by Matilda Hart
The Duchess sighed, but continued. “Annabel has been stubborn, sir, quite beyond all reasonableness. She suggests that she knows nothing of what Charles has written.”
“Nothing?” Another pinch of snuff was snorted, and the lid of the snuffbox snapped shut with force.
“Nothing,” repeated the Duchess.
“Nothing,” declared Annabel.
“It is improper. Highly improper.”
The soup – leek – was served, and for a few minutes only the dipping of spoons could be heard. Annabel was aware of every minute glance between her parents, and so sank into herself, savoring every ounce of warmth that passed against her lips.
Finally, the rotund Duke of Birkenhead could stand it no more. His face reddened, as though a great secret were being withheld from him, rather than vice versa. He slammed down his silver spoon, rattling the crystal glasses and almost sending his snuffbox flying. Marlowe flinched, then recovered himself once again. “My daughter, the one thing, the one thing that we have forbidden you over the past few years – the one thing that you have been denied, despite our generosity in all other areas, it seems was too much for you. The collusions of your brother, his wife – “
“His meddlesome wife,” interrupted his own wife.
“My dear,” sighed the Duke, as he sniffed yet more snuff. “I was getting to her character. I thought it better to dwell on the indisputable fact that between Charles, Elinor and Annabel, they seemed to have hatched a plot to get Annabel to London for the summer season.”
Annabel let her spoon drop. “London?”
“You can drop the pretense, Annabel,” retorted her mother. “It is tiresome. This is what you have wanted for the past three seasons. You have worn your father down with your pestering and false tears.”
“London,” whispered Annabel, before she recovered herself. “I have had no correspondence with Charles on the matter. Most of our letters have been about your health, father.”
The Duke sniffed, loudly and to much effect.
“London,” Annabel whispered once again.
“I cannot understand why – why – you have chosen to be so disobedient, Annabel. The Regent’s Court,” and here the Duke grew conspiratorial, as though he did not trust even his own wife on this matter. “The Regent’s Court is a place of debauchery and loose morals. It is no place for a young lady of your standing, for there are enough women there who are of low standing. I would fear for you in that place, at the mercy of scoundrels and rakes.”
The Duchess added her ahem to the matter, and proceeded to pick at her dinner. Her eyes did not leave Annabel’s face, still searching for some sign of moral weakness that would make it easier to keep her locked away in Liverpool.
The Duke continued his hushed tirade. “To think that Charles allows Elinor to move in such circles is beyond even my impressive imagination. I suspect that he thinks that you, Annabel, would be a good influence on his wayward wife.” He smiled, and nodded to his wife, proving that he had, indeed, made sufficient commentary regarding Elinor’s character.
“I don’t think Annabel should go – at all,” the Duchess announced suddenly. “It is simply too dangerous.”
“Oh, but there is one condition. One, simple condition that if it is broken will mean that Annabel returns here to Liverpool.”
Annabel swallowed a sigh. “And, father, what is that condition? Must I not marry a rake? Take up with a traveling minstrel? Join an acting troupe?”
“You jest, Annabel, in a way that would be entirely too fitting for the Regent’s Court.”
“The condition, father?”
“You are to be closely chaperoned by your brother, Charles. Where he goes, you will go. The places he avoids, you will most certainly avoid.” He sniffed again, this time mimicking a minor explosion. “The people he considers to be of appropriate status, you will readily socialize with. All others, you will not respond to invitations or requests.” He paused. “Do you understand me? If you break from the close attention of Charles, you will be peremptorily sent back here, where we will arrange a suitable, local marriage to a man who loathes and detests London society. To a man, I dare say, who could not even find London on a map.”
Annabel nodded, and demurred to her parents. “Of course, father, I will not disappoint you.”
“Ahem!”
“Nor you, mother. I will stay close to Charles. I am so grateful that you are finally allowing me to see a London season!”
Her father lowered his eyes. “Just see that you do not make me regret it, Annabel. If you do, my wrath will be considerable and enduring.”
