*****
The next morning, just after ten o’clock, a messenger brought a calling card. Mother took it from the footman and peered at it; her lips moving slightly. The more she read, the more her expression changed from one of impassiveness to one of surprise. She turned the card over as though it might contain more pertinent information. When this didn’t work, she handed it to Father. He read it quickly and then said: “Hmm!”
“What is it, Father?” Ruth said.
“It’s from the Duke of Stunton,” Father said, his voice rising slightly in pitch. “He wants to come to lunch, today.”
“Oh, my,” Ruth said, putting a suitable amount of surprise into her voice.
Father said something else of little consequence, and Ruth’s mind was thrown back seven years, when His Grace held a party just before he left for France. He, Ruth, and Mother had walked the grounds at his invitation, and Mother had turned aside for a few moments to attend to something with her dress—a loose stich, Ruth thought. But that is not what she remembered about that day. What she remembered with a starkness and vividness that could not be matched was His Grace’s water-like movements when he reached across and touched her face. Mother was standing right there – a mere feet away – but in a crazy moment of improper indulgence he had brought her close to him and kissed her firmly upon the lips. She had closed her eyes, knowing that Mother could turn at any moment and find them. His lips were warm and her breath came quickly, and urges rose within her. And then he released her.
“I must really get a new one made,” Mother commented.
And then—
Weeks before, when their blossoming love was fresh, she and His Grace were dancing together upon the floor. “I will ask your father for your hand within the week,” His Grace said. “I will make you my wife. You are the smartest, most astute, most respectable and endearing woman I have ever met. I truly believe our souls are matched.”
The soul in question had flown, then. It had her body and flown through the clouds, light with joy. But the next day His Grace had received the news of France, and he had had to ready himself to leave England—and Ruth. There was no proposal. Neither of them wanted to be married if it meant a lifetime away from each other. Often, Ruth wished they had simply married before he left. It would have been awful, yes, but at least she could have spent the intervening years with the comfort of being his wife.
“Ruthie?” Mother said, jolting her back to the present.
“Sorry, Mother,” Ruth said.
“I said, His Grace will be here just after noonday. Shall we make ourselves presentable? There is also the matter of instructing the kitchen for an impromptu luncheon. These Dukes and their ways! Quite a character, is he not! Not in a bad way! Oh, no, in a very good way!”
“Fought in France, you know,” Father said, as though imparting a great truth.
*****
The calling card’s stated reason for visiting was friendly and social. His Grace was in town because, according to the calling card, he adored Wells and wished to spend some time there after the war. Ruth had never heard him speak of Wells with fondness, but Father and Mother did not know that. He stated that he would be amiss if he visited Wells and did not pay a visit to the Eyres as well. Mother and Father were very happy indeed and kept commenting upon how lovely if would be if her older brother and sisters were here for the honor.
“Not that you are not enough, dearie,” Mother, in that condescending way of hers. “I simply meant that—”
“You are quite enough—”
“Yes, quite enough—”
“A wonderful daughter—”
“A treasure—”
Father and Mother spoke other each other in their excitement, and then there was a knock at the door and the footman entered. “His Grace has arrived, my lord, my ladies.”
“Bring him in,” Father said.
Father had changed into a fine jacket and britches. Mother and Ruth were wearing their best house dresses. His Grace arrived at the door, just behind the footmen, and walked into the room of smiling faces with a smile of his own. He caught Ruth’s eye for a moment, and a connection formed, a mutual conspiracy.
He turned to Father and smiled. “I must thank you, my lord,” he said, taking the seat which the footman pulled out for him. “It is most gracious of you to allow me to visit at such short notice.”
“Not at all, Your Grace,” Father said. “Not at all! We are esteemed by your presence, and thankful for the surprise. I am afraid our country life needs a bit of interruption from war heroes such as yourself.”
“Oh, no, Lord Eyres,” His Grace said smoothly. “It is my life which needs interruption with lords and ladies such as yourselves.”
Father inclined his head.
Ruth could not stop thinking about her acquiescence to His Grace’s request. He will kiss me if he gets the chance. Oh, I do hope he gets the chance.
The social niceties continued all through luncheon, and then they retired to the drawing room where His Grace and Father smoked their pipes. His Grace kept looking at Ruth, and Ruth kept returning his gaze. She could not help but wish that they were alone, even though she knew it was an improper thought. This seven-year-old kiss kept turning over and over in her mind before she thought she couldn’t think of anything else.
“I heard some troubling rumors a week ago.” His Grace said, looking out of the window at the May sunlight. “Yes, some troubling rumors indeed. There is this fellow, Charles Stone, I do not know if you know him.”What is he doing? Ruth wondered, but she wasn’t about to interrupt him. He turned to Father. “Have you heard the name?”
Father nodded and a flicker of worry passed across his face. His eyebrow momentarily furrowed and creases appeared beside his lips. “Yes,” he said. “I know him. He visits us sometimes.”
“Ah,” His Grace said. “Perhaps this is information best not shared, then. I fear it will color your opinion of him. And after all, rumors are rumors, though this came from a source I trust very much—a source I cannot disclose, I am afraid.” He flashed a glance at Ruth. Yes, I am the trustworthy source! What is Lord’s name is he doing!
