of the stable one by one.

  Perhaps there had been a great deal of truth and good advice in her words but applying them to Lady Catherine Duncan was a suicide mission he wasn't going to risk an engagement upon. If he shared what he knew of her he risked divulging what he knew of her questionable character. Regina had a difficult time keeping secrets as it was.

  It seemed the right thing to do to keep her indiscretions to himself. In all fairness to her, perhaps she had been swayed by these men unfairly. He knew at least one of the men in the situation had less than honorable intentions. Love covers a multitude of sins and He that conceals a matter.... were two thoughts from the Bible that came to mind. He didn't love Catherine in a romantic sense, but if he shared what he knew, she might never be able to find a husband. Oh blast it all... why was it his concern anyway? It really wasn't... if he told the truth, his aunt and uncle would stop pestering him about her and throwing her in his face at every turn. In fact, his being connected with her rather limited his opportunity to become acquainted with other ladies. It was as if she had some sort of claim on him and eligible ladies of marriageable age had shied away a little more than in past Seasons. He had a feeling that Lady Catherine had set her sights on him and was busy fending off the competition. No matter, he still had no interest in her romantically or otherwise.

  He could see hay being pitched near the back of the stable from the opposite row of stalls but he didn't seem to notice anything else. He was remembering the straw that had broken the camel's back. Aunt Regina had made an announcement this morning that had deeply angered him. Had it been a mere two or three weeks of being away from the whirl of London? Regina had announced the Duncans would be arriving that very afternoon. At that point, he'd lost all sense of reason. She and her parents were following him to the countryside again. He felt as if he were being hunted down like some sort of wild game animal. Like any hunted prey, his natural instinct was to fight or flee. He'd done both.

  “Aunt Regina, you of all people should understand me better than anyone. You've raised me since my mother and father died and for that, I am enormously grateful. You must understand here and now that I am incompatible with Lady Catherine Duncan and most of the others you've introduced me to. I am furthermore, wearied by women who want to marry for reasons of prestige and wealth. Show me a woman of faith, humility, integrity and self-control. A little wit and intelligence, a soft spoken and kind woman without ulterior motive! I have yet to find the right combination, not to mention there are a few other qualities I require. I would appreciate it very much if you would keep your nose out of my personal affairs once and for all. I will find my own bride --and as far as Lady Catherine, I would rather marry a complete stranger!” On that note he'd turned on Aunt Regina in her morning dress and white frilly cap and left her standing there with an indignant look on her face as she reached for her smelling salts. He knew he had just stripped her of her last remaining shred of hope that he would find a bride in time to save the Gloucester family name. He equally disliked that he'd had to use his sternest voice with her as much as the thought of her pacing in front of the hearth in her pale blue salon with the mauve accents and impeccably polished wood floors, ringing her hands with the thought of what had transpired between them.

  Chapter 2. The Baffled Butler

  The only thing he was sorry for was slamming the door and perhaps for raising his voice to the woman who'd been like a mother to him since the passing of his parents. Perhaps she hadn't really deserved his reaction but he was, justifiably, weary of their meddling and hearing about his father's will. Apparently no suitable maiden was going to appear on his doorstep. He seemed to be looking for a needle in a haystack.

  With the Season behind him, there had to be another way of meeting a respectable bride. Was this the third-- or the fourth girl they'd suggested this year alone? Last year there had been another string of “suggestions” and introductions which had caused him to retreat from the silly laughter, ridiculous conversations and idle chatter of girls adorned in silk gowns. He had long ago tired of these frivolous parties and young girls who giggled at him from behind their fans, talked about him from behind their fans in clusters of others listening from behind their fans. Some of them stared at him as if he were a conquest or nervously talked to him of matters of little consequence. He found himself fraught with a strong desire to review ledgers or farm equipment catalogs with more fervor than ever before than to accommodate young girls and their mothers with his presence at this and that event...

  His driver was finally located and appeared, still tucking his white linen shirt into his breeches and buttoning his jacket, and rather gingerly asking where they were headed. He saw fire in the Duke's eyes. “London. Ireland. Scotland. I don't care. Just drive until I tell you to stop.”

  “Yes Sir, Your Grace,” the driver replied, straightening the jacket of his crisp uniform. Even at his age he looked sharp in his gold buttoned uniform. He wore his three sided hat proudly and without blinking an eye, turned back to the coach to look things over. He decided he would turn east toward London on the road at the end of the long drive. Yes, he would take the Duke to London where he would probably have a chance to sort out whatever the matter might be. It would be appropriate now that the Season was over.

  Jack Medley had been a faithful and trustworthy servant for two generations of Hartford Dukes. He eyed the other footmen scurrying about exchanging nervous glances with each other but no one dared to breathe a word. He climbed into the driver's seat with another footman and waited. Another footman alerted William that the coach was ready and one held the door open and waited while William climbed inside. He removed the step, folded and latched the footsteps, closed the door, took his place on the board to the rear of the coach and when the Duke tapped on the roof, the journey could commence.

  William had tapped unusually hard on the roof almost before the door had closed. He was in no mood for any further delay. Why couldn't they be down the road yet? Determined not to look at his home, he was barely settled into the sage green velvet cushions as they lurched forward. The four well matched white horses tossed their manes in excitement and pranced forward, pulling the coach out of the family seat and onto a rather bumpy country road in the county of Gloucester-shire. Here, the only thing to cloud his mind and thoughts were the dust
and his own memories. The horses seemed to know they carried an important passenger about to embark on an adventure.

  “Where to find a good wife?” he muttered to himself. “And in a few weeks’ time?”

  “That's it!” He realized about an hour and a half into his journey. He had been repeating his previous thoughts over and over again from the strained events of the entire morning. A stranger! He would rather marry a stranger than be tied to Lady Catherine or one of those swooning silly girls from the ton! Well, not exactly a perfect stranger, but …

  But how to find a stranger he could trust with his heart and grow to love? He couldn't just walk into a tavern or a shop on the side of a London street and expect to find the kind of woman he was looking for. As he prayed and pondered on how he could find the right sort of lady, he thought it would be so much simpler if he could just conduct a personal interview.