Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place)

by Claudia Harbaugh

  “Yes, Miss.” Renfrew exited utterly deflated.

  Isobel read the brief message again.

  Miss Kennilworth,

  Reggie and I have just returned to London from the country. We were surprised to see that your hack, Bella, was mistakenly left behind. I am sending her to you at Woburn Place and I am sorry about the confusion.

  Sincerely,

  Adriana Aiken

  Isobel crumbled the note and threw it on the floor.

  In a few minutes time everyone in the household knew what had occurred. Their optimism at the return of Miss Kennilworth’s much beloved horse was dashed and a melancholy settled over the occupants of the house; except for Lady Whitcomb. She was angry.

  “Isobel Kennilworth, are you determined to be a martyr?” She stood in the doorway of the salon dressed in a orange gown with a huge ruffled collar. Her voice was raised, her three chins quivered.

  Isobel at first was going to pretend not to understand, but decided it served no purpose. “How does refusing to accept an expensive gift from a stranger make me a martyr? It is only correct.”

  “Isobel! You love that horse and I know how much you love to ride. Bella is your horse, blast it!” Shocked at her own language, Lady Whitcomb reddened.

  Isobel ignored the slip and answered in a flat, reasonable voice. “No, she is not. She was bought with Warwick’s money. That means she belongs to the current Duke of Warwick. Despite the fact that he is six years old, it would not be proper for me to accept a gift of such value from him.”

  “Such fastidiousness is foolish! And it was the boy’s mother that sent Bella over. If it was a gift, it was from her, from the dowager Duchess.”

  “All the more reason not to accept it,” said Isobel without emotion.

  Exasperated, Lady Whitcomb let out a cry of frustration, turned on her heel, and left the room.

  Early the next afternoon, Isobel was discussing menus with Mrs. Kitchen in the library when Renfrew appeared to inform Miss Kennilworth that her aunt would see her in the parlor, at her convenience.

  “We are almost done here, Renfrew. Tell her I will be with her in ten minutes time.”

  Mrs. Kitchen and Isobel settled on a menu for the coming week and Isobel prepared herself to face her aunt. The previous day had been strained, with little conversation at dinner and an early night for both Isobel and Lady Whitcomb. They had both chosen to breakfast in their rooms. Isobel had no desire to hash over her refusal to accept Bella, but knew that their domestic harmony was more important than her pride. She rose to beard the lioness in her den.

  Entering the parlor, Isobel saw that tea had been laid. A peace offering, Isobel thought, and smiled. Her smile faded when she entered further into the room and saw not only her aunt, but Lady Warwick. Years of breeding prevented her from fleeing the room. Instead, she forced a smile back on her face and turned to the dowager Duchess.

  “Your Grace, what a surprise.” Isobel’s tone was light, her eyes guarded.

  “Miss Kennilworth. A pleasure to see you again,” said Lady Warwick in her perfect, though accented English. “I hope that I am not coming at an inconvenient time.” Her chin held high, her black eyes wary, she looked determined, despite her obvious uneasiness.

  Isobel’s smile as she looked at her aunt promised that there would be a reckoning once the duchess left. She noted that the true widow was appropriately dressed in black, her raven locks tucked into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Her gown was stylish and simple and she had almost a regal bearing. But she was definitely ill at ease. Ever the proper hostess, no matter the situation, Isobel gestured for Adriana to resume her seat. Isobel perched on the edge of one of the more uncomfortable chairs in the parlor, as if poised for flight.

  Tea was duly poured by Lady Whitcomb and Isobel and Adriana carried on a stilted conversation while Lady Whitcomb remained unusually silent.

  “How did you find Warwick Park?” inquired Isobel.

  “Much the same as when I saw it years ago. I am sure it has not changed since you were there last,” Adriana said.

  “I have only been to Warwick Park on three occasions. I was never overly fond of it.” Isobel sipped her tea and shot her aunt another meaningful look.

  Adriana toyed with her teacup, her tea as yet untasted. “I have dreadful memories of the place myself, but Reggie was enamored with the size of the park and the large lake. I prefer Hidenwood.”

  “Perhaps Charles will invite you for a visit, though I do not think he will spend much time there.” Isobel’s overly sweet tone rang false in the large room.

