by Joyce Alec
Sarah nudged me in his direction, and she found a spot on a sofa beside Mother to sit down.
“Now, what is this all about?” Lord Walford asked, his brow furrowing.
Standing in front of them all was much harder than I had imagined it would be. Confusion clouded Henry’s eyes, and Father seemed dumbfounded. Could they already sense what was coming?
I doubted it. Our story was going to seem like a fantasy after we told it. It was unlikely that they could know the truth.
“There is…something very important that we need to tell you all,” Lord Townshend began quietly, his tone even and calm. I was glad that he had decided to speak. I was not sure I would have been able to. “And we realized that it was necessary that we tell you all as soon as possible. We ask that you listen and are patient with us. This is going to be difficult enough as it is to get through.”
And with that, he launched into the story of the masquerade ball. He told them all how we had danced together, and how we had so enjoyed each other’s company that we went out to the terrace to dance again. I was surprised when he left out the detail of the kiss, for which I was exceedingly grateful for, but he told them all with no shame how he had felt about me after we had parted ways. He told them all how he had looked for me, wished to discover who I was after not having learned my name.
He told them all about the conversations we had at dinner earlier tonight. He said that, as soon as I had started asking about the ball, and the terrace in particular, he had known it was me. He told them how he had realized that I had been searching for him as much as he had for me.
“So, you see,” Lord Townshend finished, “this is a very difficult situation that we find ourselves in.”
He turned to Lord Henry. “Dear brother, first of all, I want to apologize to you. I want you to know that I had absolutely no idea until tonight, until an hour ago, that Lady Grace was the very same woman I had danced with at the ball. It was never my intention to make this situation so complicated. I hope you know that I wished, above anything else, that your betrothed and Lady Grace were not one and the same. Never in my dreams would I have wanted to take her away from you.”
He sighed heavily. “On the other hand, had you not agreed to marry her, it is likely I would not have found her again so soon, maybe not ever. And who knows what could have happened then? Perhaps she would have wed to some other fellow. Or perhaps I could have been matched.”
I chanced a look at Lord Henry’s face. He seemed contemplative, but not angry.
I began to feel hopeful.
“It is why I humbly ask you, dear brother,” Lord Townshend continued, “if you would rescind your engagement, and allow me to take your place as her betrothed?”
He had bowed so deeply that his knee had sunk to the floor.
Silence greeted his words. Wide eyes stared up at both him and me. Mother’s mouth hung open. Lady Walford’s lip trembled.
“Brother…” Lord Henry began after an agonizing silence. “I remember you telling me of this enchanting woman at the ball with whom you had danced the night away…”
To my great surprise, he smiled broadly.
“If I had known that it was Lady Grace, I would have never agreed to the match in the first place. For you see, although I do believe she is beautiful and charming, I do not know her, and therefore, do not hold any affection for her.”
I gasped in excitement as Lord Townshend blinked disbelievingly at his brother.
“You… you are not angry?”
Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. “How in the world could I be angry?” he asked, laughing. “Brother, did you really think that I would stand in the way of your happiness? Why did you fear my reaction?”
“I…” Lord Townshend began. All the color had returned to his face. “I do not know. It was not right for me to say anything. I was afraid of ruining a match arranged by Father…”
“Dear boy,” Lord Walford said, getting to his feet. “This is all so foolish. It is your brother’s choice. If this arrangement suits you both, then we have no objections.”
His wife nodded in agreement.
“Wait,” Lord Townshend said, turning to Lord and Lady Walford, “you are not angry with me?”
“Of course not, why on earth would we be?” His father laughed in a jolly fashion. “No harm has been done. The banns have not been called. Right, old chap?” Lord Walford asked, clapping my father on the shoulder.
“Certainly not!” Father said, clearly astonished. “My dear, I had no idea that you had met someone at the ball. Why did you not tell us?”
“Oh, I knew,” Mother said, smiling knowingly. “Only a woman in love acts the way she had those days after that ball.”
I could not believe that she had known everything, and yet he had kept my secret. “Thank you,” I said weakly.
“It is not often one finds a love such as you have,” Mother said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I am so happy for you both.”
“A toast!” Lord Walford cried, swiping the bottle of brandy from the table and lifting it into the air. “To love! To life! And to the miracles of Christmas!”
Everyone cheered, and Lord Townshend and I stared at one another, in utter disbelief that we had found one another.
“Come, everyone! Let us sings carols and celebrate my dear brother’s engagement!” Lord Henry exclaimed, leaping up from his seat and making his way over to the piano beside the window.
“It has started to snow,” Sarah said as she stared dreamily out the window. “How wonderful!”
As everyone gathered around the pianoforte, my heart swelled so much that I felt as if it might burst.
“This is the very best Christmas that I have ever had,” I said, turning to Lord Townshend.
“And may it be the first of many, many more,” he said, reaching out and taking my hand in his.
The End.
Part V
Delayed Duchess
By Caroline Johnson
1
Chloé’s entire world shattered in one fell swoop. She received word that her dearest father, Sir Henry Dalton, had just fallen at Quatre Bras.
