His name was Jack Edgeworth and the minute she laid eyes on him she thought he was the most dashing man she’d ever seen, a real life Alan Quartermain going on a quest to find his version of King Solomon’s Mines. She was smitten on the spot, as much by his looks as for what she believed he could do for her career, and she became determined to convince him she should go with him, whatever it took. In the end she got her way, both her ways if the truth be told. She impressed him with both her tight skirts and her abilities as a cartographer, documentarian and researcher.
They became lovers for the first time in the high heat of a dusty tent not far from the river, and remained so for the duration of the expedition. She didn’t think that either of them ever thought it was love. It was just the time and the place, the heat and the tension, lain over with their energetic youth and the excitement of what they were about to uncover, proof of the Queen of Sheba’s journey to meet Solomon, actual physical proof that the Bible story was true as it was told.
When the expedition was over and the team returned to London, she found that the Museum had gotten a new director in their absence. It seems that Lord Neville Cotswold, England’s foremost expert on relics from the early Dynasties of China, had recently returned from several years working in the East and been named the new director. Much older than she by at least fifteen years, Lord Neville was exactly like everything she had ever read about him, mature, sophisticated and aristocratic in the old Victorian sense. He was well-bred, well-mannered, extremely well-educated and extraordinarily well-connected through generations of Royal beneficence for duties performed for the Crown by his family.
At the time, she liked to believe that what she was feeling was love at first sight. But it wasn’t until later, until she had worked closely with him and could appreciate the man he was inside, his general air of kindness, his soft-spoken way of making people of all classes feel valued as human beings. From the Cockney charwomen who scrubbed the floors and emptied the waste bins, to the Prime Minister, and even the Queen herself when she bestowed her Royal presence on them at the Museum, Neville connected with them on whatever level they could be connected by. That was when she discovered what real love was, and that it was so much more than a sweaty roll in a hot tent. It was the only thing Jack and Neville had in common; the way they treated people.
In every other way they were complete opposites. Neville was stiff upper lip and all that, never loosened his tie or took off his jacket, even in the most ungodly of heat, and would never be seen with a hair out of place or his moustache untrimmed. He wasn’t as handsome or as dashing as Jack; it was his eyes that made him seem that way to her…gray, with a deep, serious, compelling look to them. He was everything an English gentleman should be and she found that irresistible.
She worked in the Museum with Neville for almost two years after she returned from Ethiopia. The first year she spent helping Jack catalog and display their artifacts and prepare the articles of their findings from the trip for publication. All the while in her mind she was preparing herself, training herself in the proper clothing, hairstyle, manners and deportment, to be the kind of woman that Lord Neville Cotswold could appreciate. With her looks and intelligence she accomplished that handily, and when Jack went back to America and their articles were well received, even applauded by the general archaeological community, she finally got her chance.
Lord Neville Cotswold came to see her personally in her office one day to congratulate her on her on her work on the Nile, and she was ready. He proposed to her within a year and they married shortly thereafter, not having slept together until they were officially man and wife.
It was a risk, but it was a risk she was willing to take because when she looked in his eyes, she knew that she could look into those eyes for the rest of her life and be quite happy with that, even if it was only that. As it turned out, she considered herself quite lucky because, not only was he a true gentleman out of bed, but he turned out to be a tender, caring, selfless and passionate lover in bed, and she never looked back.
In the ensuing years they became one of the most noteworthy couples both in the academic community as well as the highest social circles, going on expeditions together, making discoveries and publishing article after article together; then coming home to be received into the finest homes, private parties and state events. She even had what some may call the dubious distinction of being regularly invited to tea with Wallis Warfield Simpson, the oft-maligned Duchess of Windsor, and although she could naturally draw parallels between the old Duchess and the newest one, Camilla Parker Bowles, the Duchess of Cornwall, the style just wasn’t there, and she declined those later invitations.
As a woman, Neville allowed her the freedom she craved, not for other men because she was never once ever considered being unfaithful to him. She never had to, but he allowed her the kind of freedom that she valued more. He taught her how to fly a plane and how to sail. He taught her how to climb the mountains that she’d dreamed of when she was a girl and how to become a great English lady, and in over thirty-five years of marriage to the man, Madeline had never once regretted her decision. Jack Edgeworth may have been the passion of her youth, but Neville Cotswold was the love of her life.
Then five years earlier, when Neville had his stroke at age sixty-three, she gave up all of her professional activities, and most of her personal ones, to take care of him herself. By then she was already forty-eight years old and virtually a household name in the archaeological community and society columns, so it was not like there were many more rivers to sail or mountains to climb.
After the first year of taking care of Neville herself, he recovered nicely, but he would always be confined to a wheelchair. It was when he saw that the strain of it all was starting to age her, wearing on the appearance of her that he loved so much, that he insisted that they hire a combination secretary/companion to help her run her affairs.
