To Find a Duchess

by Lisa M. Prysock

  He smiled as he laid this last letter on top of the other. He thought they had a number of things in common, enough to perhaps allow a romance to bloom. They shared the same faith and this was encouraging. Her effervescent personality, even in the face of her losses and grief, seemed to bubble forth and spill out of her letter. She seemed genuine, happy, and although very young, like a little bird had fluttered gently all over his heart. While he wondered if she could cook or bake, he was most intrigued with Miss Alexandra Benningham's letter. He set about at once to write two letters of reply at his writing desk, being careful to blot the ink and allow each letter sufficient drying time. Then at the end, he realized he dare not use his seal, lest he give away his titled position. He kept his replies simple and direct and only used the initials WH when he signed the last line.

  His thoughts turned again to the last letter. The thought that most disturbed him was that of Alexandra being subjected and indebted to Lady Victoria Aramonda Dresden, who although well connected by marriage and generally accepted, was rumored to have been romantically connected with the Prince Regent on numerous occasions. He tried to recall all that he knew of her from Aunt Regina's tales. Lady Dresden traveled in circles he would rather not. She was considered excessive and lavish in a way that seemed vulgar to the upper classes. As the second wife and widow to the well-respected, late Baron Jonathon Dresden, she had inherited the whole of his entire personal estate. As he recalled, there had been no heirs for her to contend with. Baron Dresden had been infatuated with her after the death of his first wife, but his second marriage hadn't lasted more than a few years before his untimely passing. Lady Dresden had inherited a small fortune, a great deal of land and a mansion north of London in the fashionable area of Pentonville; an elaborate house in Mayfair, the most desirable neighborhood in London; and a secluded summer house near Brighton, not far from the Prince Regent's beloved Royal Pavilion.

  With no heirs, no wonder the Baroness might dote on Alexandra. She was of Spanish blood, of that he was sure. He had heard rumors she was loathed by some, particularly her servants. She was considered an outsider and a mushroom by the most elite and fashionable of the ton. It would not due for a future wife of his to remain under her thumb. He could not be sure at this point if Alexandra was in a mind to flee or patiently waiting for the right opportunity to become disentangled. No, he could not be sure of her motives at this juncture. Clearly, the Honorable Miss Benningham needed a fresh start.

  The question was not whether she knew that she needed protection, but how well she might know of that fact. The late Baron Dresden had been very well respected and known for his fair dealings with tenants and those who lived in his parish, but with his death, Lady Dresden might not be managing matters in quite the same respectable and fair tone. He could not even be certain that Lady Dresden even cared for Miss Benningham beyond any duty she felt toward her since her father's passing. It seemed to him a precarious situation at best. What little he knew concerning the Baroness was information he'd heard circulated by close friends of Aunt Regina and Uncle James, much of which they had probably obtained through the rumor mill or the reading of social columns. As he looked at the letters again, he was glad it appeared that Miss Leah Martin had no connection to anyone he knew. It might be refreshing.

  Chapter 4. Leah or Alexandra?

  The next day, while waiting for Alexandra's arrival, the Duke found himself reflecting on his late morning interview with Leah. For a brief moment he wondered why a man had to choose but one wife.

  Everything had gone according to plan. Benjamin Trimmel, an efficient boy of about ten years of age, had hand delivered his replies requesting interviews with both Miss Martin and the Honorable Alexandra Nicole Benningham. (He had allowed Benjamin to use a horse for these deliveries.) Both had returned notes of acceptance with the lad to meet the “Mr. William Harcourt” at the Peach Street address at his suggested times. He loathed having to use a name not his own. He had paid the lad well for his efficient service and Benjamin Trimmel agreed to wait in the rear of the small house tending the mules and his borrowed horse, waiting patiently in the event he was required to return one of the ladies.

  Miss Leah Martin had arrived punctually in a landau, alone except for a driver who waited in front of the house nervously and conspicuously. Fortunately it was a quiet neighborhood and quite alone with no other houses in sight on that particular lane for a good distance, one of the reasons William had chosen to rent this particular house. The house was in a state of slight disrepair and a bit rundown, with shabby furniture. She observed the house to be in need of a fresh coat of paint.

  Weeds had overtaken the front flower beds, Miss Leah Martin noticed as she stepped along a cobble stoned path leading to the stoop. A chirping bird in the garden to the side of the house persuaded her that nothing was all that amiss that couldn't be repaired. She proceeded up the walk and navigated a few cracked boards on the porch stoop.

