Eternally Yours: Roxton Letters Volume 1

by Lucinda Brant

  Write when and if you can. I will miss you.

  Until we meet again, and we will.

  Your loving brother,

  Charlie

  TWENTY-THREE

  Mr. Jonathon Strang Leven, c/- Lawson and Gower Chambers, Gray’s Inn Road, London, to the Honorable Mrs. Charles Fitzstuart, c/-The Honorable Charles Fitzstuart, 21 Rue du Peintre Lebrun, Versailles, France.

  c/- Lawson and Gower Chambers, Gray’s Inn Road, London

  May 1777

  Dearest Sarah-Jane, I am leaving these few pages with Mme la Duchesse to be posted upon my departure for Scotland. I did not want this letter to perhaps overtake you, and to arrive before you had time to settle in your new home in Versailles, and in your new role as wife.

  I know you and Charles will be happy together. He is a good man and will be the best of husbands. Your most difficult task as a wife will be to rally him from a deep-seated seriousness, so that upon occasion he can find the laughter in life, and perhaps enjoy the moment for its own sake, rather than always considering the grand scheme of things. But, he will tell you so himself, he is changing history, and for the better of the majority. He will be caught up in many a political machination as secretary and interpreter to Mr. Franklin. I do not envy the heavy burden of responsibility that will be placed upon his young shoulders to put Mr. Franklin’s arguments to His French Majesty as to why he should support the rebels, for it will bring with it war with England. And war is never a good thing, for either side.

  I have told you often enough but I shall ink it down again, how very proud I am of you, as my daughter and as a female in your own right. I am proud of myself, too, in how well I have raised you, for your mother would surely be proud of me! Your papa is ever the tease, is he not, my darling girl?

  Let me be serious a little longer, and tell you that tonight I go to the theater in company with Mme la Duchesse, and so by tomorrow morning, the news will be all over town that we are lovers, and it is the truth. You know it is so, and possibly she told you so herself when you had your private interview before your departure. She is ever truthful. Thus you cannot be shocked to see it written here. But we are more than lovers, much more. We are soul mates. I believe this with my whole heart.

  I am in love with Antonia Roxton and have been since I first set eyes on her. Something happened to me that night of the Roxton Easter Ball that I cannot explain. I just knew from that moment forward I had to be with her, would die for her if need be, that she is the only woman with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. I tried to tell you this upon numerous occasions, and at first you would not listen to your Papa. I tried to understand why you could not, and reasoned to myself that your youth and inexperience must account for it, but also perhaps you were a little jealous your Papa is so in love?

  Now you are married and your eyes opened to love in all its forms, and you are loved in return, you see that it is impossible to understand the heart as one does the mind. Thus it is best to let the heart have its way without argument. I know it worries you that I am in love with a woman who is a decade older than I. But our ages are nothing but numbers. How old we are is more about how we act, how we see, and what we feel. If you were to use your mind and not your heart to assess the man you love and have married, you would surely see him differently, perhaps as others here see him—a man who committed treason by trading secrets with the rebels about the British war effort in the colonies. Yet, this is not how your heart sees him. Your heart tells you here is a man of conviction and purpose, who believes in a higher calling, who is doing what he believes is right and just for the future of the American colonies, and thus he has your respect and your love. And he loves you.

  Antonia Roxton loves me. I am as sure of this as I am that the sky is blue and the grass is green. I mean to marry her before I head north. I am also utterly convinced that our marriage will be blessed with children. So you are no longer to worry about your Papa, for he will never be lonely again. And you certainly can be very happy that he rides north to fulfill his destiny. Most reluctantly, as you know, but fulfill it I must. You may have married a republican, but that should not make you any less proud your papa has ascended to a Scottish dukedom.