“Oh, no,” Mother said, clearly eager. “I think it would be better for us to know if there is anything… If there is anything worthy of rumor about the man.”
“Well, this man has a daughter, you see, he is a lord of noble birth but his daughter is growing older and he is keen for her to find a husband. I do not believe we can blame him for that anymore than we can blame a father who acquires for his son a situation. But that is by-the-by. This man told me that Lord Charles Stone likes to court older daughters and say frightfully improper things to them.” His Grace leaned in for dramatic effect. It worked; Mother and Father leaned in with him. “I even heard,” His Grace went on, “that he asked this young lady if she had ever been to a brothel before.”
“My!” Mother cried.
“Yes,” His Grace said. “He asked with a most lascivious countenance, and even tried to steal a kiss from the poor girl!”
“Ruth!” Mother cried. “Is this true?”
“Josephine,” Father snapped.
“Oh, His Grace must know. We have let Lord Stone court our lovely Ruthie!”
“It is true, Mother,” Ruth said, admiring and despising His Grace in equal measure. “He has said inappropriate things to me on occasion.”
“Why did you not tell us?” Father said.
“I did not want to anger you,” Ruth said.
“Anger us?” Father said. “Oh, child, this would not anger us! We only want what is best for you.”
“I know, Father,” Ruth said. “But you are ever so keen for me to find a husband, and—”
“You must not blame the lady,” His Grace interrupted. I have heard that Lord Stone can be very intimidating in an in
timate situation. He is also a cunning man, who will trick parents into trusting him and abuse that trust. I am sorry to be the man who must bear this bad news. I fear it has upset you.”
“It is far better we know,” Mother said. “Yes, far better.”
“Five-and-thirty years I have lived upon this earth, and yet the repugnance of Man still shocks me,” His Grace murmured, with genuine sincerity. “I do not wish to instruct you on how to conduct affairs concerning your daughter, but if I were a father I should rather marry my girls to pigs than to that wretched man.”
Mother and Father looked at His Grace with shock, and then nodded as one. “Yes,” Mother muttered. “I suppose you are right. We were—blinded. By her age. I am sorry, Ruthie, but you are seven-and-twenty. You would be a wallflower, if our family name was not so solid.”
“One of the most solid in the Kingdom,” His Grace agreed. “That is why I wish to tell you something else, now. I wish to tell you the truth.”
“The truth, Your Grace?” Father said, laying his pipe aside. “The truth about what?”
“I want to tell that I intended to marry your daughter, seven years ago, before I was called away to France. I want to tell you that I loved her then and that I love her now. I want to tell you that commencing an official courtship of her, with your blessing; you go a long way to healing a broken man.”
Father’s mouth fell open. Mother looked at him with shock, her hand trembling upon the arm rest. Distantly, footsteps sounded in the house, as the footmen and the maidservants and the cooks shuffled about, oblivious of the drama in the drawing room. Ruth clasped her hands together in her lap and waited for somebody to speak. Rain started without: soft pattering upon the glass.
“Please, then, Your Grace,” Father said, at length. “Tell us the truth.”
His Grace leant forward and looked intently at Mother and Father. Ruth thought of a fireside storyteller in some primordial age, His Grace the storyteller, a prized member of an ancient village, and Mother and Father the elders, waiting for the liquid words.
“It started with a dance,” His Grace said, “and it ended with a kiss.”
“A kiss!”
“Oh my!”
*****
His Grace told it all: their first dance, their secret words, their growing love, their ironclad commitment, their secret kiss, their resolve to marry, and their final parting. Mother and Father sat in rapt attention. Father kept chewing his lip, something he never did, and Mother’s hands danced in her lap. She looked around the room every so often, as though phantoms were materializing in the walls.
“All this time,” Father said, “Ruthie had the love of a Duke.”
“But it is improper,” Mother said quietly. “Your conduct – excuse me, Your Grace – your conduct was quite improper. Kissing her when I was right there!”
“I know,” His Grace bowed his head. “I know, my lady, my lord. I have been a rascal. If you were to throw me out of the house right now and curse me, I would not blame you. But I would ask you to listen to me first. I love your daughter. I love her very much. And I would never want to see her mistreated. Every day in France – every muddy, bloody day – I wished I could twist the heavens and reverse Time itself: that I could make it so that we were married before I left. We had the time. It could have been done. But I did not want to make a widow of your daughter. That is the truth. I see now it was a foolish one.”
“You kiss her!” Mother cried.
“Yes, I did,” His Grace said. “I did, my lady, and what’s worse, I am afraid I cannot apologize for it. If I had the chance, I would kiss her again. Certainly, yes, and a thousand times after that!”