  Lady Warwick at last sipped her tea, not knowing what to say. Charles Aiken was unlikely to speak to Adriana, never mind invite her on a visit to his unwanted estate. Silence reigned for what seemed like an hour, but was but a few minutes. Finally, Lady Whitcomb intervened.

  “Lady Warwick has returned your hack.” Lady Whitcomb said to Isobel in an offhand manner.

  Isobel felt herself tense, her chin rose and she looked at Lady Warwick. “That was not necessary, Lady Warwick, Bella is no longer my horse. I am finding this whole bumble broth a bit vexing.”

  “I know what you are thinking, that out of pity I am returning your lovely Bella. The truth is I have no need of another hack. She will not be ridden at Wren House. No horse as noble as she should stand in a stall for weeks and months on end. For the horse’s sake I beg you to take her back.”

  “I see.” Isobel fought an inner battle between her own longing and her pride. She loved that horse and missed riding more than she could say, but never wanted to be beholden to the house of Warwick. It was pointless to argue further. “I will keep Bella here, thank you. It was excessively kind of you to deliver her in person.”

  Lady Warwick was careful not to show how pleased she was. Isobel Kennilworth was an exceedingly proud woman and she would not reverse her minor victory by betraying her own emotions. “I am grateful to you, Miss Kennilworth. I hate to see any animal neglected.”

  “As do I,” agreed Isobel.

  “I must tell you, Lady Warwick, that Isobel and I are terribly fond of this house. We have settled in quite nicely.” Lady Whitcomb thought it best to change the subject before Isobel changed her mind.

  “I am glad to hear it. It is a charming house; just the right size, I think,” Lady Warwick said wistfully. “Wren House is so grand.”

  The three ladies were silent again, each sipping her tea or nibbling on a scone. Lady Whitcomb once again broke the silence.

  “I do believe, though I hate to say it to you, that Mrs. Kitchen is a superior cook to Mrs. Bromfield,” she said, looking lovingly at her scone.

  “I confess that I miss Mrs. Kitchen’s paella, but Mrs. Bromfield is an excellent cook,” Lady Warwick said diplomatically. “Tell me, how is Jem?”

  “He keeps us amused. Of late he has taken to carrying a large toad around in his pocket. I believe he misses young Reggie,” Lady Whitcomb added.

  “Yes,” piped up Isobel in an overly cheerful voice. “I am afraid he was quite put out with me for not having a boy of my own. I am afraid I am a sad disappointment to everyone.” Her smile trembled and she found refuge in her teacup.

  “I must really be going. Thank you so much for the tea.” Lady Warwick stood. “With your permission, I will just stop in at the kitchen to greet Mrs. Kitchen and the rest.”

  “Of course, of course, they would never forgive us if you came for a visit without saying hello,” Lady Whitcomb said as she rose. Isobel followed suit and gestured for Lady Warwick to follow her.

  “Oh, you need not bother. I know the way. Please, do not let me disturb you further.” Turning to Isobel she added, “You are welcome at Wren House, Miss Kennilworth. Please come whenever you wish.”

  Lady Warwick made her escape to the kitchen where she was welcomed with tears and embraces.

  *****

  Adriana, Lady Warwick was wrong in her estimation of Charles Aiken, for he was announced the next day. He came, hat in ha
nd, literally and she wondered why Sloane had neglected to take it.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Warwick.” Charles said affably and then indicating his hat he added, “I came in through the kitchen, a little habit of mine. I hope you do not mind. Mrs. Bromfield always gives me tarts. Ancestral home and all that.”

  “She makes lovely tarts,” agreed Lady Warwick. “Please, will you not sit down, Lord Charles? I shall ring for tea.”

  Charles placed his hat on a nearby table and sat. Tea was duly rung for and the two strangers sat in silence, both feverishly trying to think of something to say. Lord Charles began to fiddle with his watch fob and Lady Warwick noticed that one of Lord Charles’ hands was bandaged. “You are injured. What has happened?” she asked with concern.

  “Oh, nothing to speak of,” he answered evasively and then asked a question to cover his discomfort. “How did you find Warwick Place?”

  “It was quite how I remembered it.” Lady Warwick spoke in her unusual fluent, but accented English.

  “Ah,” was all Lord Charles could muster.