He bit down on his steak as though he were a wolf.
Annabel, however, had ceased to listen.
Chapter Two
It was over 200 miles from Liverpool to London, but it passed by for Annabel in what seemed mere moments. Every stop, every town that she passed through, were milestones on the way to the greatest and most significant achievement of her life: her debut at a London party. She fanned herself constantly, so much so that her lone maidservant, Susan, feared that her mistress would give herself a “nasty chill, just in time for your nose to run and grow red before the first party!”
Annabel, however, felt immune to all such laws of nature and fate. Her fate, she had decided, was in her own hands, and she would shape and mold it to her desires. Once she arrived at Charles’ house on Great Portland Street, she vowed that she would never return to the lavish but confining Birkenhead Hall. She was eighteen years old, from a good – if only to outward appearances – family, and she would be valued as a worthy prize by the zealous bachelors of the Prince Regent’s Court. Yet she would be no passive prize – she would, in fact, determine her husband on three things: how he looked, how rich he was, and how he made her feel.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Susan’s shocked voice: “I have never been so far from home, Miss.”
For they had reached the city, and ever increasingly on their journey the noise grew, the sights were more and more impressive, and both mistress and maid were equally impressed by what they were witnessing. Susan, in particular, was not afraid to point out the “good looking gentlemen” who seemed to mill about as they grew closer and closer to Great Portland Street.
“Oh Susan, as if I would consider a man who was walking. If you can point out a striking man in a carriage, then I may consider a look.”
“But,” and Susan paused, “I like to see all of a man before I judge him. Who knows what flaws you can hide in a carriage!”
The Regent’s Park, newly created only a few years before, heralded their closeness to Great Portland Street. In the great city, such a sprawl of parks and greenery lifted Annabel’s spirit even more – this city was wonderful! The metropolis gave way to a soft underbelly, a welcoming greenery, in the midst of its buildings and stately homes.
Finally, the carriage pulled alongside Charles and Elinor’s home on Great Portland Street. Charles was out the front in a flash, and embraced his sister with warmth.
“Let me look at you, Annabel.” Suddenly, his joy vanished and a frown briefly crossed his face. “I see I am going to have to take my chaperoning duties seriously.”
More than you know, thought Annabel. She answered quietly, “Charles, you know how much I have wanted to be here. I do not know how you managed to convince father and mother, but I am forever in your debt.”
“I shan’t let you forget it, either! Now, come inside. Elinor has a lovely afternoon tea arranged for you. But do not get settled. We have one short trip to take, if you are not too tired.”
“Where?”
As he ushered her up the steps, he explained: “Yesterday, while you were on the road, I received an invitation. Well, I should say, Elinor and I received an invitation to spend a week in the spare wing of Hayden Manor, in Covent Garden. It is a spectacular house – so grand, so well apportioned and so perfectly located. Normally, I would say no, but with your arrival and the absence of the owner, I feel t
hat it is entirely appropriate for us to accept the invitation.”
They were now inside and Elinor, Charles’ dark haired wife, clasped Annabel’s hands and welcomed her warmly. “Charles, I cannot believe that you have not allowed Annabel a moment to sit before you are already discussing these plans! Let her sit. These are new sofas, please use them.” Elinor was so breathless that it made Annabel tired, so she willingly sat down. “Drake! Please bring the sandwiches and pastries. And tea? Would you like a refreshing tea?”
Annabel nodded, smiling.
“I am so, so, so terribly sorry about what must seem such a late change of plans. It is not in my nature to be so erratic. But Hayden Manor – on such terms as we have been offered – is not to be sneezed at. No, indeed. I said as much to Charles – “
“Yes, you did, but in rather less words.”
“Oh Charles, there you go again, mocking me! I am just so excited. I cannot believe that the best house in London will be our home for a week! And the best aspect of it is, if I have forgotten to take anything, I can simply send a man back here to get it.”
