He drove the curricle along the curving drive which was bordered by miles of magnificent parkland, studded with old oak trees. The wheels of the carriage clattered over a quaint stone bridge, the arches of which spanned a gently flowing stream and, when it rounded the next bend in the road, an enormous house came into view. The main stone structure rose to a height of three stories in the centre, with giant wings on either side of it sweeping forward to create a large terraced courtyard. The well-clipped lawns, surrounding the stately mansion, led down to an ornamental lake with an island of poplars in the centre and hanging beechwoods beyond. A pillared pavilion, nestling amongst the trees, overlooked the still waters of the lake.
The Duke brought the curricle to a halt in front of the entrance of Stanford Court and, leaving Jimmy to drive the carriage around to the stables, he strode up the shallow steps to the immense front doors. Wilson, the old butler who had served three generations of Beaumonts at The Court, opened the doors to him — the wide smile upon the family retainer’s usually stolid countenance revealing his delight at seeing his master again. “Welcome home, your grace,” he murmured, taking the Duke’s hat and gloves, “It is indeed a pleasure to see you again.”
“Good evening, Wilson,” the Duke said with a smile for the old friend who had covered for him so many times during the madcap days of his childhood. “How is your rheumatism?”
“Much better thank you, your grace,” Wilson replied, not quite able to hide his pleasure at the fact that the Duke had remembered his old ailment. Removing his master’s greatcoat, he continued, “Her grace informed me that although she is at present resting in her bedchamber, she will be pleased to receive you in the Little Drawing Room immediately you arrive, your grace.”
“Did she, indeed?” the Duke murmured, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Inform her grace that I have arrived and that I shall wait on her in twenty minutes — I must change out of all my dirt first.”
“Certainly, your grace,” Wilson said impassively, wondering what was in the wind. It was the unwritten law at Stanford Court that the Dowager Duchess of Stanford, once resting in her rooms, was under no circumstances to be disturbed. And, although she was the fondest of mamas, it was not her grace’s wont to order her offspring to wait on her immediately they arrived. Something, Wilson was certain, was in the air. Something had to be — as nothing short of a catastrophe, in the ordinary run of events, would disturb the Duchess from her precious sleep!
Exactly twenty minutes later, the Duke entered the Little Drawing Room — the beautifully decorated apartment leading on from the Duchess’s bedchamber that was her grace’s personal sitting room. Due to the crippling nature of the Duchess’s arthritic condition, her mobility had for many years been severely limited and, in recent years, she had taken to receiving her guests in this charming sitting-room rather than in the oppressively grand drawing room downstairs. A fire burning cheerfully in the grate dispelled the chill from the air, and the Duchess sat nearby in a comfortable armchair, a warm rug spread over her knees.
Serena, Dowager Duchess of Stanford, had, in her younger days, been known as a remarkable beauty. Ill-health and time had etched their inevitable mark on her flawless features, and silver now touched her lustrous mane of dark hair — but her exquisite bone-structure and dark eyes gave her a timeless beauty that neither age nor illness could ravage.
Approaching his mother, the Duke bent down to kiss her proffered cheek, saying with his attractive smile, “You look as charming as ever, Mama.”
“Thank you, Robert — but you flatter me, dearest!” the Duchess said with a laughing look up at her tall son. Indicating the chair opposite hers, she invited him to sit down, wondering how best to broach the topic that had occupied her thoughts for quite some time now. The Duchess had all but given up hope that her eldest son would one day marry and provide her with grandchildren. But now, according to the various communications that she had received in recent days from her close friends, it seemed that her dearest wish was about to be granted: Robert, apparently, was on the verge of making the Grantham girl an offer of marriage. Responding rather absently to his inquiries as to the state of her health, the Duchess wondered how best to tackle her son. He could be so maddeningly uninformative at times!
After the Duke had allayed his mother’s anxieties as to the well being of her younger daughter, the Duchess inquired of him, “What news can you bring me from London, dearest?”
With a smile lurking in his eyes, he said blandly, “Your cronies must be slipping up in their correspondence, Mama. They are usually most diligent in their efforts to keep you abreast of the latest London gossip.”
