My Dear Duchess

by M C Beaton

  “Light the fire, man,” hissed the Duke, “or lose your employ.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace, of course, Your Grace… this very minute, Your Grace… I will bring the wood directly.…” and he Your Graced himself rapidly out of the room.

  But both knew somehow that the battle was not over. In the distance, they could hear the Groom of the Chambers approaching, his cane punctuating every step.

  Lawton finally stood in the doorway, his eyes popping in his fat, white face. “I hasten to inform you, Your Grace, that the old Duke gave orders that no fire was to be lighted between March and September.”

  The Duke got to his feet. His icy voice carried to every corner of the room. “Bring the staff here immediately. Every man Jack of ’em. Hop to it, man, and stop puffing and gobbling or by God you’ll feel my riding crop about your fat shoulders. And bring candles. Must we sit in this hellish blackness? Get a move on!” The last sentence was shouted full strength and the white-faced Lawton positively ran from the room, trailing his cane behind him like a fat bulldog with its tail between its legs.

  First candles were brought until the room was ablaze with light. Then there soon was a fire roaring up the chimney. Then the staff began to file into the room, sidling along the wall farthest from the angry Duke. “Is that all?” he finally barked.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” said Lawton, “except of course for certain of the outside staff.”

  “Very well,” said Henry. “Now look here the lot of you. And listen hard. Should I have to repeat any of this, you will all be dismissed.

  “I do not give a damn what the old Duke did or did not do. I am the Duke of Westerland and you will obey my commands. Furthermore, simply obeying my commands is not enough. Any man or woman who betrays the slightest sign of dumb insolence in my presence will be first horse-whipped, then dismissed. Do I make myself clear?”

  The Groom of the Chambers swelled out his chest like a bullfrog. “Of course, Your Grace. Of Course!” One of his gold buttons popped off and flew across the floor. He looked so discomfitted and ridiculous that Henrietta let out a nervous giggle. Lawton stooped to retrieve his button. For a split second his eyes met Frederica’s and she recoiled from the venom and dislike mirrored there. Then he was immediately polite and obsequious. Everything should be as His Grace desired.

  His Grace cut his effusions brutally short and told him to remove himself and his staff immediately.

  When they were gone, Frederica stared at her husband, her eyes shining with admiration. “Oh, Henry, you were marvellous!” she cried.

  He shrugged. “I’d as lief face several battalions of Boney’s troops than cope with encroaching servants. Have a glass of port with me, Frederica. It is not a very romantic homecoming for a young girl but perhaps if you have a few balls and parties, we can contrive to be merry.”

  But Frederica did not feel very merry when he left her at the door of her bedchamber explaining that he had had a truckle bed set up in his dressing room. She sat up in the great canopied bed in her room feeling very small and alone. Her lady’s maid, Benson, had been triumphant over the Duke’s “putting these uppity servants in their place” but Frederica could only remember the look of venom Lawton had cast at her and knew instinctively that the Groom of the Chambers blamed her alone for his humiliation. Like most cowardly bullies, he would instinctively select the weaker of the two as a target for his revenge. She remembered the first few days of their honeymoon, spent in the vast grandeur of their town house. The servants had been courteous and polite, but Frederica had been left alone a great deal since her husband was often away on business for most of the day.

  She wondered sadly if her husband was thinking about her or if he had fallen comfortably asleep. He had seemed so handsome and brave this evening, mused poor Frederica. Would she always have to be content to be treated as a sort of younger sister?

  “No, never!” she thought vehemently. Tomorrow was a brand-new day in which to try for his love. Nothing would come in her way.

  Their wedding had not turned out the wedding of her dreams. A distant relative of Mrs. Cholmley had been persuaded to give her away. He was a thin, effeminate, elderly gentleman, called Sir Edward Cole, who took it upon himself to disapprove of the marriage from the day of his arrival in London. The bride was too young, he said. He had gone on to cite innumerable instances of disastrous marriages which had taken place between “school girls and rake-helly gentlemen.” This jeremiad had continued even as he led her to the altar of St. George’s, Hanover Square.