Ruth blushed to her ears. She had remained silent throughout this, a detached spectator to her own life. Then Mother turned to her and spread her hands to her sides: How could this happen? This is outside the realms of possibility. I do not understand how it could happen to a daughter of mine! Ruth cleared her throat. “I love him, Mother,” Ruth said, staring her mother plainly in the face. There was no going back now. They were over the precipice. They were freefalling. “You may not remember it, but when I was very young and you, Alice, Rhoda, and I were in bed together, you said to us: girls, I am lucky I found your father for I truly love him. Finding a man you truly love is a rare thing for a woman. If you find a man you love who is also of fitting social station, do not let him go. Whatever you do. You said that to us, Mother.”
“I never meant this!”
“I know,” Ruth said quickly. “But that is why I have resisted suitors these past seven years. I have found the man I love. It is Luke.”
“Luke!” Father exclaimed.
“Yes,” His Grace said. “I asked her to use my Christian name long ago.”
“What now?” Mother said. “More illicit kisses, more dangerous reunions?”
“No, my lady,” His Grace said. “Now your daughter and I wed.” He let the pregnant words hang in the air for a moment. Then he added: “With your permission, my lord, my lady, I would wed your daughter as soon as earthly possible. If she will have me.”
“I do,” Ruth said. Father shot her a stricken look.
“Your Grace, the proposal is unexpected,” Mother said, regaining some of her composure. This she understood. The underhand world of secret kisses and trysts was alien to her, but proposals and the acceptance and refusal of them – the weighing of social, economical, and personal standing – were her expertise. She took a deep breath and then forced a smile to her face. “Your Grace, if it does not seem impertinent, would you mind terribly if we took a week to discuss this proposal?”
His Grace rose at once. “Of course,” he said. “It is much to ingest, I know. I will leave you now, and return in a week. I will send a card, of course.”
He left the room swiftly and a half-minute later the three Eyres heard the front door’s faint thump.
As the door closed, Ruth could not help but think: But our kiss.
*****
“You truly love him?” Mother said.
It had been six days, and Mother had asked this question six-hundred times. Ruth nodded. “Yes, Mother, I truly love him.”
Father blew a plume of smoke and tucked his pipe firmly between his teeth. “You know,” he said, “if this man were not a Duke this would be a scandal large enough to shame you forever. Even as it is, if he were to discard you, you would be tarnished and dishonored for life. I know there are some women in the New World - or whatever those dreadful colonists are calling their island – that would have us believe modern ideas, but my father and his father and his father were judgmental men, as are most men, and my mother and her mother and her mother were careful women for that very reason. A lady must not let her emotions rule her. The Eyre women and their tenacity. It is like Rhoda, and that frightful actor of hers!”
“He is a playwright, dear,” Mother corrected quietly.
“A playwright! A playwright!”
“And His Grace is a Duke,” Ruth said. “The situations are not comparable.”
“No, to my knowledge Rhoda did not dishonor herself before marriage.”
“Irvin!” Mother cried. “That is quite enough!”
“She must marry him, of course,” Father grunted. “He is a rich man. He is a noble man. He is a smart man. He is a heroic man. He is everything a man should be. He is a man even superior to myself, and I am a pride creature. You know this Josephine – and words like that do not come easily to me. Yes,” he sucked deeply on his pipe and blew the smoke from his nose, “she must marry him.”
“Of course she must,” Mother said. “I just… It is like an adventure novel!”
“Our lives, compared to that tripe!”
“Oh, to be young and foolish!”
“You are lucky he is a Duke!”
“If he were anybody
else—”
“Your honor—”
“A lady must be cautious—”
“At least his father was not a silkman—”
“And that castle, what a home—”
Ruth tuned them around after a while. They were quite decided, and that was all that mattered to her. She was to be Duchess Ruth Orr of Stunton, husband to Brigadier Luke Orr, Duke of Stunton.
It is rare that a lady’s dreams come to fruition. Let us hope that the flame can burn hot enough to scorch away seven long years of waiting.
*****
Seven years had passed since Ruth and Luke’s first blossoming of love. Only one year had passed since their marriage. And yet it seemed to Ruth as though her whole life had been spent with His Grace. They toured the United Kingdom for two months after their wedding. His Grace was tired of other counties, he said, and wouldn’t leave the Kingdom again if he had the choice. They consummated their marriage in Wells. It was hot and steamy and everything Ruth had secretly wished for.
Now, back at Brook Castle, Ruth laid her hand upon her belly and looked over the grounds. It was May again, and the leaves were shunting their dead blackness and flowering in bright greens and careful yellows. Mother and Father were due to come for an extended visit, to wait for the baby to arrive, which should be any day now. The baby had been particular active of late, and Ruth was more convinced each day that the child was a boy. She hoped it was a boy. She would raise him to be kind and just and everything his father was; and everything that poor fat man Charles stone wasn’t.
Ruth was sitting by the window when her husband joined her. He had grown a moustache that made him look dashing. He leaned over her and lay a kiss upon her forehead. She reached up and touched his face and kissed him upon the lips. The baby kicked and he placed his hands upon her belly.
“This surpasses it all,” he said. “This far surpasses it all.”
“Surpasses what?”
“The dreams in France,” he said. “I dreamt of many things, of love and happiness, but never did I dream of something this perfect.” He scratched his scar absentmindedly. “I do not think I have told you how I got this, have I?”
Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) Page 29
