Jane articulated bluntly the very disenchantment Seelye had felt since his return. His lack of purpose shamed him and made him very angry but he kept his tone light. “That is my concern, not yours. I worry far more for you. Time is passing, Jane, tick tock, tick tock. Yet another Season and still no takers. With your beauty and dowry, I wonder why?” He tapped his quizzing glass against his chin as if contemplating a mystery, then said, “Perhaps you’ve been as charming to your suitors as you’ve been to me.”
“You started this. We haven’t laid eyes on one another for years, yet you took one look at me tonight and raked me over the coals in front of your brainless imitators. Why?”
Seelye slowly pivoted to look at her and said, “I don’t know, Jane. You’ve changed and I don’t like what you’ve become.” He stood silent for a moment then shrugged. “Fortunately, you like wastrel lordlings even less, so my opinion is of no consequence.”
He bowed over her hand and dropped it to walk away.
A few months later, Lord Seelye took a chair vacated in Jane’s foursome playing whist at her brother the Duke of Bath’s card party. There, Seelye suffered what could only be described as a catastrophic run of bad luck, whilst Jane enjoyed equally inconceivable good luck at his expense. The duchess, Seelye’s eldest sister Gertrude, hovered nearby but he remained calm and good natured to all and sundry. Jane thought it prudent to retire before his losses to her became a ruinous bloodbath. She threw down her cards, rubbed her temples and claimed the headache. Seelye excused himself ostensibly to help her.
He offered Jane his arm and she hesitated before resting her fingertips on it.
“George will never allow me to accept your vowel for a gambling debt,” Lady Jane demurred. “We are family. We shouldn’t have played for money.”
“Ah, but we did and to my eternal disgust, you won. It’s a debt of honor and I will pay it.”
“There is no need, Seelye, please say no more.”
“I have not yet said half what I intend,” he said sharply.
“Oh no, not the other half! If only you will spare me the peal you’re about to ring over me about ladies gambling deep, I’d be tempted to tear up your vowel and call us even.”
He grimaced at her and rasped, “I’m honor bound to pay.”
“Fine, Seelye, since it’s a matter of honor,” Her blue eyes sparkled at him, “Though I had another thought.”
“I quail at the prospect.”
Lady Jane snapped open her lace fan and gave his lordship a quelling look with cold blue eyes.
“I will forgive your debt if you do something quite arduous for me and do it without your snide by-play and carping. You must do as I ask and with good grace, you hear me?”
“What exactly will this task entail?”
“I was going to ask only that you ignore me for the Season. I would have happily, nay joyously, accepted that as payment in full -- to the pence. But you’ve been so beastly, I think not.”
“I believe I’d liefer pay with a pound of flesh.”
“Pooh! Hear me out, won’t you?” She huffed indignantly, “You sound as though I have importuned you in the past. You’ve been at war and I’ve learnt to behave myself. But I haven’t much patience so have a care or I will think of something terrible to demand. Besides this is for your benefit.”
“You have never done anything for me but give me spasms since you were old enough to tag along and get your brothers and me in trouble for allowing it. I learnt my lesson after one thrashing too many from His Grace, thank you very much.”
“Old news, Seelye, old news and long forgotten.” She swept his objections away with a graceful gesture of her fan and shook her golden curls till they bounced and tumbled about her perfectly oval face.
“I have not forgotten nor, I would wager, has George or Rawden.”
“Such a Cheltenham tragedy! Whatever I eventually decide will be quite simple, an inconvenience to you I daresay, but it will clear the debt.” She blinked at him over the edge of her fan. “For instance, you could help me win over the man of my dreams.”
“Ainsworth ain’t that much a fool, Jane. He cannot be had for the batting of your big blue eyes.”
“Not Ainsworth, I haven’t decided yet. But a rival might be useful.”
“Oh, no!” He looked at her aghast, “Play your swain? Make love to you to make some oafish marquis or earl jealous? That will not do, I tell you. More likely get myself gutted by Rawden and find my chitterlings splattered all over Mayfair for my presumption. No. I’ve too strong a desire to keep my chitterlings right where they’ve always been. You are not destined for a second son so I won’t pretend, you hear me?”