  Then her wedding gown had been Aunt Matilda’s choice, and Frederica was too grateful to her for her hospitality to protest that it was uncomfortable. Of heavy white silk worn over a stiffened cambric petticoat, it was so encrusted with pearls and silver embroidery that Frederica was frightened that she would fall down under the sheer weight of it. A heavy train of priceless Valencienne’s lace was anchored to her small head, making it ache.

  The only precious moment of the wedding was when the Duke had turned to watch her coming up the aisle and his handsome face lit up with a warm smile of appreciation. Aunt Matilda had said she looked like a fairy princess and the Duke had appeared to think so as well.

  Frederica made her responses in a clear voice which she felt belonged to someone else. When she reached “I do” she became aware that the hysterical sobbing of some female among the guests was reaching a crescendo. The Duke bent to kiss the bride and the sobbing woman gave voice. It was none other than Mrs. Sayers. In a broad Yorkshire accent, she gabbled out against the wicked Fates who had chosen to make Frederica a Duchess instead of Clarissa. Fortunately her accent was so strong and her voice so choked with sobs that most of her remarks were unintelligible.

  Frederica had walked down the aisle in an agony of embarrassment, seeing the faces of the congregation as a blur, hearing the tumbling clamor of the bells, and feeling as if she were holding the arm of a stranger.

  But the trials of this evening, she felt, had brought them closer together. And tomorrow, they would be alone.

  And with that comforting thought, she fell soundly asleep.

  As she tripped lightly into the breakfast room attired in her best pink sprigged muslin with the deep flounces and little puffed sleeves, she found the Duke frowning over a letter. He gave her a distracted smile and threw the parchment down on the table. “This is an express from Mrs. Sayers,” he said bluntly. “She and Clarissa are to pay us a visit. In fact, I gather from this that they are already on their road. They have made sure that we shall have no opportunity to refuse them. They are being accompanied by Jack Ferrand, who is a decent enough fellow and related to me in some obscure way. It is, however, a damnable nuisance. There is too much to get acquainted with here and”… he hesitated… “we have not really had a chance to get acquainted ourselves.” He gave her a smile of peculiar sweetness and Frederica’s heart turned over.

  If only she had the courage to tell this new husband that the last people in the world that she wanted to see were Mrs. Sayers and Clarissa. Would she never escape from Clarissa’s icy, biting remarks and Mrs. Sayers’ venom? The Duke looked at her distressed face and read her thoughts.

  He said, “We will have to have them some time, you know, and we may as well get it over now. Once this ‘courtesy’ visit is over, I shall make sure that they are not invited again. There! Does that please you?”

  She nodded dumbly but—oh!—how she wished she could bar the gates to Chartsay. The thought of seeing Clarissa again in the company of her husband made her feel positively ill.

  That breakfast seemed later to Frederica to be the last time they were to be alone together. No sooner had they finished than the local county came to call in droves. Then, when he was not receiving guests, the Duke was closeted in his steward’s room, dealing with problems of the estate from the repairs to cottage roofs to what to plant in the five-acre field.

  Faces came and went during the day, each visitor fortunately calling only for the regula
tion ten minutes. Curious faces, high-nosed faces, degenerate faces, inbred faces went in and out of the drawing room in a seemingly endless stream.

  The arrival of the Rector, Dr. Witherspoon, and his plump comfortable wife was the only pleasant interlude in the long day. Mrs. Witherspoon was comfortably if unfashionably dressed in a round gown of cambric and a poke bonnet with several drooping osprey feathers. Her cheerful, rosy-cheeked face with its shrewd little eyes seemed to register the uncomfortable atmosphere created by the now-fawning servants and the faint smell of disuse which hung about the enormous room. Seeing that the Duke was relaxing in the Rector’s company, Frederica suddenly confided to Mrs. Witherspoon that she felt sure that there could be nobody left in the whole county to call and suggested a walk in the grounds.

  Mrs. Witherspoon gladly assented and walked with Frederica out into the golden sunshine of the afternoon.

  Frederica was not yet acquainted with the grounds but she suggested they should walk to a rotunda by the edge of one of the ornamental lakes. They moved slowly across the grass companionably discussing gowns and recipes.