Sighing in exasperation, the Duchess gave her son an old-fashioned look, and decided that it would be best to grasp the proverbial nettle — he seemed determined to be difficult! “Robert,” she said directly, “is it true that you are going to marry Alexandra Grantham?”
The Duke flicked a speck of dust from his coat sleeve, then looked up and replied coolly, “If Miss Grantham will have me.”
The Duchess looked at her son in consternation. “If she will have you, Robert?” she repeated. “What in heaven’s name do you mean?”
A smile curled the Duke’s lips as he thought of Alexandra. After a while, he said, “Miss Grantham is averse to the idea of marriage, Mama. She has informed me on several occasions that she values her independence far too much to give it up, and that she has no desire to wed any man. I have been — er-battling her defences in recent weeks, but am, as yet, uncertain of her regard for me.”
The Duke’s brows lifted as his fond mama burst out laughing. Wiping her streaming eyes, the Duchess said in a choked voice, “How — how vastly amusing, Robert!”
“Your maternal feelings do you credit, Mama,” he said ironically. “May I inquire as to why you find my predicament so marvellously diverting?”
The Duchess bit her quivering lip. “Well, dearest, it is only that for the last ten years, every silly chit in London has been throwing out lures to you. You are the most eligible bachelor in England, and have been odiously courted and flattered by every lady in London. And now, after all these years, the one girl on whom your fancy has alighted, you appear unsure of. Your plight is vastly entertaining, my dear — I never thought to see you at the mercy of a pretty face!” Pausing briefly, the Duchess continued, with a smile, “I am even more eager now than I was before to become acquainted with your Miss Grantham, my dear — she must be a remarkable girl.”
“Alexandra Grantham is nothing more than a mischievous little gypsy, Mama,” the Duke said calmly — but the Duchess did not miss the decidedly tender light in his eyes when he mentioned Miss Grantham’s name. He loves her! — she thought, joyously. He truly loves her! In recent years the Duchess had begun to lose hope that her eldest son would find a woman for whom he could truly care. Having reached the age of two-and-thirty, he had seemed set to avoid the matrimonial net indefinitely — but now, now he had evidently fallen in love! And with a girl who apparently cared not a whit for his rank or consequence, she thought in satisfaction.
Viewing her son thoughtfully, she said, “I received a most interesting letter from Anne Beauchamp the other day, my dear.”
The Duke’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing — merely waited patiently for his mother to continue.
The Duchess folded her hands in her lap. “I have always considered Anne to be as shrewd as she can hold together — and she is of the decided opinion, my dear, that her granddaughter is head over ears in love with you.”
With an arrested expression on his face, the Duke said slowly, “Is she indeed?” A warm smile lit his green eyes as he stood up and pressed a kiss onto his mother’s cheek, “Mama — you are a jewel,” he said softly, before taking his leave of her, so that she could, in his words, “rest a little while before dinner.” Needless to say, the Dowager Duchess of Stanford closed her eyes not at all in the hour preceding dinner — she was far too busy planning the detail
s of what was sure to be the most important Society wedding of the decade.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alexandra sighed disconsolately as she watched fat raindrops chase one another down the bay windows of the Morning Room. Sighing again, she placed her embroidery aside, thinking that the dismal weather perfectly suited her downcast mood. She glanced up as the door opened, and her grandmother bustled into the room. Lady Beauchamp beamed cheerfully in response to her granddaughter’s greeting, but her smile faded quickly as she noted Alexandra’s wan face.
Regarding her thoughtfully, Lady Beauchamp settled herself comfortably on the chaise-longue across the room. Arranging her skirts about her, she said directly, “I would advise you, my love, not to wear your heart on your sleeve.”
Alexandra’s eyes flew to her grandmother’s face, a startled question in them. Her ladyship nodded her head, and remarked gently, “Last night at your Court presentation, my dear, it was obvious to all who cared to look, that you were not in spirits. People are not blind, Alexandra. They are bound to notice your downcast attitude and correctly attribute it to the fact that the Duke of Stanford is absent from town.”