“Fudge,” she said, her voice snapped like her fan closing. “Since you’re going to be disobliging, I will only tear up your vowel after you’ve done me one favor, no questions asked, no refusal permitted.”
“As I have already said, I will repay you in the customary manner, on my honor.”
“To Jericho with custom and your honor. One favor to be determined and in the meantime you will ignore me.”
“Ignore you during your third Season?”
“You know very well it’s my fourth,” she ground out. “And I don’t need your assistance to make me feel utterly ridiculous.”
“True. You’ve become an ape-leader all on your own, haven’t you?” He grinned, now enjoying himself. “Here’s my counter offer: I’ll leave you be, make good on my debt as you deem fair and I will be nice to you, if you will be nice to me.”
She furrowed her brow and studied his face for any telltale signs of mischief. His moss green eyes returned her stare as if daring her to agree.
“Is that even possible?”
“Can’t you imagine showing me the slightest consideration, the measliest kindness?” Seelye mocked, his hand to chest as if suffering a stab.
“Of course I can try. I wasn’t sure you would find it possible. I could gag on the number of times I’ve overheard someone say, ‘Lord Seelye’s rapier wit has turned the Ice Maiden to shavings, et cetera. Ha, ha.’ You’ve been stropping your wit on me and dining out on the stories.”
“But only with your help, my lady.” He bowed to her. “So I am doubly in your debt.”
“Won’t you starve if we make friends?” She asked tartly as she curtseyed.
“Not if I’m clever about it,” Seelye replied.
* * *
Not long after Seelye’s fateful game of whist…
George Babcock, sixth Duke of Bath strode into the drawing room of his London townhouse, where his wife, Gertrude, sat quietly plying her needlework on the settee. “My sister’s run off with your damned brother.”
“And one of your best friends from childhood. What makes you say such a thing?”
“This note.” He flicked a piece of unfolded foolscap back and forth.
“Calm down, you’ve gone quite puce, George. What did she write?”
“‘I have run off with Burtie Seelye.’ Demme if I don’t dismember your brother and flog my sister when I lay hands on them.”
“Let me see,” the duchess said calmly and extended her hand. Her husband passed it to her and flipped apart his coattails to flop down beside her as she looked it over. “It says, ‘I’m off with Burtie Seelye on a mission of mercy to save an unfortunate from a horrible fate. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.’ You see, George, she’ll be fine.”
“Not bloody likely. I’m going to have to hunt them down and haul my hoyden sister back here before her remaining marriage prospects are all but extinguished. And maim your brother, Gertie, for that I apologize. Unless under the circumstances you don’t mind.”
“Of course I mind, George. Oh,” the duchess interrupted herself and put a hand to her belly, “He’s kicking, feel it?”
“Don’t distract me, Gert, I won’t be put off with your bump’s bumptiousness.”
“Our bump, George.”
“Oh, fine.” The duke slid his hand under the duchess�
� hand and waited. He smiled despite his distemper. “Hello, little bump,” he leaned down to address her belly. “Your papa is sorely distracted by your managing mama, so he must beg leave to postpone our coze until after he beats your uncle to a squishy pulp and locks your incorrigible aunt up in a tower. How does that sit with you, Bump?”
“George, I don’t think such bloodcurdling plans are appropriate for our baby to hear.”
“If he weren’t your brother, I’d kill him outright. As it is, I’ll have to hold my nose and make him marry her. Can’t go running off with her to parts unknown and not come out of it leg shackled to her.”
“He’s always been like a brother to her.”
“Be that as it may, your family, my title, nothing can protect her from this mess. Beyond the pale. This time Jane’s made her bed and she must lie in it. With Seelye, poor sod. Whatever possessed him to agree to one of her mad schemes anyway.”
“He’s a gentleman with chivalrous instincts.”
“Lost at cards to her, I’ll wager. I warned him about her. Poor devil. But that’s neither here nor there anymore. She’ll have him or I’ll wash my hands of her. I swear, Gert. I will.”
“Perhaps we should find them before we pass judgment.”
“Too late, done and have,” George declared and absent-mindedly stroked his wife’s belly. Next, he crooned, “Poor Seelye, much as I like your uncle, little Bump, I will happily saddle him with your impossible aunt. You’ve only to be born to see what I mean.”