“I am not sure what you think you have forgotten, my dear,” replied Charles, indicating the three large suitcases and numerous smaller bags that the servants were now taking out to the carriage.
“Oh my, “ said Annabel.
“Did Charles happen to mention, as well, that a grand party will be held at Hayden Manor tomorrow night?”
“Are we hosting it?” The thought of a first party was nerve wracking enough – let alone the added responsibilities of hosting such a lavish event.
“No, silly girl, the Duke of Reading’s younger brother in staying in the other spare wing, and he will do those duties in the absence of the Duke himself.”
Annabel knew the name, but whether it was fatigue or excitement, was struggling to place the Duke in context. She looked to Charles, who seemed concerned that yet another suitcase had been added to the pilgrimage out the door. “Charles – the Duke of Reading? The name – “
“The name is a cautionary tale, Annabel.” He muttered, his tone dark. “Lord Donovan Hayden, the Duke of Reading, who lost his father during the Napoleonic Wars but amassed a fortune at the same time. His late father was a good friend of the Regent’s, and so is Lord Donovan.”
Annabel pursed her lips. “I sense, Charles, that you are trying to say something?”
Charles turned to Elinor. “My dear, would you mind finding me another cravat for tomorrow? And perhaps, supervise the packing?”
“Of course, Charles. How foolish you were to only pack three cravats!” And in a blur of silken finery, Elinor disappeared and shut the doors behind her.
Charles sat down by his sister’s side. “Listen to me, Annabel, and listen closely. Lord Donovan is a man who is surrounded by as much myth as truth. Let me assure you, that the myths present him in a far better and gentler light than the truth does.”
“Then why are we staying at his house? It seems the very sort of decision that had our parents known, they would have never allowed me to come to London.” Annabel was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “I will not return to Liverpool, Charles. Please do not give our mother a chance to ahem at me.”
“We are going to Hayden Manor, my dear girl, because the mythical Lord Donovan is in Brussels, and will not return until after next week. The manor is spectacular – you will see London at its grandest, you will meet all the best people and we will be out the door before the Duke returns.”
Annabel crossed her hands in her lap. “So tell me.”
“Tell you what, Annabel?”
“Why is he so – so, bad.”
Charles frowned. “It is really not a thing that should be spoken of, but just so you know, and can be forewarned about this man, I will tell you some of the subjects that other gentlemen discuss when the ladies are playing cards.” He sat down, and ran his hand through his tangled hair. “First, to say ‘other gentlemen’ is misleading. The Duke is no gentleman. He is in his late twenties, and as yet unmarried. But that is not to say that he does not know what a marriage bed looks like. I know of at least – four – wives who have been dishonored by this man. And that is not even to hazard a guess at how many well-bred single women have been taken advantage of by this rogue. The Duke has a habit, too, that when he stays a country manor, of sampling more than what is offered at the table. Just recently, he left three maidservants in the ‘family way’ after a tour of the Midlands.”
Annabel was shocked. “How on earth does he manage to be invited by such respectable company to stay in their estates?”
Charles laughed, quietly. “It is amazing what one can do with good looks and charm. And the Duke is as good looking as he is immoral, and as charming as the Devil after a wine or two. We are only staying at Hayden Manor because the Channel separates him and us. Second, of course, are his financial dealings. No one is quite sure how he got so wealthy. The Duchy of Reading is a minor one, yet his accounts and his earnings rival even the most ancient of families. True, he is favored by the Regent, terribly so. After all, their past times run the same courses – even to the same women. This favoritism, alone, does not explain his wealth; given that the Regent himself is often in debt. The Duke gambles, but no man can have the luck needed to amass the fortune he has. Third, and perhaps most shocking of all, there are rumors – impossible to prove, of course – that his dealings with the French went beyond what is proper during the wars. It is said that he armed them with both munitions and with information, which may explain the French artworks that he has sold, and the few left hanging in the halls of Hayden Manor.”