  And so, my fair cherub, this will be the last letter I write under my own name, and from London. I will send you tidings from north of the border, when I arrive in Edinburgh. From there you will receive a letter from His Grace the Most Noble Duke of Kinross, sealed with the ducal coat of arms. Do not hide your joy from Charles. If I know anything of that young man, he will be as pleased as you to know his father-in-law is safe and well. And of course he will be overjoyed when you tell him his cousin is now the Duchess of Kinross, and in truth his mother-in-law. Ah, the complicated lives we lead!

  Do your Papa the favor of writing to my new duchess and bestow your blessing upon our marriage. I have convinced her that in time you will come to love her, and yet who can blame her for her apprehension, particularly as she is fully sensible to how much I love you and value your good opinion? I know Charles will do so, but her mind will not be easy until she sees your blessing in your own hand, whatever Charles may write on your behalf. Here are my thanks in advance, sealed with a kiss.

  I look forward to hearing all your news, and how your French language classes are progressing. I trust Mrs. Spencer is proving her worth as your companion, and you are both enjoying the lovely Spring weather. Pass on my regards to my son-in-law, and if Charles would like to write to me, I would be honored.

  It is time for me to dress for the theater and there meet my future relations, my other son-in-law, to be precise! His Grace of Roxton has a box, and your Papa cannot wait to see that nobleman’s features as I take my place beside his divine mamma. I predict poor Dick Sheridan’s new play will then become a mere sideshow to unfolding events amongst the noble audience. Yes, that is the sound of your naughty papa rubbing his hands together with glee! Until Scotland.

  Love and best,

  Your loving Papa

  J S L

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Antonia Roxton Diary entry.

  Friday May 9, 1777

  The morning after opening night of Sheridan’s School for Scandal

  Renard, I saw the most wonderful play last night. School for Scandal by Richard Sheridan. I predict it will be enduring, it is very witty. I told you all about it upon one of my visits before coming up to London. I was in two minds whether to attend the performance, because I have not been to the theater without you. But Jonathon he convinced me, and I did so very much want to see if the actors could do Sheridan’s writing justice. Of course, there was too much noise and chatter, and the eyes of many upon me, but I tried not to let that worry me, as you were used to doing. My fan helped, but I own your quizzing glass is a much better weapon of choice to quell the masses upon such public occasions.

  Julian he was there with Deb, and Martin came along, too. The boys sat with us, and at interval, Julian came across to our box with Martin on his arm. Martin was leaning more heavily than usual on his stick because he had a fall while alighting from his carriage. It is nothing for you to worry about and the bruise will heal in no time.

  Oh, but Renard, I wish you could have seen Julian’s face when I introduced Martin to Jonathon! Jonathon shook Martin’s hand heartily, as if they were old friends, then remarked it was good to finally meet the other man in Antonia’s life! Oh yes! That is what Jonathon he said! Can you believe it? Incroyable is it not? I gave a gasp and then rapped him upon the knuckles for his impertinence. And what did he do? He laughed and snatched the fan from me and playfully chucked me under the chin. And all this before two hundred pairs of eyes. Poor Julian could hardly breathe from the embarrassment. Martin was transfixed, and because he spent so many years with you, he did what you always do in such socially awkward situations, he said nothing. Nothing! But me I am attuned to both of you, and know you let your eyes do the talking for you. And this is what Martin did. So I saw the gleam in his eye and the smi
le, too. He even dared to actually smile when he turned away to speak to Henri-Antoine. Poor Julian did not know where to look or what to say to such outlandish behavior. I felt a little sorry for him, because it must be so awkward for him to be in the presence of his mother’s lover, particularly when this man is not much older than he. It helped to break the tension, I think, when he was told Deborah was waving at us from their box, and he turned and relaxed a little. And then it was time for the interval to be over, so they returned to their seats.

  Martin is staying with Julian and Deborah, and they will all join us this morning for the ceremony. I am so very pleased he is here for that. It will help Julian get through it, and feel he has at least one ally in the room, for Deborah, she, too, approves of Jonathan, as does everyone else.