“If we can find them discreetly, there’s no need to force them into marriage.”
“Should’ve bundled her off to a nunnery after that earl, whathisname, offered for her and she browbeat him about mistreating a horse.”
“Jane’s Anglican, dear.”
“Large enough donation and the Carmelite’s might have her. Are they the ones with a vow of silence? One can only hope, eh, little Bump?”
The duchess chuckled.
“And now this, by God.” The duke sunk to rest his head in his wife’s lap, ear to her belly bulge.
“You know you may rely on Burtie to protect Jane, not ravish her.” The duchess stroked the duke’s hair from his forehead.
“Not Jane I’m worried about. This is serious. But he never takes me seriously, damn it. I should ask your brother Exmoor to sort Seelye out.”
“That will cause more stir, I fear. We must find them before there’s any whiff of scandal. In the meantime, she is quite safe with Burtie.”
“I know that, you know that. But the ton will feast on this latest example of Jane’s intransigence and disregard for all sensibility, you mark my words. She’s hopeless.”
“She’s headstrong and principled.”
“Ha! One could quarry rock from her skull rather. And she refuses to acknowledge anyone else’s principles, choosing to run riot according to her own. She will ruin herself and kill Seelye with this latest escapade of hers, whatever it is.”
“We must make inquiries quietly, so please do not go abroad until you are calm, George,” said the duchess in a tone that brooked no argument.
He eyed his wife. “Yes of course, you are right. I shall be the soul of discretion. And so shall the army of Bow Street runners I sic on them, I promise.” He turned his head to address his wife’s belly, “What say you, Bump, draw and quarter him for a quick death? Or shall I torture him for years with my sister?” He pressed an ear against her. “Ah, you are a cruel creature.” To his wife, he relayed, “Bump thinks Seelye must take her off my hands. Even in utero, our Bump has pity for his papa.”
The duchess smiled not really paying him close attention.
“I hope this is a son so I may call him Bump till his majority, by way of a nickname,” the Duke of Bath mused to his wife.
“George, your daughter took exception to ‘Bulge’ once she learned to speak.”
“Mmm. Well.”
“What will you call the child after this? Convexity? No, your pet names stop at birth, I must insist.”
“Didn’t bother Bulge as an infant, happiest little mite.” He smiled at the recollection.
Her Grace eyed His Grace over her needlework.
“Oh, very well, Gert. I shall bid adieu to Bump once he’s born and we shall saddle my heir with some God-awful family name,” he sighed. “I hate George. Everyone’s George. Bump has such a bluff, sturdy ring to it. Nice for a lad. ‘Bump, my boy,’ I’ll say, ‘Fetch your papa’s cup of tea from your lovely mama.’”
“No, George.”
“Hmph. You liked ‘Bulge’ well enough.”
“I only tolerated it.”
“Yes, fine. Seems you females are born with no sense of humor at all.”
Dear readers:
Thank you for coming along so far.
I hope to write Book Three in a year or two.
Best wishes and happy reading,
Miranda
Notes
1. W. H. Auden (1907-73) wrote this long after the baron’s story takes place but what a lovely thought. M.D.
2. Algernon was typical of the large, muscular gray horses bred from Percherons and Arabians. Not so large as a pure Percheron, still Algernon favored his Percheron sire, and stood at 18 hands, a strapping, huge horse. He was, in other words, in perfect proportion to his massive, muscular master, Lord Clun. Descended from destriers, Algernon was the finest, strongest warhorse on the field of battle, at least, as far as Lord Clun was concerned.
3. Oops, as the second son of a viscount, Percy has no courtesy title as yet, and thus is the Honorable George Percy. I have corrected my error in this story referring to him now as Mr. Percy and retroactively revised the first book but you’ve probably already read that one. My apologies. -MD
4. De Sayre, pronounced “de-SAY-er.” Although when Clun says it with his sensual rolling r’s, there’s an extra nuance that is frankly and scandalously sensual.
5. The building had numerous windows in spite of the king’s window tax, which previous barons groused was a damnable tax on God’s own sunlight and fresh air..