  “It is a fine and handsome home you have, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Witherspoon at last, plumping her stout figure down on a stone bench in the rotunda.

  “I’ faith, it is indeed,” said Frederica sadly, looking across at the great sprawling pile. “I am not used to such grandeur.”

  “There, there,” said Mrs. Witherspoon, patting her hand. “You will soon become accustomed to it, I dare say. And then you have always me at the rectory to run to, my dear. We have a snug place, rather shabby I admit, but it suits me very well. We are only a short ride from Chartsay, you know.

  “Is Lawton behaving himself?” she asked abruptly.

  Frederica hesitated and then confessed that they had experienced a certain amount of trouble on their arrival.

  Mrs. Witherspoon nodded her head in satisfaction. “That one had too much of his own way when the old Duke was alive. The old man was a bit of recluse, never saw a soul or gave so much as a breakfast party so Lawton and that army of servants ran things pretty much as they pleased. The way Lawton went on you would think that Chartsay was his. You would be well advised to get rid of him and that precious sister of his.”

  “But they have been here so long,” pleaded Frederica, feeling cowardly. She told Mrs. Witherspoon of her husband’s confrontation with the servants.

  “Bravo!” she cried, clapping her plump hands together. “But mark my words, it’s easy for the men, particularly a man like His Grace who’s used to commanding a battalion. If you have any trouble, just come to me.”

  Frederica felt very comforted. They strolled back across the lawns in companionable silence.

  After saying her goodbyes, something made Mrs. Witherspoon turn in the doorway and look back. Frederica stood alone in front of the double-arcaded carved screens at the back of the great hall. In the shadows of the staircase which rose up almost to the high-vaulted timber ceiling ninety feet above she glimpsed the fat white face of Lawton. He was watching Frederica rather as a large fat cat watches the linnet in his wicker cage. Mrs. Witherspoon gave a shiver and made a half-step to go back until she became aware of her husband tugging at her arm. “What is the matter, Mrs. Witherspoon,” teased the rector. “Did someone just walk over your grave?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Witherspoon slowly. “Not mine.”

  Chapter Six

  Frederica dressed with especial care for dinner. It was to be served in the Duke’s study and they would be alone—apart from the usual retinue of servants.

  She tried not to feel disappointed when she opened the door of the book-lined study to find that the Duke had invited his steward, Benjamin Dubble. Both men were concerned in carrying on their earlier discussions of repairs and harvests so that only Frederica noticed Lawton’s eyes bulging with jealousy because of the steward’s favored treatment. The old Duke, thought Frederica sourly, would never have done such a thing!

  But the Duke had noticed her sad face and put it down to the exhausting day of visitors. When the meal was finished and Frederica rose to her feet to leave the men to their wine her husband unexpectedly proposed that they do without it. He would take Frederica for a walk on the terrace instead.

  Mr. Dubble’s romantic heart was touched. He rose with profuse apologies. He had forgotten they were newly-weds and an old man like himself would not play gooseberry. He looked at them both with such affection that Frederica’s heart began to lighten. Life at Chartsay might prove to be pleasant after all, despite the fact that Mrs. Lawton had tried to bully her earlier over the matter of the dinner menu.

  The air on the terrace was cool and pleasant as they strolled along. A faint light above the trees was all that was left of the dying day and a splendid moon turned the glassy water of the lakes to beaten silver.

  Frederica stole a look at her husband’s profile in the moonlight. He seemed very formal, grand and remote in his faultless evening dress of black coat and knee breeches, his profile framed by the high starched points of his cravat. Then he turned and smiled down at her and said, “Alone at last… to coin a cliche. Oh hell!”

  Frederica started in surprise and followed his gaze down the long driveway. A dusty traveling chariot pulled by four steaming horses was bowling up the drive, the lozenge on its side lit by the flaring torches carried by the outriders.

  “Mrs. Sayers!” he said. “I had begun to hope that she had changed her mind and did not plan to come.”

