I beg Your Grace to believe me that while she is my sister, my loyalty is and always will be to you and your family. I dare to seek your forgiveness for my sister’s outrageous behavior. I trust her unconscionable behavior will in no way reflect upon my person and my loyalty, and that the invitation your dear duchess extended to my wife and me, to join you in Paris for the marriage celebration of the French Dauphin to the Austrian Princess Marie Antoinette, remains a welcome one.
Lady Mary and I look forward to joining you and the dear Duchess in the spring.
Your most obedient and humble servant,
Gerald Cavendish Bt.
FIFTEEN
Mme la Duchesse d’Roxton, Hotel Roxton, Rue St. Honoré, Paris, France, to Mr. Martin Ellicott, Esq., Moran House, the Bath Road, Avon, England.
Hotel Roxton, Rue St. Honoré, Paris
March, 1770
Dearest Martin, I am counting the days until you join us. I am being selfish and wish you were here now, before the rest of the family come, so we could have you all to ourselves for a few days at least. But I hope that will still happen, when the others they all go away at the end of the Parisian celebrations for the marriage of Le Roi’s grandson to his Austrian princess.
No one but Monseigneur knows me better than you, my dearest friend. And so when I tell you that only a sennight ago our cherished hope-filled wish once again came to naught, you understand how this has left me inconsolable. I was convinced that this little one would hold on to life and grow, and we would be blessed with an infant at the beginning of the autumn. But sadly it was not to be and I lost this bébé at eleven weeks.
This time we told no one I was enceinte. Only my women knew, as they would, and we prayed for what must now surely be the impossible. We had planned to tell Julian, had the bébé grown past the first months. I did not confide in Estée or in Vallentine, only you. For do you remember me telling you about their reaction to the news when I was pregnant less than two years ago? I was stunned to hear them both say M’sieur le Duc was too old to be a new Papa, Estée even daring to suggest that at our age we should not be fornicating at all! She used the word indecent. Incroyable! I do not care to know what goes on in the privacy of their bedchamber, and therefore what goes on in mine is none of their business either. Although, you will think me naughty, but not unlike me, when I tell you I replied to Estée that for us every night it is as if the honeymoon it has never ended. My poor sister she almost fainted and fell off the chaise at that! And I admit I laughed, and so did Renard when I told him of my taunt later that evening.
My sons they are the world to me and perhaps a little more so now with this latest miscarriage. They are far apart in age—the eldest so wanted and celebrated, the youngest wanted just as much and such a long time in coming, that they console me after the heartbreak of five little ones (and now a sixth) taken from us before they were barely formed, and for reasons only God knows. Not as my grandmother would have it, and so it seems also Estée is of the same opinion, because of the age disparity between Renard and me. An absurd and spiteful theory. Is it wrong of me to wish she had lived long enough to see the birth of Henri-Antoine? Just so I could spite her? No! That is an awful thing to wish and you must forgive me. I am still grieving and not altogether myself. I promise I will be mended by the time you arrive, because you always make me feel better.
A letter from me would not be the same, would it not, without talk of my little boy and his seizures. He worries us constantly. Not only because of his monthly, sometimes weekly, seizures, which send his thin little body rigid, his dark eyes wide, and me into heart palpitations, because I wonder if this will be the one in which his breathing it stops altogether! But Dr. Bailey remains confident that with age and skillful management, the seizures will lessen in frequency and severity. We can only take his word for it.
M’sieur le Duc, as you know, is not one for public displays of emotion, and so he hides well how greatly Henri-Antoine’s affliction affects him. As ever he is calm and in control, which has taken a lifetime’s practice, though I know inside he is falling apart. I truly believe that it is Renard’s voice which has a calming effect on our son. I am not imagining it when I say that while there is the same severity, the episode it does not last as long when he speaks so soothingly to Henri-Antoine. Dr. Bailey is of this same opinion.
So while I wring my hands and pace out of sight of my dearest little one, there is M’sieur le Duc sitting by his side, holding his son’s fingers, and stroking his smooth brow with a cool hand. And all the while he is talking to him in a gentle tone, and in English, which for some unknown reason deepens his already deep voice. To hear him speak in such a soothing manner swells my heart and brings tears to my eyes. Henri-Antoine has never said to either of us that he hears what his Papa says to him, only that he knows his Papa is there with him. I do not know the half of what Renard says to him, not because I do not understand his English, but because I am so overwrought I can barely think at all. But do you know, Martin, M’sieur le Duc’s voice has the same effect on me, and soon I, too, am calmer.
We, Henri-Antoine and I, listen to the stories of Renard’s boyhood, when he and Vallentine were very naughty at Eton, or the time on the Grand Tour when they raced camels along the banks of the Nile; or when they took the Mont Cenis pass, carried by the Marrons, who are the local villagers, in special chairs, and were so intent on racing each other in the snow, that the Marrons lost their footing from running and they all almost went over the side of the mountain pass and tumbled to their deaths. And all this he tells Henri-Antoine in a voice as if it is an everyday occurrence. And what breaks my heart is that he ends these tales with the same wish every time—that when Henri-Antoine he is older he will do the same naughty things with his best friend, and nothing will make his Papa happier than to read his letters of their naughtiness.