  No butler appeared to answer the firm knock Leah gave and at first, William forgot he was without a single household servant and found himself waiting for someone to announce his guest. Then he remembered his situation and made haste for the door, nearly upsetting his chair in the process. She took in his appearance, noting that he was dressed in worn and plain clothing, as a humble farmer might be. The house was simply furnished with a dark green faded cushioned settee and two comfortable matching chairs (equally faded) in the parlor, and a linen covered wooden table and four wooden chairs in the dining room. A French clock on four gilt legs (the nicest object in the little house) seemed to tick loudly on the mantel disturbing the silence and sometimes interrupting his thoughts.

  William had chosen the parlor to conduct his interviews and attempted to greet Miss Martin with some degree of warmth. He led her to the sunny front parlor from the small entry hall, trying to take in her features as he did so. She had brown hair and very blue eyes. She was very pretty but had not yet smiled at him, perhaps out of nervousness. She had not withheld her lace gloved hand when he had extended his but she seemed distracted because she was taking in his looks as well as her surroundings. Her hand seemed to remain in his for a moment as she searched out his eyes.

  He had held out an arm extending to the parlor and let her choose her own seat first. It took him off guard that she chose the chair where he'd been sitting before her arrival. Then he felt momentarily displaced and decided to stand rather than sit too close where he could not fully observe her features and facial reactions. He could think of questions to ask her better while standing anyhow, he decided. She sat up very straight on the edge of her chair by the fireplace.

  She removed her summery pelisse and placed it on the arm of her chair while he paced for a moment trying to remember the questions he wanted to ask. She was of an average height and build, and possessed nice features. Her hair was pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She removed her bonnet and set it aside. He observed that she seemed to take note of the peeling paint on the walls and the faded, worn furniture. She seemed a little rigid. He cleared his throat.

  'Twas a hot summer morning, but she didn't seem to flinch in the heat. The little parlor seemed too warm but there was one open window and an occasional breeze kept the room from being stifling.

  “Have you ever before been married?” he asked once introductions were out of the way.

  “No,” she replied.

  “Are you willing to work hard in the fields if we have to carry buckets of water to save crops from the heat?” He asked.

  “I would certainly do my best,” she replied, folding her hands in her lap.

  “Have you been in a serious or romantic relationship with anyone else?” He asked.

  “Not really, unless you want to count the haberdasher that used to behave a little flirtatiously with me... before he finally married someone closer to his own age,” she laughed.

  “So your mother is a seamstress,” he said. “I imagine you have learned a great deal from her.”
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  “Aye,” she said.

  The rest of the interview seemed to go smoothly. He referred to her letter several times and clarified the two points he'd had on his mind since yesterday evening. What did her stepfather do for a living and how many children were, as she put it, “too many?” Her stepfather contributed a meager income when he could find work, rather undependable, as she put it, but the family survived comfortably from her mother's income. Any more than two or three children were too many, but she would reconsider when she knew what his wishes were on that account.

  He asked what her intentions were if he did not choose to marry her. She replied that she had every intention of becoming a governess to perhaps a situation with one or two children -if he did not select her. She wished to be far removed from the actions of her stepfather which infuriated her at times, to see her mother work so hard. She had observed that her stepfather was not as helpful to their plight as perhaps he could be. She added that from time to time he found small jobs to do in carpentry but that he was “just so very inconsistent in his manner of looking for work.”

  She expanded by adding that she felt she could help her mother best by sending some of her income to her from afar were she to obtain a position as a governess. He could tell she had already given this a great deal of thought.

  They discussed her biological father and talked about her memories of living in the countryside. Her father had been a farmer who had passed away some years ago when she was about sixteen. His primary crop had been wheat. She had been removed to London with her mother at that time and had lived in the city ever since. In London, her mother had been able to obtain a vast number of clients as a seamstress. She said she had learned a great deal about sewing because of helping her mother.

  He asked her about her favorite books and music. She could sing a little, did not play any instruments, and liked poetry. Tennyson and Byron were her favorite authors. She could do her own hair and required no ladies' maid. She could sew her own garments. She trimmed her own hats sufficiently enough. She had no preference about church, as long as they attended somewhere regularly.

  “Have you ever been made an offer of marriage?”

  She looked down at her hands and blushed deeply. “No.” Without looking up at him she continued, “In all fairness, Sir, it is not because I am not attractive or undesirable. It's because I have no connections whatsoever and very little time to meet anyone. Since the age of about sixteen when my father died, I have spent most of my time helping my mother with her duties as a seamstress. I have spent all of my spare time studying, that I might be of value to my family and make a good governess one day, perhaps, unless, of course, in the event I marry. I have not expected to find a suitor for a good marriage because of my lack of connections.”