  With her heart sinking down to her little slippers Frederica made to walk from the terrace but he held her back. “Let them receive the full Lawton treatment. We can meet with them after they have been shown their rooms. No doubt Mrs. Sayers will tell Lawton exactly what she thinks of his old Duke this and old Duke that and it will serve both of them right!”

  Mrs. Sayers in fact did just that and before she had reached her rooms. “I do not care what the old Duke did or did not do,” she remarked, poking Lawton in the back with her umbrella. “My son-in-law is the Duke here now and if he has not impressed that upon you already, I will make it my business to see that he does!”

  Again, in the way of all bullies, Lawton retreated before this formidable opposition and decided to concentrate his energies on Frederica. It was all her fault that she had such an obnoxious and vulgar mother!

  While their guests removed the stains of travel, Frederica and her husband repaired to the drawing room where Jack Ferrand was the first to arrive.

  He was attired in his usual modest dress and his pleasant face beamed with delight on the married couple. Frederica was just beginning to relax in his easy and undemanding company when her mother and Clarissa were announced.

  Frederica had all but forgotten her stepsister’s beauty and even the Duke felt a slight constriction at his throat as she sailed into the room and enveloped Frederica in waving, gauzy, palest-pink Indian muslin. She then prettily begged for permission to kiss her new brother-in-law, wrapping her white-gloved arms languorously round his neck as she did so and making poor Frederica feel like a gawky schoolgirl.

  Had she not been so upset, she would have found the change in her stepmother ludicrous. Mrs. Sayers was all languid condescension to the new Duke—she had obviously found a new model to hide her tough north country soul behind. Her coy simpering, her quite awful flirtatious onslaughts on the Duke, sat at odds with her plump, tight-laced figure and heavy jaw.

  “I must apologize for not calling on you at your own house,” began Mrs. Sayers. “But I believe young married people should be left alone.” She let out a sudden shriek of laughter and rapped the Duke painfully across the knuckles with the ivory sticks of her fan. “Rude man! I declare I know exactly what you are thinking.” The Duke opened his mouth to protest but Mrs. Sayers, fortifying herself with champagne, was in full flight.

  “But when my sweet Clarissa says to me, ‘Mama, I am faint with worry over my darling sister,’ I realized my duty—so here we are!” She looked ap
preciatively around the room. “Very elegant! A fitting setting.” Her small eyes, resting briefly and adoringly on Clarissa, left the other three in no doubt as to whom the setting was perfect for. “Heppelwhite!” she then exclaimed in satisfaction and, having solved the origins of her chair, turned her full attention on her stepdaughter. “Frederica, I gather you are to hold a drum,” said Mrs. Sayers. “Very proper. It is right that Clarissa should become acquainted with the local county. I told that housekeeper, Mrs. Lawton, I told her right to her face, ‘My little Frederica may not be in the way of knowing how to go about holding grand parties but with the help of her mama, she will contrive admirably.’” Frederica closed her eyes and prayed to God her mother would disappear, but when she opened them Mrs. Sayers was still beaming with smug satisfaction and her husband was engrossed in conversation with Clarissa. She could not hear what they were saying because they were seated a distance away, but she saw Clarissa laugh and blush, and the smile on her husband’s face made her wish she were dead.

  Mr. Jack Ferrand hitched his chair closer to Frederica. “You are looking uncommonly well, Your Grace.” She smiled and thanked him, glad of the diversion. “I hope we are not intruding on your private life.” He gave her a sudden sympathetic grin. “Your mama was determined to come and you know how it is, once she has an idea in her mind, there’s no stopping her. But let us discuss your party. Do you plan to have many people?”

  Frederica answered him with enthusiasm, liking his open face and easy manner. Yes, she intended to ask most of the county. The house was large enough, goodness knows. Mr. Ferrand edged his chair even closer. Had she considered a masquerade? It was all the crack. Of course, there was nothing fast about it. The guests unmasked before midnight. But then, Mrs. Sayers would probably not approve. “This is my home and I shall do as I please,” remarked Frederica with some heat. “My love,” she addressed her husband who looked up in surprise at the unexpected endearment. “I have decided we will have a masquerade.”