It was Neville’s idea that they bring in a recent graduate student of archaeology to help them begin writing his memoirs, thinking that if Madeline had someone who could share her interests, she might not feel so lonely. It weighed on him that they’d never taken the time to have children and worried that, now that he had been incapacitated in most regards, she might regret that decision. He didn’t want that for her. That was when they got Sandrine.
Sandrine Boucher came to Cotswold Manor having just turned twenty-one and graduated from Oxford. Born in Paris, the daughter of a middle-level diplomat assigned to the French Embassy in London when she was fifteen, her English was nearly perfect, retaining only the slightest accent which became more pronounced whenever she got frustrated, annoyed or upset.
It was only by chance that she heard about the position open with the Cotswolds. She never really worried about finding a job after graduation since her grades were very good, she had diplomatic status in England and, failing a suitable position there, could always go back to Paris and get a job. It was only when she accompanied one of her friends to the University placement office and was standing there, rather bored, waiting for her friend to complete an interview, that she saw the notice on a tack board.
It caught her attention immediately because everybody who was anybody in the field knew that Lord and Lady Cotswold were like the Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor of English archaeology in their day, and the idea that they were looking for a recent graduate to help coordinate and compile information for a memoir they were writing fascinated her.
Of course, she never really thought she’d have a chance, given the fact that, although she was good, there were so many others who were better and more qualified for the position. But still, she figured it couldn’t hurt to apply and see what happened, so she did.
When she got a return letter two weeks later on very fine parchment paper, embossed with the name and crest of Cotswolds, she was sure it was a rejection, and was shocked to find out that it wasn’t. She had been invited to an interview with Lady Cotswold ten days later at the mano
r in Kent.
She was beside herself with the prospect, peerage, and a manor house. She ran immediately to her closet to see if she had anything suitable to wear, and finding that she didn’t, ran out to start combing the shops for just the right outfit, finally settling on a demure but professional aubergine suit with matching shoes and purse and an open-collared white blouse. She also decided to wear only a simple strand of pearls, matching pearl earrings and one of her very best opera pins, the pale pink Victorian cameo with the figure of a Roman soldier’s head, perfect for the occasion.
When the cab pulled up to the front of Cotswold Manor on the day of the interview, Sandrine could hardly believe the stately grandeur of it, feeling dwarfed by its immenseness. Her heart started pumping with excitement so that when she looked in her compact mirror to check her makeup, she realized that the flush of color in her usually pale complexion gave her a glow so real that she found that she didn’t need a touch-up at all. Then, having asked the cab driver to wait the half hour or so it would take to conduct the interview, she walked slowly up to the door, feeling a sense of vertigo as she looked up to see the towering structure she was about to enter.
She struck the door twice with the ring in the lion’s head knocker. A moment later, the door opened and a man in his mid-forties was standing before her dressed in a butler’s suit like he’d just stepped out of a film from the 1930s. “Miss Boucher?” he asked stiffly.
“Yes, I have a three o’clock appointment with Lady Cotswold,” Sandrine said breathlessly.
“If you’ll follow me please, Miss,” the butler said and turned with a refined wave of his hand. She followed him through the ornately designed and originally decorated Georgian entry hall until he stopped before a deeply but delicately carved oak door on the right side of the hall.
The butler stopped and knocked twice. A woman’s voice came through the door. “Yes, George.”
George opened the door slowly and stepped in. “Miss Boucher to see you, your Ladyship,” he said in the practiced monotone voice of a professional.
“Thank you, George. Please show the young lady in.” Sandrine heard the woman’s voice coming through the doorway.
“Yes, Milady,” George replied and came back through the doorway, bowing from the waist and motioning with his hand for her to enter.
Sandrine went in nervously and stood before the striking auburn-haired woman dressed in a finely tailored tweed suit and seated in a great armchair, a small table before her with a smaller chair next to it. Lady Cotswold stood to greet her, smiling, her hand outstretched. Sandrine took her hand and gave a light curtsy as she had been taught by her mother as a child. She couldn’t help but notice the sparkle of the enormous diamond engagement ring next to the quieter wedding band on the woman’s hand.
“Very nice to meet you, Miss Boucher,” the woman said the tone of her voice quiet and gentile, which went a long way in taking the edge off of Sandrine’s nerves.
“Thank you, your Ladyship and thank you for the invitation,” Sandrine said.
“You can serve the tea now, George, please,” Lady Madeline said to the butler standing in attendance just inside the door.
“Very good, Milady,” he said, turning to go and closing the door behind him.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” Lady Madeline said to the girl, motioning effortlessly with her hand to the smaller chair.
“Thank you, your Ladyship,” Sandrine said as she took the seat, her mind focused on maintaining her own ladylike manner.
Before she could start the interview, there was a knock at the door. “Yes, George, please come in,” she said without raising her voice. The door opened and George came in with a silver tea tray fitted with a silver tea service on a cart. He took the tray from the cart and placed it on the small table in front of the two women.