  An idea struck Lady Warwick. “I imagine you would like to see Reggie. Your first meeting was…brief.”

  “Oh, well, don’t bother the boy. Not on my account,” muttered Lord Charles.

  “Oh, it is no bother. He will be thrilled to see his uncle again,” said Lady Warwick ringing for Sloane.

  “Uncle, yes, of course.” Lord Charles fidgeted in his seat.

  “Yes, Your Grace?” intoned Sloane.

  “Please send to the nursery for Lord Warwick. He has a visitor.”

  The tea arrived just before two small blurs cannoned into the room. The first was Reggie, the young duke; the second was a floppy eared puppy Lord Charles recognized as a Springer Spaniel. The boy ran to his mother and the pup followed.

  “Mama, am I to have tea with you? Duke wants some, too!” The young Duke of Warwick could barely contain his excitement.

  “Reggie, mind your manners and say hello to your Uncle Charles,” Adrianna chided gently.

  The boy turned to look at his uncle, wariness replacing his delight. The boy remembered the angry man and hid behind his mother’s skirts. The puppy, however, had no such reservations. He awkwardly bounded in and around Lord Charles’ legs, even stepping on his own long ears. It was a comical sight to see and Lord Charles began to chuckle, rubbing the scamp’s head. The small dog became even more frantic with pleasure and finally collapsed in a heap on the floor, while Charles bent down and rubbed the puppy’s belly with his good hand.

  He addressed his nephew, “You call him Duke?” he asked.

  Young Reggie nodded and edged out from behind his mother. “My daddy was a Duke and I miss him, so I named my dog Duke, too.”

  Lord Charles, unwillingly touched, stood, much to Duke’s disappointment. “That is a very good name. Is he one of Mina and Rufus’ pups?”

  Again, the boy nodded, surprised. “You know Mina and Rufus?”

  “Of course; they were my dogs. I grew up at Warwick Park, you know. Your daddy was my brother.”

  Reggie now stood apart from his mother, appraising his uncle. “Are you going to shout again?”

  Lord Charles colored and looked at the boy apologetically. “No, I shan’t yell anymore. I am very sorry if I frightened you. I was very upset.”

  “What happened to your hand?” asked the young boy, taking his uncle at his word.

  Lord Charles wished the damned thing was not so obvious. “A little accident,” he said simply and added to himself, the blighted money lender’s goon ‘accidently’ crushed my hand.

  Noticing Lord Charles’ discomfort, Lady Warwick spoke up, “Let us have tea, shall we?”

  The three humans and one spaniel enjoyed the tea, especially Cook’s plum tarts. Lord Charles entertained Reggie with exploits from his youth, spent primarily at Warwick Park. Lady Warwick observed the puppy acting suspiciously and called for a footman to take him outside. Reggie begged to accompany them and bid his uncle farewell in a friendly fashion, evoking a promise that he would come again to visit. Lady Warwick assumed Lord Charles would take his leave, but Charles was not ready to do so. He hemmed and hawed for a few minutes before he got to the point.

  “This has all been quite a shock, you know. Reginald’s will left me in a bind, not that I begrudge you or young Reggie; it is simply that I am completely out of funds and find I no longer have credit anywhere. I was hoping that you would be able to help me out until I can get on my feet.”

  Lady Warwick had dreaded this moment, hoping it would never come. “Lord Charles,” she began.

  “Charles, please. We are brother and sister after all,” bestowing an impish smile on Adriana.

  “Charles,” began Lady Warwick, again unable to conjure up a smile. “I wish that I could, but I promised Reginald faithfully on his deathbed that I would not.”

  “What?” exclaimed Lord Charles.

  “When he was dying, he made me promise that I would not advance you funds, nor pay any of your debts. I did not want to, but he was determined and he was dying. I could not refuse him.” Lady Warwick had tears in her lovely dark eyes.

  “But he is dead. He will not know,” Charles pointed out desperately.

  “But I will know. I will not dishonor my husband by not keeping my vow. I am so sorry.”

  Charles just stared at her in frustration. He could not speak, but grabbed his hat knocking a china dog to the floor causing it to splinter into a thousand pieces. Ignoring it, he turned on his heel and left. A moment later, Lady Warwick heard the heavy front door slam shut with a deafening thud.