Alexandra lowered her head, dismayed. “I did not know that it — that it is apparent to everyone that I am enamoured of the Duke of Stanford, Grandmama.” Raising her eyes to Lady Beauchamp’s concerned face, she continued haltingly, “Before I came to London, I vowed that I would not allow myself to fall in love with any man — least of all the infamous Duke of Stanford. Yet, here I am at present, in a total quandary, in love with a man who does not care for me at all! I am at my wits’ end, Grandmama!”
Lady Beauchamp’s mouth dropped open. Then she began to chuckle. Alexandra, rather hurt at her grandmother’s apparent insensitivity, said in a confused little voice, “But, Grandmama, how can you laugh at this? I am in utter despair!”
Choking back her laughter, Lady Beauchamp replied, “My dear girl, I find it marvellously diverting that Robert has managed to convince the whole of Polite Society of his intentions towards you, and yet has, ostensibly, failed to convince you! Alexandra — you must surely be the very last person in London not to know that the Duke of Stanford has fallen in love with you!”
Alexandra stared in amazement at Lady Beauchamp, her thoughts in turmoil. The Duke of Stanford in love with her! It was beyond belief! Yet, as her grandmother’s words slowly sank in, Alexandra could not quite curb tendrils of hope from unfurling in her heart. She glanced in an abstracted fashion at Lady Beauchamp, as that lady continued briskly, “Alexandra, you must have been blind not to have noticed that Stanford has been seriously courting you!”
“Courting me?” Alexandra echoed, “No...no — I believed that the Duke was merely attempting to set me up as his latest flirt — that he saw me only as a challenge.”
“Stanford has regarded you in a far more serious light than that for some time, my dear. I can assure you that you have him well and truly in your clutches!”
“Do not speak thus, Grandmama, Alexandra said, grimacing. “You make me sound like one of those designing creatures, only intent on securing an eligible match.”
“Forgive me, my love — that you most certainly are not.” Lady Beauchamp smiled apologetically. She paused a moment, before continuing, “My dear girl, your London Season has proved to be most entertaining. I cannot remember when I last enjoyed myself so much. You are a fortunate young lady, indeed, Alexandra, to have snared Robert. He is sure to set aside his rakish ways once you are married. As it has often been said — reformed rakes do make the best of husbands!”
Alexandra blushed a little at these words, and smiled. A sudden thought entered her head and she chuckled, saying lightly, “John will be most pleased to hear that his spinster sister is finally to be married! Only yesterday, he told me that I was most foolish to have refused every offer of marriage that I have received thus far. I think he is afraid that I will be embarrassed if he gets married before I do.”
A shadow crossed Lady Beauchamp’s face at the mention of her grandson’s name. She had not failed to notice the rapid deterioration in John’s state of health since his arrival in London, and the fact that he had decided to extend his visit to the Capital indefinitely worried her greatly. What a pity, she mused, that John was no longer a young child whom she could tell what to do! A frown creased her brow as she said in a concerned voice, “I am sure that you have not failed to notice that your brother does not look in prime form, Alexandra. I have not voiced my concern to him, because I know how much he dislikes to be fussed over. Perhaps, he would listen to you if you advised him to return home?”
Alexandra shook her head, her newfound joy dimmed somewhat at the reminder of her brother’s continued ill health. In an exasperated voice, she said, “The only time that I tentatively suggested to John that the London air might not agree with his constitution, he almost snapped my head off!” Shrugging her shoulders, Alexandra continued, “John is usually the most sensible of people — but when it comes to matters of his health he can become infuriatingly obstinate. He resents the fact that he has a frail constitution, and prefers to ignore his condition in the hope that it will disappear of its own accord. It appears that he has no intention of departing London in the near future.”
“But John has always professed that he far prefers living in the country!” Lady Beachamp said, puzzled.
“That may be so, Grandmama — but for the first time in his life John has been able to enjoy the association of acquaintances of his own age, and obviously he is loath to give up his newfound friends — including Emily, of course — in order to return to Grantham Place.”