Sir Henry joined Wellington’s Army with the sole purpose of defeating Napoleon and reclaiming the France he had grown to love. The gentleman left his native England years before to marry the love of his life, Vivienne. When he lost Vivienne to consumption, his daughter, Chloé, was all he had left. He would not let the rogue general destroy her home. France was destined to be at war with Britain and the rest of the world as long as Napoleon was in power. Sir Henry had amassed quite a fortune for a man of gentle birth, and he wanted it secured for his daughter. Even in France, a daughter’s inheritance was little protected.
Sir Henry knew that there was but one way to ensure Chloé would not lose her home. She must marry. He never feared she would have any trouble finding a suitor because of her radiant beauty. Although, she did give her opinion quite forcefully for a woman on most occasions, a trait he hoped to hide from eligible prospects.
Chloé’s beauty was well-known throughout the South of France, and Sir Henry hoped to parley her popularity to Paris at her debut, which would occur within the year. He believed he would be returned from the duke’s army well before. He would not chance Chloé’s future, however, and orchestrated a deal with his distant English cousin, the Duke of Dorchester, when it appeared as though Napoleon’s army would be tougher than imagined.
Chloé was devastated the dark, rainy day she got the letter. Her bright blue eyes flooded with hot tears as she sank to the cold, wood floor. Her brilliant pink skin faded to a malevolent paleness. She pleaded with God to not let it be true. She could not imagine a world without her father. She had lost her mother at such a young age, her father had become everything to her. Her mother’s family disowned them shortly after Sir Henry joined Wellington’s army. Vivienne’s cousin, Michel Ney, was a top Marshal of Napoleon. Her father was all the family she had. She was now alone. Her morning gown grew wet
with her unrelenting pain.
She held the letter tightly to her bosom late into the night, trying to dry her tears in front of the warm fire. “Oh, Papa, que dois-je faire,” she whispered. The reality of her situation was setting in on her. She was but seventeen. And she was a woman. There was little chance she would be allowed to keep her family home outright. She would need to speak with her father’s attorney immediately.
Chloé Dalton was no impotent woman. She was brilliant and possessed a will equal to any man. She would find out what needed to be done, and she would make it happen at all costs. Her home was now all she had. It echoed with the laughter of her father and mother. It reeked with the smells of her father’s snuff, an odor she had always detested, but now was a corporeal connection with him. She felt the love of her family still there. She must not lose that.
She ordered her footman to send a letter to Marseille, directly requesting the presence of Monsieur Le Clerc in the morn. She would find out what to do tomorrow. For now, her dizzied mind must rest. She retired to her room, hopeful her weary body would somehow find sleep.
The Duke of Dorchester received the same letter of Sir Henry’s demise, prompting him to call upon his London-based son. The duke thought his cousin’s proposition to be the perfect answer to all their problems. His only son, Edward, the future Duke of Dorchester, seemed more interested in squandering their dwindling family fortune on London society than doing anything productive with his life. The duke, fearing for the future of the dukedom, hastily answered his cousin’s request. He thought if he could acquire his cousin’s fortune and get his dandy son married, his family may survive. The duke’s health had been rapidly failing, and he feared his time was short. Making his son comply was of most importance.
“What are you doing here?” Edward’s severe tone irritated the duke.
“Your father is calling on you. Is that acceptable?” the duke answered, equally severe.
His son stepped back, allowing the plump older man into the grand foyer of his London townhouse. The three-story house was modern, stocked with the best furnishings, and smelled of a warm chestnut fire. Edward ushered his father into the large, book-filled study.
“What do I owe the honor, Your Grace?” Edward chided. Their relationship was obviously strained. It was clear neither one ever gave in, hence their obstinate lack of proper communication.
The duke sat down on the tufted leather sofa and asked for a drink. Edward suspiciously complied and asked again, “What do you need, Your Grace?”
“Edward, do you really need to be so stalwart in your affectations toward your father?”
Edward sat across from the duke and relaxed. “Duly noted,” was his only reply.
The duke rolled his eyes and took a long swig from his brandy sifter. Edward watched him closely. He was looking exceptionally old lately. Edward was suddenly apprehensive about his father’s health considering this strange behavior. He despised the man, but felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought of losing him, and it would distress his beloved mother to lose the old coot. She adored the man. Edward had no idea why. He was abrasive, judgmental, and snooty, and Edward would never be good enough for him.
“I need you to do something, Edward,” the duke began, “for the family.”
Edward couldn’t believe the old man was asking him a favor. “Yes, what is it?”
The duke cleared his throat. “You are most likely unaware that our family fortune has almost disappeared. Your… our debts have taken a gross toll. We have little resources for recovery, and unfortunately must use our only asset, the dukedom.”
Edward could not believe what he was hearing. Of course, his lifestyle came at no small cost, but it was necessary to maintain his standing with the ton. It was his job, as he saw it. If his father was proposing he remove himself from society, he was wholly incorrect. Edward would never forsake his standing. There must be another way. “Father, I will not…” he began.