  Chapter 10

  Andrew Stafford, Viscount Saybrooke gracefully took his mother’s white gloved hand and helped her into their crested coach, then climbed in behind her. The footman shut the door behind him and the carriage rumbled off to the Gilchrest’s ball. The Dowager Viscountess Saybrooke looked her very best tonight in emerald silk, with the Saybrooke emeralds about her neck, matching earbobs, and topped off with an emerald and diamond tiara in her sand-colored hair flecked with gray.

  “You look quite dazzling tonight, Mama,” complimented her son, who himself looked his very best in a black coat and pantaloons, and a crisp white shirt and necktie tied in what Wilkes had called the waterfall. All Saybrooke knew was that he had to sit an inordinately long time for the valet to accomplish the task of tying it.

  “Aren’t you the obedient son giving your aged Mama such a pretty compliment.” Lady Saybrooke gave her son a suspicious smile.

  “I speak only the truth. And as to being obedient, I am trying Mama.”

  “I know you are, Andrew. And I am thoroughly enjoying being squired about to all the ton events by my handsome, but reclusive son. I only wish you would derive a bit of pleasure from the experience,” said his mother, patting his hand.

  “Again, I am trying, but I find little pleasure in romancing overdressed chits barely out of the school room.”

  “Is it so horrible being the catch of the season?” asked Lady Saybrooke with a wicked grin.

  “In fact it is. You know I do not care to hunt, Mama,” said Saybrooke inexplicably. Lady Saybrooke looked at him, perplexed. He continued. “I am disturbed by the thought of the poor fox, vermin though he may be, cowering in the shadows, set upon by beasts with sharp fangs and claws. It is even more disturbing to be the fox.”

  “Come now, not every young lady is a bloodthirsty predator.”

  “If they are not, their mamas are,” Saybrooke said with a sigh.

  This Lady Saybrooke could not refute and so redirected the conversation. “I have noticed you dance with Miss Hyde-Price on a number of occasions. She seems a sweet girl, and well-to-grass. Her dowry is rumored to be twenty thousand pounds. ”

  “I cannot contradict your second assertion, but your first is far afield.” Saybrooke looked out of the window impatiently. The coach had arrived at the Gilchrist’s large townhouse in Berkeley Square, but the line of carriages stretched down the
block and they had to wait their turn to disembark. Saybrooke, having no wish to prolong this discussion with his mother, sighed with exasperation. “If we had gone by foot we would be in the ballroom by now.”

  “And you would have been spared this conversation,” said Lady Saybrooke knowingly.

  “That would have been an added advantage.” Saybrooke agreed.

  “Andrew, you have been in a mood ever since you came into the title! Why are you acting so?”

  “I have been acting as a Viscount, at least to my best ability. It would seem that my former vocation suited me much better.”

  “Being a Viscount is not a vocation, it is a right of birth, an obligation,” lectured Lady Saybrooke.

  “It’s a damned nuisance,” Saybrooke said to the open coach window.

  “Andrew!” admonished Lady Saybrooke.

  “Beg pardon, mama.”

  “Are you so unhappy?”

  “It matters not. I am striving to do my duty, to live up to Lionel’s legacy.” Saybrooke looked at his mother, his eyes sincere.

  “Lionel! Do not strive to live up to him! If your brother had done his duty, there would be a Lady Saybrooke, not to mention an heir and a spare. You would still be in your study in Surrey, happily preparing your sermons!” said the Dowager Viscountess with heat.

  “Mama, you know Lionel did not…could not…”faltered Saybrooke.

  “I know that Lionel’s tastes did not extend to ladies. There are such men, I understand. It does not mean that he could not have done his duty. His anatomy still worked, I gather.”

  It was Saybrooke’s turn to be shocked. “Mama!”

  “Let us speak no more of it. It cannot be undone. Whatever his peculiarities, he was a fine man.”

  “Indeed, he was,” agreed Saybrooke with sadness.

  “But, the Saybrooke name must be carried on. This brings us back to Miss Hyde-Price.” There was a determined set to Lady Saybrooke’s jaw.

  Lord Saybrooke groaned and looked frantically out the window. At least a dozen carriages stood ahead of them, waiting to reach the entrance to Gilchrest House. He turned toward Lady Saybrooke, the set of his jaw revealing his strong resemblance to his mother.