  He had asked her a number of other questions. He asked about her favorite books and authors, her favorite music, what her pursuits and amusements were... what her favorite foods to cook and bake were... if she liked dogs and horses... did she perhaps enjoy travel?

  Finally, with his hands still behind his back and still pacing from time to time, he stopped and turned and said, “I will let you know what I decide by letter, and if you are amenable, I will look forward to your reply. Is that fair enough?”

  She stood up and put her bonnet on, “Fair enough.”

  With her lace pelisse over her arm he escorted her to the door. She stepped onto the little creaking front porch. He watched her walk safely to her waiting landau and driver while he stood on the porch with his feet apart, his hands crossed behind his back and deep thought on his face as he considered the interview.

  The driver took her hand and helped her into the seat beside his and the landau pulled away leaving Hartford to consider the interview long after it had disappeared down Peach Street. She seemed to be more guarded than he was. He had been somewhat disappointed in the interview. Her personality seemed a bit flat to him.

  If he became her husband, he saw it might take some time to help her smile again. Her life had been somewhat difficult and she was a very serious girl. He had the distinct feeling that somewhere inside her feelings were well locked away. In her defense, his questions had been serious. In her favor, he was exceedingly impressed with her abilities as a seamstress. The garments she wore were beautifully sewn and her unusual lace pelisse was one even ladies of the peerage would covet. Clearly she would be able to dress the part of a Duke's wife. He felt, however, that he had not been able to put her much at ease. He hoped the next interview would prove to be more advantageous than the first.

  About an hour later, Miss Benningham arrived promptly, driving her own curricle and very much alone he noticed from his position of pacing on the already worn carpet before the front window. He peered out through the curtains as a very beautiful and young girl gathered her skirts, revealing a tiny ankle, managing to climb down from her seat without any trouble at all. He sensed an independent, lighthearted streak in her nature and eagerly strode to the door, finding himself surprised that he was actually somewhat anxious to make her acquaintance. She finished tying her horse to a post and approached the cottage.

  She had not yet arrived at the steps to the landing when he had opened the door and stepped out to help her navigate the cracks in the stoop. He found himself apologizing for the condition of the porch landing before he could think to say hello. “Watch your step, please,” he said, holding the door open, “I accept full blame for not taking the time to repair these boards. I am sorry; they are hideous!” He extended an arm and waited while she gathered her skirts and met him at the top of the porch landing. “You must be Miss Benningham,” he said, trying to change the subject.

  She nodded and said, “I am!” She wore a lovely spring green shawl draped about her elbows with threads of cornflower blue flowers embroidered on the hems of each end and a white linen day dress with a foot of very attractive eyelet trim at the bottom of the skirt. More cornflower blue and spring green flowers adorned the trim of her short puffy sleeves and square neckline. The empire waist gown was both summery and attractive. She had dark hair swept up into a lovely blue bonnet trimmed in spring green flowers and tied with a large blue bow to one side, under a pretty chin. Generous, thick curls of her hair cascaded down both sides of her neck. She was a picture of perfection.

  Her smile was infectious as she greeted him at the top of the landing. “You must be William!” she said cheerfully as she clasped her small hands around the elbow he had extended. She felt light as a feather on his arm.

  “I am,” he said, smiling back at her warmly. “Come in!”

  “It is so good to meet you, face to face,” she said, her hands clasping a small reticule dangling there as she admired him momentarily. She had a delighted and happy expression on her face and again he thought of the flutter of a spring bird entering his heart. “You are just as I imagined, so very handsome... and strong, and so tall. No, you are more than I imagined! Even more handsome than I had dreamed you would be!”

  He, stunned with her own lovely appearance, replied, “You are breathtakingly beautiful yourself.”

  They were on the porch landing, standing there a little awkwardly, just staring at each the other. She seemed to giggle a little nervously and he smiled warmly. Her hands lightly clasped around his elbow gingerly, shyly, as he had guided her into the entry.

  She seemed to like him at once and he liked her open, easy way. His heart seemed to beat so loudly he could almost hear it. She was slightly breathless and took one step back to look at him, again, her mouth a little open. “Ohhhhh,” she breathed under her breath, taking in all of his height and muscular build with her large, brown sparkling eyes. She hoped he hadn't heard her.

  His eyes had fallen on her sparkling eyes and the sweetness of her features. They were both studying each other at that moment. A hush fell over both of them, one of electricity and excitement. Then she stepped back, almost instinctively sensing he was a man of great importance by the way he carried himsel
f, despite his rather worn boots and what seemed like to her, untended surroundings. In the same way he had instinctively known she needed his protection coming up the steps and had gone out to guide her into the house, she seemed to sense something about him.