  Henri-Antoine and Jack are staying with me for a week after the ceremony, and then they are returning to Oxford and their studies. They have promised me, and I will hold them to their word. Henri-Antoine he is very intelligent but tries to hide it, I think for Jack’s sake. Not that Jack is unintelligent. But in Henri-Antoine there is a quickness of brain and understanding that is rare in one of his age. He is also an excellent linguist, like you, and can switch between English and French without hesitation. He listens to Jonathan in English, and to me in French, and answers us in our respective languages. It is most extraordinary, but we do not do it often, because Jack he is not so linguistically gifted. But then, who is?

  I always knew our son was the image of you, did I not tell you so? And as he grows older and becomes more a man, the more apparent this likeness becomes, which should please you. I cannot lie that it does not sometimes give me a pain in the heart to see him and to hear him. More than once I have turned at his voice and expected you, my love, to be standing there. Our younger son he even sits in the manner you do, silent and observant, always assessing any given situation before speaking when in public. And just like you, when he is behind closed doors with those he truly loves and thus is completely comfortable, he transforms and is relaxed and smiling. He loves games of charades and has an infectious laugh—which I might add are the only attributes he seems to have inherited from his mamma! Oh, and perhaps his love of reading, too—it is as if it is you come amongst us again… To hear him laugh again! It truly is music to my ears. And he is happy—I think because his mamma she has finally returned to the land of the living, and to him. I have missed him so much, and he, me.

  But I have not told you the most startling piece of news of all! Our son’s episodes of falling sickness have abated to the point that Bailey he is no longer his shadow, and has not been these past two years. I can hardly believe it myself, Renard, but Henri-Antoine assures me it is so, and that the last episode he suffered was some twelve months ago, and it was only a mild one at that. This makes me so very happy, and I wanted to hug my little boy and kiss him and cry all at the same time. Of course I did not do this, for what boy who is about to turn sixteen wants his mamma acting like a madwoman before his best friend? Though I think Jack he would not have minded in the least. So now you can stop worrying and perhaps I will, too. Though I still cannot believe the sickness has truly left him. But Jonathon says Jack will always watch Henri-Antoine’s back, and so we will leave it to him to tell us if there is any change.

  I will confess it because I know you will not mind in the least, and even Julian he is pleased by it too, Henri-Antoine truly likes Jonathon, and Jonathon him. It is a lovely sight to see them in each other’s company, relaxed and talking as if they have known each other since Henri-Antoine was a small boy. But I think that is Jonathon’s gift, to put people at their ease with his agreeable charm. Just like Vallentine was used to doing, if Vallentine was slightly more vague in his delivery. How I miss my friend. But he is with you and Madam, and so I am a little jealous the three of you have each other, and left me here alone. And because I have been so very alone—

  No! That is now not true. But I did not take this man as my lover to simply end my loneliness but because I love him. I love him, Renard, and I did not think it at all possible that I would ever feel this way again with another man but you. But I cannot lie to my own heart, now can I? Or to you. There I have confessed all, and written it here in ink in my diary, and I will tell you to your face when next I visit you. But you did urge me to live and love again, and while I never believed it possible, it has happened without any will or seeking on my part.

  Oh! Please excuse me for not telling you earlier. I have accepted Jonathon’s offer of marriage; the man has asked me so many times I have lost count. He truly does love me, even though he knows that in marrying me, he must forever share me with you. Mon Dieu, I have just read back that sentence and it sounds very naughty indeed. Ha! Let it stay that way, for it is true. Jonathon must share me with you, for I am not whole without you.

  This is what you wanted for me all along, is it not, my love? And me I would not listen—I could not, then. I could not contemplate a life without you, and to own a truth there are moments when I am still dazed to think you will not walk through a doorway and join me. But as I live and breathe, I know I must do more than just exist. For how can I face you one day to hear you scold me for wasting what life was left to me? When the day comes for us to be reunited forever, it will be such a joyous occasion and I will embrace it wholeheartedly, but for now I am here, and this morning I am getting married and begin a new chapter in my life.