But now I have another worry, and, Martin, you must be truthful when you see M’sieur le Duc, and tell me if you think him altered and perhaps not as well-looking since you saw him at Christmastime. He will not tell me what is the matter, and says it is nothing. That he having turned two-and-sixty it is natural to have more regular visits from his physicians. But I know he is hiding something from me! I know it! You tell me—when was the last time he did not go for an early morning ride, if not before breakfast, then mid-morning at least? And these past three months he has only been in the saddle a dozen times or less. And his breathing is not as it should be. Though he does his best to hide it from me! Me! Why? Why should he suddenly start hiding things from me when he has never done so before? So you will be truthful when you see him and tell me that I am not imagining that he is a little out of breath and looking tired
Of course, it could all be because of the great strain on him of this ridiculous court case and accusations against Julian, that it presses upon his mind. I too am out of breath, but from anger to think a Farmer-General has the impudence to take my son to court, and for a thing I know he did not commit. To think it is all over the newssheets here and they allow such slander to be printed is even beyond what the English newssheets would permit. I am convinced there is some deeper purpose to this than just a silly little girl’s infatuation for my son, and a Farmer-General’s wish to elevate his family into the ranks of the nobility—two things that are as likely to happen as cows flying past my window!
You tell me our son is incapable of such actions as are described in the French press, that he is too honorable, and has too much pride, that it would never enter his head to want to seduce any girl, least of all one of the bourgeoisie. And you know our son as well as his parents! I think you also know too that Julian he is a prude and morally chaste. Had not M’sieur le Duc confided in me about our son’s affair with that Russian diplomat’s pretty wife, me I would think him completely ignorant of the bedroom when he went on his honeymoon! But I am glad he was not, for his wife’s sake. Which leads me to tell you that I treasure the letter you sent us upon Julian’s return from Cumbria with
Deborah.
It made us very happy to know that finally they are truly husband and wife. That he whisked her off to the wilds of Lake Windermere for a proper honeymoon bodes well for the start of their marriage, yes? That you tell me our daughter-in-law is in love with Julian makes me feel much better about the union. As you know I was very unhappy that Renard married off Julian in such a way, and had Deborah not turned out to be to his liking, or he to hers, then I would have gladly seen them separated before the union it had been consummated.
That matters have not taken the turn we had hoped, with Deborah remaining in England, for what I believe is stubbornness, I cannot blame her. She has every right to her anger at Julian for deceiving her about his nobility. Why did he not find a moment while on the honeymoon to confess all to her? There is no better place than the marital bed for such a confession, and so I am mystified why my son he was not capable of such lover’s talk with his bride? But he is young, and I suspect quite bashful, so he has still much to learn about being a lover and a husband that only self-confidence and time will rectify. I will not be an interfering mother, and pray they can sort the matter out between them, and before M’sieur le Duc he becomes truly angry with the behavior of both. I am all sympathy for his frustration with Julian’s high-mindedness, but it is best he is his own man, and so I have told Renard.
Please do hurry to us. Henri-Antoine asks after his Uncle Martin. Julian could do with your wise counsel, for it is another voice to make him see reason. And Renard and I must have your support for the ordeal that is to come with the court case. And of course, Vallentine would not feel loved if I did not tease him and you support me to his detriment!
Bon voyage, mon cher et bon ami,
Antonia Roxton
SIXTEEN
The Most Honorable Marquess of Alston, Hotel Roxton, Rue St. Honoré, Paris, France, to Mr. Martin Ellicott, Esq., Moran House, the Bath Road, Avon, England.
Hotel Roxton, Rue St. Honoré, Paris
October, 1770
Dearest Martin, I have a son! A healthy baby boy who is perfect in every way, with a mop of dark hair and a pair of fine working lungs! His lusty cries are a joy to the ear, even at four in the morning, when he wakes his mamma and papa demanding to be fed. I do not mind in the least, and as Deb has insisted on suckling our son, he spends most of his time in bed with us, much to the consternation of Tante Estée, who cannot understand why we have not employed a wet nurse, and why, in the name of all that is sacred, we would want a screaming and demanding (her words, not mine) infant near us all the time.
But I cannot stop looking at him. I am still dazed with happiness to think he is mine, and I am a father. You can well imagine how dearest Papa feels to know there are now two generations to follow him.
But let me tell you that Deb is very well indeed. She endured a long labor, which I am told is normal with first pregnancies. And though she cursed me roundly, and I deserved it all, she was the bravest girl imaginable and is recovering very well indeed. The physician said it was a comparatively easy labor, all things considered, which bodes well for future pregnancies. Oh, it is not me you should scold for thinking of the children yet to come. It was Deb who was very pleased with herself, telling me what the physician had said to her!
Would it shock you to know I was with Deb throughout her ordeal? It was the most wondrous experience. I was fraught with such anxiety when her pains came on, and was suffering the agony of hearing her cries from the other side of the door, not knowing what was happening to her, and if she were in any danger. I think I paced the Turkey rug to threads!