6. The author also mistakenly identified Seelye as the second son of an earl. His father was the Marquis of Exmoor. So Seelye does enjoy the use of a courtesy title of Lord as such. MD
7. Prior to his military training at the recently opened Royal Military College at High Wycombe, Clun had had the typical aristocratic classical education with tutors. And he enjoyed referring to the woman who bore him with witty mythological precision. The Erinyes, translated literally as ‘the angry ones’ or Furies, personified vengeful anger. Myth had it that when the Titan Cronus castrated his father Uranus and tossed his man parts in the sea, drops of blood gave rise to the Furies. Certainly given his mother’s lifelong dissatisfaction with his philandering father, the whole castration-vengeful anger scenario seemed perfectly apropos.
8. As a foundation garment, women wore “lightly boned stays or corsets” in this period. That is not to say the neo-classically inspired muslin dresses and the undergarments made for them were comfortable. “The new short-waisted style of women’s dresses, so deceptively simple in appearance could, in fact, be very restricting and the tight construction of the raised waistline round the rib cage extremely uncomfortable.” From Jane Austen Fashion by Penelope Byrde, pg. 28.
9. First recorded use: 1785-95; from the Latin incandescent, (stem of incandescens), present participle of incandescere, to glow.
10. Macaroni: an 18th century term used by the older generation for a fop or fribble.
11. Carreg is Welsh for stone. The de Sayre lords replaced the original timber motte and bailey castle with a stone structure by the close of the 13th century, as was common on the Welsh borderlands as Norman Marcher lords prospered.
12. The British Museum opened in 1759 dedicated to human civilization throughout the world and especially the British Empire.
13. According to the late housekeeper who raised her, the unmistakable signs of a man’s affection were: possessiveness and/or
jealousy, protectiveness, chivalry, admiration, desire and selflessness. Not that a man would exhibit all of these signs, but if a fellow demonstrated almost all of them, chances were, he was in love.
14. The Furies were at times depicted as having snakes wrapping their waists and eyes that dripped blood. In a similar fashion, the Gorgons had snakes for hair and their accursed gazes turned men to stone with a glance. Clun used the terms the Fury and the Gorgon interchangeably when pondering the subject of his mother.
15. Henry Paget, second Earl of Uxbridge commanded the cavalry, including the Household Cavalry, under Wellington. He was personally acquainted with and charmed by Clun and his friends, Lords Seelye and Maubrey (later tenth Duke of Ainsworth) and the Hon. George Percy, giving the cavalry officers the sobriquet the "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." He repeated his witticism with delight to all and sundry until newspapers began to follow their exploits against Napoleon’s forces.
In the Battle of Waterloo’s last hours, a cannonball shattered the earl’s leg. Perhaps an apocryphal tale, but it was said, he was near enough to Wellington at the time to cry out, "By God, I’ve lost my leg!" To which, Wellington supposedly replied, "By God, sir, so you have!"
16. After his leg was amputated above the knee, Uxbridge purportedly said, "I have been a beau these 47 years and it would not be fair to cut the young men out any longer."
17. Before running away, Elizabeth misinformed Washburn, Nettles and Mrs. Dawes about her upcoming plans, saying only that she would be with Constance to prepare for her nuptials and that under no circumstances should they disturb her, it being an exhausting endeavor. She also gave her lady’s maid a ‘surprise’ holiday, as she would be redundant at the Traviston’s. Recalling her maid was simple, too, for Elizabeth was a dab hand at forging her father’s signature. By franking the letter, she obscured its Shropshire origin. Quite clever, she thought.
18. The letters patent creating the barony dated almost to the Conquest. At William the Conqueror’s behest, the first de Sayre built a wooden mote and bailey castle near the Welsh border to help secure the Norman kingdom’s western reach. Following generations of Marcher lords replaced it with a sprawling stone castle and continued to amass wealth. To date, the barony was still in its first creation. Every de Sayre lord managed to beget at least one surviving son to beget another and so forth in a feat of serial procreation few other noble houses achieved. Indeed, all their begetting and fruitfulness had quite the Old Testament ring to it.
The Baron’s Betrothal: An On-Again, Off-Again, On-Again Regency Romance (The Horsemen of the Apocalypse Series) Page 33