“Yes, and well do I know that stubbornness is a characteristic that both my grandchildren share,” Lady Beauchamp said acerbically. “Anyway, my dear,” she continued, as Alexandra merely smiled at this, “If you will excuse me, there are a few matters to which I must attend.” Her ladyship stood up, shook out her skirts, and with a fond look at her granddaughter, left the room.
Alexandra barely noticed her grandmother’s departure, her mind a hive of activity as the significance of what Lady Beauchamp had revealed to her slowly sank into her consciousness. She had little experience of men, and in truth she felt rather alarmed at how swiftly and completely the Duke of Stanford had come to occupy her heart and mind. She cringed with embarrassment as an image of a younger and somewhat less experienced Alexandra crossed her mind. How dearly she wished the disparaging comments she had made about the state of matrimony unsaid! Thankfully, her grandmother would not tease her about her foolish comments — but John! He, in all likelihood, would enjoy reminding her of how she had once scoffed at men and marriage! That is, if her brother recovered his health. Alexandra frowned unseeingly out of the window. Of late, John’s ill-health had had a decidedly poor effect on his usually sunny temper, and their easy friendship had become rather strained.
The door of the Morning Room opened, and Alexandra glanced up as Leighton entered the room. Surprised that someone had decided to venture out on this miserably cold day to pay a morning call, she smiled in welcome. Her smile quickly faded, however, when her visitor came into view. Edward Ponsonby walked into the room, clutching a bunch of daisies in his hands. Espying her, he idled forward, thrust the flowers at her, and bowed awkwardly over her hand. “My dear Miss Grantham,” he said ponderously, “You look as bright and lovely as these blooms that I present to you.”
Alexandra accepted his token of appreciation with a rather strained smile, thinking that she must look a very sorry sight to be compared to the most bedraggled bunch of flowers she had ever seen. Looking meaningfully at Leighton, she murmured, “Mr Ponsonby, it is indeed kind of you to call on us. My grandmother...”
Before she could complete her sentence, Mr Ponsonby interrupted her, saying with a leer, “Miss Grantham, we have no need of a chaperone. Indeed, what I am desirous of saying to you does not require the presence of a third party.” Alexandra looked desperately at Leighton, who bowed impassiv
ely, and exited the room — hopefully, she thought, with the intention of informing Lady Beauchamp of the presence of their unwelcome guest.
“Please be seated, Mr Ponsonby,” Alexandra murmured coolly. Mr Ponsonby contemplated sitting beside his hostess on the chaise-longue, but something in that lady’s steely blue eyes decided him against the prudence of this course of action, and he took the chair across from her.
Clearing his throat, he said onerously, “Miss Grantham, I come to you, a man bewitched by your beauty. Indeed I cannot sleep or eat for thinking of you.” With great restraint Alexandra refrained from glancing at Mr Ponsonby’s paunch which hung over his tightly fitting pantaloons. Mr Ponsonby continued, “Indeed, I will not rest until I can call you mine. My dear Miss Grantham, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” Before Alexandra could open her mouth to politely refuse him, Mr Ponsonby added, condescendingly, “You and I both know, Miss Grantham, that at your age — it has come to my knowledge that you are nearly twenty years old! — you cannot pick and choose. I would not say that you are on the shelf as it is, but you are not the youngest of débutantes, and you cannot be unaware of the danger or indignity of becoming an old maid.”
Alexandra stared at Mr Ponsonby, quite at a loss for words. But, before she could regain the use of her tongue and utter the stinging set-down that she felt he deserved, Mr Ponsonby carried inexorably on, “Miss Grantham, it has not failed to escape my notice that you have shown a decided partiality for the company of the Duke of Stanford in the past few weeks. Of course, as we both know, young ladies are always most affable when an eligible member of the opposite sex pays attention to them — but, be warned, my dear. The Duke of Stanford will never marry a lady of little or no consequence. You have beauty and fortune, of course, but Stanford will never marry below himself. You would do far better to favour me with your hand in marriage. I have estates in Surrey, and I can offer you a most respectable position in Society as my wife. It would be foolish of you indeed, my dear, to refuse my offer of marriage.”
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