Initially, the thought of a roguish Duke had interested Annabel. Yet this litany of bad behavior that Charles had outlined now left her feeling unwell. The man was a monster – a rake, a dealer in dubious transactions and, quite possibly, a spy. “Surely, Charles, we can simply stay here.”
Charles laughed. “We could, but the company you will meet at Hayden Manor still surpasses all others. It will be well worth it. His presence will be a mere shadow, a passing cloud at a summer picnic.”
The doors flung open again, and it was Elinor, flushed and excited. “Has Charles finished telling you about Hayden Manor?”
“Yes, and quite a fulsome description. I feel as though I know every nook and cranny of it.”
Elinor nodded. “Then it is time we departed. Charles, you have four extra cravats to choose from – I am not sure I can trust you to pack for yourself anymore!”
“No, dear, this is one area where your skill far exceeds my own.”
They proceeded out to the carriages, both piled high with their luggage for the week. Annabel rode with Susan, and had to keep a tight restraint on herself. As they approached the magnificence that was Hayden Manor – renovated after the late Duke had died, and with further additions when the current Duke had bought the neighboring homes – Annabel felt a pang in the pit of her stomach, a mixture of apprehension, fear and genuine excitement. As they entered the gates, and footmen busied themselves all around them carrying their luggage inside, this feeling only grew. Part of her felt like prey walking into an ambush, as she blithely passed the servants and stepped into the entrance hall of the man whom her brother had likened to the devil himself.
Despite her sensibilities and her awareness of proper etiquette, along with all that she had heard from Charles, Annabel sensed a curiosity to meet Lord Donovan Hayden. Her initial thoughts that he was a monster were fading – had Charles been led astray by idle, jealous gossip? Surely there was more to the Duke than rumor and innuendo? She would like to – perhaps – see for herself what he was like. Resigning herself to the likelihood of this event being impossible, she allowed herself to be led upstairs to her rooms in the spare wing, and lay down on the most comfortable and inviting bed she had ever felt.
Chapter Three
Charles and Elinor were located toward the northern end of the wing, with rooms to themselves. Their dining area was slightly larger
than Annabel’s, so they invited her to breakfast the next morning, after the three of them had enjoyed a night listening to chamber music at one of the Duke’s neighbors. The cello dominated the piece, and its dark, deep undertones had echoed throughout Annabel’s dreams during the night. She awoke somewhat tired, groggy and insensitive to Susan’s urgings to make “herself as respectable as can be to suit this grand house”, and wandered down to the rooms where her brother and his wife were expecting her.
Only Elinor was there, looking tired and nervous.
“Elinor – you look as though you had a bad night. Is anything the matter?”
Elinor shook her head.
Annabel took some tea, and decided not to pry further. After all, Elinor and Charles were still newly married, and perhaps they had also taken advantage of the luxurious surroundings last night to begin a family? The child conceived here would be rich in taste! And Annabel giggled to herself, which earned her another tired look from Elinor, whose lip, now that Annabel noticed, was quivering.
“Elinor, whatever is the matter?”
Her sister-in-law began to cry. “Ch-ch-ch-Charles will tell you in a moment”, was all Annabel could get from the poor creature, before the initial leak of tears gave way to a flood. Annabel got up, moved closer to Elinor, and sat with her arm around her awaiting Charles’ return. When he did, it was as though he had aged significantly since they had parted. Her brother, so delightful and full of gossip the day before, so relaxed and knowledgeable about the piece of music they had listened to the night before, appeared before her as haggard, distraught and pale.
“Oh, Charles, it’s father, isn’t it?” It was the worst news she could think of – and she felt ashamed of the relief that accompanied the thought. Now Charles would be the head of the family, not her sullen, moody and domineering father.
“Spare me, Annabel, it is not so dramatic as that – although,” and here he passed Elinor a handkerchief that looked suspiciously like a cravat, “judging by my dear wife’s tears, one could be forgiven for thinking a family disaster had occurred.”