Only a few seconds later, Madeline heard the movement of wheels on the hardwood floor and shifted her attention behind George.
As George stepped aside and turned to leave, Sandrine saw a frail old man with active gray eyes in a wheelchair rolling up to her. Madeline spoke. “Miss Boucher, this is my husband, Lord Neville Cotswold.” Sandrine stood up again immediately and made another curtsy, stretching out her hand. The old man took it and shook it lightly saying, “Please, my dear. Sit down.”
From there the interview went on for well over an hour, but it was more than a professional interview. Lady Cotswold made it clear that they were more than satisfied with Sandrine’s educational qualifications. What they wanted to know was more along the lines of who she was as a person, her goals and aspirations.
Lady Cotswold served the tea and asked about Sandrine’s family. Lord Cotswold seemed interested in knowing how she liked living in England as compared to living in France. They were both very kind and made her feel at ease so she didn’t hesitate to be free with her answers.
They asked her how she felt about acting as both secretary and assistant to Lady Cotswold and her thoughts on providing social companionship to both of them when not officially on duty, or whether she would prefer to spend her free time off the Estate grounds. Of course, should she accept the position, she would be expected to live in the manor house and to become part of the household.
In exchange, all her living expenses would be paid and she would be given a generous stipend to save or squander as she pleased, although Madeline had already drawn the conclusion that this girl was not a squanderer.
They talked about how she felt about marriage and children and why such a pretty young girl would be so interested in such a dry life as archaeology would offer her.
When the interview concluded, Lady Madeline stood and pressed a button under her desk while informing Sandrine that they would be making their decision shortly…within a fortnight…and that she would be notified by mail.
A moment later George reappeared in the room and escorted Sandrine back to the door where her cab was waiting. When she got in and they had gone through the gates back to the main road, the cab driver told her that he had already been generously paid by the butler the cost of the entire fare.
***
“So, what do you think, my dear?” Madeline asked her husband once they were alone again. Lord Neville thought about the girl for a moment, her shoulder-length dark hair worn simple and straight, her pretty heart-shaped face housing large intelligent dark eyes.
“She reminds me of you, Maddie,” he said. “…a girl of some metal under a delicate façade longing to be part of a very indelicate business.”
Madeline took that as a very high compliment from the man who knew her so well, and had the same feeling, although from a woman’s perspective. She could tell from their discussion that, although Sandrine Boucher was indeed a pretty girl with a face like a Flemish Renaissance painting, inside she was not a flighty girl taken to whims of romance like other girls her age. She was a serious girl who took her work seriously. She wasn’t looking for a husband; she was looking for a life. “…and she has very good taste, Neville…that was a beautiful cameo she was wearing, early Victorian…and real. I think she’s real, too. She’s didn’t come here because she smelled money, she came because she smelled knowledge,” Madeline said, pulling back the faux Greek bas relief panel on the wall behind them to reveal a bar service and pouring herself a glass of sherry. “Cocktail, dear?”
“My usual, if you don’t mind, Maddie,” Neville replied as he lit his pipe, signaling that they’d both had enough Lording and Ladying for the day.
The letter offering Sandrine Boucher the position went out the next morning.
***
Sandrine moved into Cotswold Manor two weeks later. The room she was given was something out of a fairytale. Lady Cotswold chose it for her particularly because, as when they first met, Sandrine reminded her of a Flemish Renaissance painting.
The overall room was done in red and gold with the canopy over the four-poster bed matching the curtains made of red velvet with gold appointments and was deco
rated in an earlier period than the Georgian first floor. The walls were dotted with large gilt-framed lithographs and mirrors and the furniture Sandrine knew was Queen Anne, including a mirrored dressing table that she would look in almost every morning for the next four years.
Lord and Lady Cotswold couldn’t have been better to her or for her, and she worked hard for them in return, although it hardly seemed like work. It was more like stepping into a life she had only read about.
By the time she’d finished her first year with them, they’d completed the first draft of Lord Cotswold’s memoirs, a great deal of which was recorded as he spoke and she listened and ran the recorder. Then after every session she would go through his correspondence and photographs to coordinate them with the day’s remembrances.
It didn’t take long for her to find that she genuinely liked the old man. He treated her in an almost grandfatherly fashion and often asked her if she found herself lonely for the company of people her own age. But she didn’t, truly. Every time she sat with Lord Cotswold she was instantly transported to China or Egypt, to Greece or India, learning things from him that she was sure even her professors didn’t know.
Her time with him became very special to her and after the work on his memoirs was completed, she found herself looking for excuses to spend time with him. She enjoyed taking him out for strolls on the Estate in good weather, and in exchange for her kindnesses, he taught her how to appreciate fine wines and delicacies that she could never have experienced otherwise; pheasant under glass made with fresh pheasant from the Estate hunting grounds and caviar, oh how she came to love his taste in caviar.
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