It is all very well in hindsight to know Deb’s cries were normal and not a sign she was in any danger, but at the time I was feeling utterly useless with all sorts of horrific imaginings going through my head that I thought I would faint. And then Papa said the most startling thing to me. He asked why I wasn’t in there supporting my wife at such a time, and did I not want to witness the birth of my son? He would not have missed the experience of being at my birth for the world. My head nearly snapped off its neck at that, I can tell you. I must have glared at him like he had two heads, and it took Mamma laughing at me and telling me to stop being a block of wood, and to get in there with Deborah before it was too late. That was all the push I needed!
We have broken with tradition and given our son three names unrelated to the Roxton side of the family. Frederick, for Mamma’s papa; George, for Deb’s father; and Martin, for you, mon parrain. I hope you are as pleased with our son’s names as we are, and indeed, as Papa and Mamma are, too.
To see Frederick cradled in his grandfather’s arms brings tears to my eyes, for Papa’s face takes on a healthy glow, there is that twinkle in his eye, and he looks his old self. Of course Mamma is completely smitten, and she is such a natural mother that she is already Frederick’s firm favorite. Naturally, Henri-Antoine and Jack are ambivalent, and to see the boys screw up their noses and look at each other in mutual horror when Frederick begins to fuss, as if a baby’s cries were akin to the plague, has all of us laughing heartily. How I wish you were here with us, and look forward to you joining us at Treat for Christmastime, and the christening.
Everyone sends their love. Deb in particular asked to be remembered to you.
A bientôt, mon cher parrain,
Julian
FAMILY TREE
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AUTUMN DUCHESS LETTERS
AUTUMN DUCHESS LETTERS
17. His Grace The Most Noble Duke of Roxton to The Honorable Julian, Marquess of Alston
18. Roxton to Antonia—his last letter
19. Antonia Roxton diary entry
20. Deborah Roxton to Lady Mary Cavendish
21. Mr. Christopher Bryce to His Grace The Most Noble Duke of Roxton
22. Mr. Charles Fitzstuart to Major Lord Fitzstuart
23. Mr. Jonathon Strang Leven to Mrs. Charles Fitzstuart
24. Antonia Roxton diary entry
Autumn Duchess Family Tree
SEVENTEEN
His Grace The Most Noble Duke of Roxton, Treat via Alston, Hampshire, to The Most Honorable Marquess of Alston, Bess House, Lake Windermere, Cumbria.
Treat
November, 1773
My son, I am so proud of you, as a son, as a husband and father, and as a gentleman. You are the man I should have been at your age, but I did not fully embrace my destiny until I met your mother.
You will be a most worthy Duke of Roxton, and a much better nobleman than ever I was. That is as it should be. The next generation should always strive to be better than the last.
I applaud your strength of character to be your own man. You have had the burden of living in my shadow for so many years, and yet you have forged ahead with dignity and purpose to put your own stamp on your life, as you will do with the dukedom. I have every confidence in you upholding a legacy that stretches back to Good Queen Bess. Long after you are gone, your descendants will remember you as a good and moral man, and an exemplary duke. I could ask for no finer man to succeed me.
You must not grieve excessively at my passing. You have a duty to look always to the future. That is our lot in life. For those of us born the eldest and who hold in trust great names and great estates for future generations, we cannot afford the luxury of being maudlin. We can look back with fondness and to ensure we do not repeat the mistakes of our forebears, but we must never look back with regret. It is our responsibility and obligation to look forward, to secure a brighter future for our sons.
In Deborah you have been blessed with a good, loving and devoted wife. She has given you three fine sons in as many years, and will give you more, of that I am convinced. For these reasons alone, she is deserving of your devotion. But you know as well as I that for a marriage to succeed it must be a true partnership. Your wife’s personal happiness is paramount, as is investing in the time you share together, and as a family.
Only in this way will your marriage remain strong, and serve you both and your children well in times of distress and sadness.
I came late to love and to marriage. I do not regret my earlier life, but every day since I wed your mother I have only looked forward, not back, and lived each day a little in awe of my good fortune.
I have no qualms in departing this earth when God deems me ready to enter the kingdom of Heaven. I know in my heart that I will see you again in the next life, where I will be waiting for you, and for my family to join me, but most of all, waiting for your mother to be with me for eternity.
You knew I could not write you a final letter without mentioning her.
Your mother is the sun and we merely the planets that revolve around her. She is the giver of light and warmth and unconditional love. Without her we would be living in a cold, dark place.
The irony is that with my passing you will, for a time, live in this cold, dark place. Your mother will suffer the loss of me most keenly, so keenly that I worry for her sanity. Just thinking about such a consequence has kept me from breathing my last, to the astonishment and confounding of my physicians, who look to the physical signs of my deterioration without taking into account that my mind is resilient and tenacious. It will simply not listen to learned medical opinion and shall continue to have command over my body until my heart or my lungs or both can no longer do as they are ordered, and I do, indeed, stop breathing.
Eternally Yours: Roxton Letters Volume 1 Page 8