“Edward, you will do this for me. For your mother,” the duke interrupted.
Edward was taken aback at the mention of his mother. He would do anything for her. His ire softened. “What exactly is it that I should do, Your Grace?”
“You will marry your French cousin, Chloé Dalton.”
The young duke-to-be sat silent, his eyes hardening and his square jaw clenching. “I will not,” he objected, rising to his feet.
“You will, son,” the duke commanded gently. “You must. It is the only way.” He dropped his eyes, coughing harshly into his shoulder.
Edward could see the pain and resignation on his father’s face. He was suddenly overwhelmed with duty. “Yes, father. I will.”
Edward could have sworn he caught a glimmer of pride in his father’s eyes. His happiness was short-lived however, as his father rose. “If you are to be the next duke, Edward, you must not be selfish. The duties of title range far and wide. Remember that.” He marched past Edward without another word and out the door.
“And so it is,” Edward sighed, falling back onto the plush sofa.
2
Chloé rose to a warm orange sun. She always loved the morning after rain. Her feeling of joy melted with the return of the words that ripped her perfect life apart. “Nous regrettons…” It was the perfect way to begin such a letter. We regret. Death is all about regret. Chloé’s heart began to ache again.
Her handmaiden helped her dress, and she descended the steep, curved staircase just in time to see Monsieur Le Clerc entering the foyer. “Monsieur,” she said, easing toward the stocky little man. “Welcome. Thank you for coming.”
“I am so sorry to hear about your brave Papa, dear Chloé,” he said with a bow.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, a tear forming in her eye. She blinked it back, knowing that she was in charge now. She must be strong. “I need to speak with you regarding the estate,” she continued, guiding him to the nearby parlor.
“I have your father’s papers. There is something most important I must tell you.”
“Plenty of time for that,” she cut him off. “I have some very specific plans.” They each sat in large wooden chairs on either side of a tiny tea table. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I have a letter from your father.”
Chloé’s hand started to shake. She almost spilled tea all over the poor gentleman. “From my father?” The innocence in her question saddened the attorney. She would surely be upset about her father’s wishes. He had conveyed them to Le Clerc in a letter only months ago. Le Clerc was to set everything up for the legal transfer to Chloé’s new husband immediately upon their marriage.
Le Clerc handed Chloé the letter. She sat back silently reading her father’s last wishes, and what was left of her soul began to crack. Pained tears streaked down her pale cheeks. She could not believe what her father was asking her to do. She looked up from the letter. “There must be another way,” she said resolutely to Le Clerc.
“I believe there is not, Chloé. This is the only way to save the estate, your inheritance.”
“But I thought…” she trailed off. She actually wasn’t sure what she thought. She thought the rules of the land might not apply to her. She thought she had options. “What is his name?” Her eyes stared down at the words, which were starting to blur from her tears.
“Edward Cayley.” He had some information on Chloé’s new betrothed that he had gathered after Sir Henry contacted him. He handed the papers to Chloé.
“He is to be a duke?” she asked, surprised. “And he is coming here to take over the estate?”
“That is what was expressed to the duke in your father’s correspondence to him. I have not spoken, myself, with the duke as of yet.” He watched her studying the paperwork. She may have been but seventeen, but her intelligence did not betray it. “I will leave tomorrow to call upon the duke in London.”
She stared down at the papers, not really reading any of the words. She nodded, acknowledging the man’s rema
rk. “You will write to me once you speak to him?”
“Yes, mon cherie, of course,” he replied, rising. He left her still staring at the papers.
Edward stayed locked in his stateroom for most of the trip to Marseille. He hated traveling by boat. Everything about it made his stomach churn. At this point, he just wanted it to be over. He was only doing it for his mother. He loved his lifestyle and was not ready for it to change, so the idea of suddenly becoming a husband was one that made him physically ill. He didn’t plan on changing anything. Many men of the ton left their wives at home most nights to gamble at Almack’s. He meant to do the same.
At least this was to be a short trip. He was to meet the girl and inspect the estate. His father told him he was to live there, but there was no way that was going to happen. He planned on liquidating the property and refunding the dukedom with the profit. He had researched and found that the estate was worth more in cash than yearly profit, so he had made his decision. His father did not truly care. He was only interested in the dukedom.
Edward’s stomach flipped as the large ship swayed from side to side. “Ugh, please Lord, let this be over soon.”
Chloé anxiously anticipated the arrival of her betrothed. She had finally convinced herself that she may still have a chance at happiness. The dossier Le Clerc left her was very interesting. The Duke of Dorchester and his wife had been married for decades with no scandal of any import. They had two sons, the oldest of which died as a child, leaving only Edward to inherit the dukedom. As far as she could tell, the dukedom was in financial strain. Edward appeared to be a dandy of the ton. She was not much informed on the traditions of English society, but she assumed they must be similar to those in France. She only hoped that her new husband had an amiable demeanor and regarded her as his equal. She thought that not too much to ask for, so she remained optimistic.