  So I sign this letter for you, my darling love, as the Duchess of Roxton, but for the last time until I am reunited with you. Until then it will be as the Duchess of Kinross that I next sit before you, and I know that will please you very much.

  Au revoir, my love,

  Antonia, Duchess of Roxton

  FAMILY TREE

  If your eReader does not support enlarging this image, view the Noble Satyr family tree at lucindabrant.com

  END ROXTON LETTERS

  — VOLUME ONE —

  The Roxton Family Saga continues in book 4, Dair Devil, the story of Alisdair (Dair) Fitzstuart, heir to the Earldom of Strathsay and Aurora (Rory) Talbot, granddaughter of England’s Spymaster General, Lord Shrewsbury. Skip ahead to read the first chapter.

  Continue on to explore behind-the-scenes of Eternally Yours.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  IN THE eighteenth century, poetry played a large part in the lives of the literate (who read and wrote poems) and the illiterate (who listened to poetry read by others) in expressing views on everything from politics, marriage, travel, the weather, gossip, day to day activities, and of course, love. Everyone who could write tried their hand at poetry, whether for their own pleasure, to entertain family and friends, or to express feelings that were too difficult to articulate in speech – usually feelings of love.

  The verse Roxton includes in the letter is based, as he points out, on a poem by a seventeenth century poetess. That poem is On Desire by Aphra Behn (1640-1689) an Englishwoman who was a playwright, poet, translator and author, and who “broke cultural barriers and served as a literary role model for later generations of women authors”.

  On Desire is about a woman’s journey to find sexual fulfilment and was considered quite shocking at the time. Historically, women were discouraged from seeking out sexual partners, they were to be virgins until marriage, always chaste as wives, and their principal purpose was to breed.

  So Aphra Behn was a trailblazer! Her female protagonist in On Desire goes searching everywhere, and by implication, has sex with whomever takes her fancy, searching for the one lover who can satisfy her not only sexually but emotionally i.e. with whom she can fall in love.

  I have taken Aphra’s poem and inverted it. It is not about a woman, but about a man—Roxton. And it is not about searching for “desire” i.e. sexual fulfilment, but falling in love. Despite his many sexual escapades, Roxton has never been in love, but now he has fallen in love with Antonia he realises that subconsciously while he was bed-hopping he was seeking love and to fall in love.


  Have searched and sought thee everywhere,

  In silent groves, in lonely bowers:

  On flowery beds where lovers wishing lie

  But it is meeting and falling in love with Antonia that provides revelation. His previous sexual encounters may have been physically fulfilling in the moment but without engagement of his finer feelings, he was left dissatisfied—he was not in love.

  Where beauty prostrate lay and fortune wooed,

  My heart, insensible, to neither bowed

  And so he uses Aphra’s poem to tell Antonia about his journey in seeking his one true love. The entire final stanza speaks of his joy in finally finding true love and happiness with her; that he is satisfied sexually and emotionally, and that she has his devotion, beyond death—forever.

  As in the sanctified abodes

  Forevermore…

  BEHIND-THE-SCENES

  Go behind-the-scenes of Eternally Yours—explore the places, objects, and history within the letters on Pinterest

  NEXT BOOK PREVIEW

  Dair Devil

  SEQUEL TO AUTUMN DUCHESS

  Roxton Family Saga Book 4

  CAVENDISH SQUARE, LONDON

  THE FIRST WEEK OF MAY 1777

  ALISDAIR ‘DAIR’ FITZSTUART pulled the white linen shirt up over his square shoulders, scrunched it into a ball and tossed it to his batman. Bill Farrier caught this crumpled article with his one hand and shoved it inside a large canvas haversack, atop his lordship’s midnight blue silk waistcoat and matching frock coat. His master’s black leather jockey boots he had set beside a high stone wall, out of the way of passers-by. Pedestrians, however, were unlikely given the location and the hour.