“And what of that man who worked with him?” asked Lady Buchanan.
Belle bristled. Anson Fortescue had pocketed the money William Tottingham had paid him for collaborating with him. “He evades the authorities in the wilds of Canada. I care not so much that he is punished. To be deprived of your home seems to me to be terrible enough.”
“Agreed.” His mother sniffed. “The fool. He robbed you of your home. A just punishment, I say.”
“And what of your school?” asked Lady Buchanan as Shrew held up her pelisse for her. “It opens soon, does it?”
“Perhaps after Christmas,” Belle told her. “I want it to be comfortable. All the chimneys cleaned. The kitchen refurbished. All the pots and pans and linens had to be replaced. Tottingham had let so much go to seed. When it’s finished, the house will hold eight students, three full time teachers and four servants.”
“And,” Win added, “Belle will teach French.”
“And how to play chess,” said Daphne from the stairs.
They all laughed at that.
“I tell others often what you did,” pronounced his mother as she took her hands and squeezed them tightly. “I shall be so proud to stand with you at the Coronation.”
The Prince Regent was to be crowned July twenty-first and with other nobles of the realm, Belle was to stand witness. Dressed in her robes of crimson silk velvet and white ermine, she would accompany Win in his own ceremonial attire.
“I went to the tailors’ this morning with Win for my fitting,” she said with a little shiver of delight.
“They have to make a new robe for you, do they?” St. Hilare asked.
“True, Your Grace,” Win said. “When George the Third was crowned in seventeen sixty-one, the current countess was dead. And the robe maker made a garment only for my great-grandfather. He was pleased to fit Belle this morning.” Win hugged her and kissed her temple.
“After the banquet in Whitehall,” said Belle, “what would all of you say to a small supper party here?”
“Are you up to that?” His mother knit her brows in alarm.
“Darling, do you want to?” Win looked even more concerned. “It’s been only weeks since Charlie’s birth. I want you rested.”
She cupped his cheek. Ever watchful over her, Win had probably been more frazzled by their son’s eight-hour birth than she. “I am well and we won’t celebrate another king’s coronation for many years.”
“If you want it, then yes, of course, we’ll do it.”
Win would give her anything, but she wished for so little. The company of his family for one thing. The joy of their children, for she thought of Daphne as the same as their new charming little Charles Winston Mayfield Summers, the new Viscount Tremaine.
“Make it simple on your cook and Shrew,” ordered Lady Buchanan wagging a finger. “Now kiss me adieu and we shall be off!”
And in a thrice, the three of them were out the door, down the steps and into their carriages. Shrew disappeared to the servants’ realms below.
“Come.” Win took her hand and led her up the stairs. “You must be exhausted. You’ve been out all day.”
“And I had a wonderful time. The modiste in Half Moon Street whom Katherine recommended to me is a magician. The new hat she’s designing to complement my walking dress is superb. With ostrich feathers and net, pearls to the side!”
He walked toward the door to her suite.
She halted. “No. I won’t go there tonight, Win.”
“You must be exhausted, my love. I will hear no argument.” He grasped the handle and swung open her door. “Good night, my dear.”
Then he turned on his heel and was gone.
“Well!” There was but one thing to do. So she dismissed her lady’s maid and pulled the bell rope for Shrew. Within minutes the ever-efficient man had come, left and returned with her requests.
The renovations that Win had requested last year to Daphne’s rooms had been completed quickly. But after the auction day and Belle’s victory two weeks later ousting Tottingham officially from her life, Win had acquired a special license and officially asked her to marry him. Four days later the vicar of Crawley who had once assisted her by giving her shelter in his vicarage and then giving her a reference as governess, had married them in the drawing room of Cartwell Manor. Immediately Win had sent orders to London to his plasterers and carpenters to open a door into his master bedroom from what had been a smaller room at the back of the house. Her own suite was the grand result.
But tonight, the lady of the house did not wish to sleep alone.
Attired in her ruby robe, hair brushed to a sheen, feet bare, she padded to the library with her three items clutched in one hand. There she went to knock upon the adjoining door.
When he opened it, surprise came first, then laughter. He wore a midnight blue banyan, his chest bare, his hair a rakish mess. “Are you to tell me you need brandy?”
She put her glasses and carafe to his side table, then dusted her hands. “My dear husband, I’ve come here to declare I need more than brandy.”
“Hmm,” he seemed to croon as he backed his way into his own suite and she followed. “What would you like? Hot chocolate? A game of chess?”
She circled both arms around his neck and brushed her lips on his. “Conversation.”
“I see,” he said as he led her down upon his bed. “That I can provide.”
“All night long.” They had since the night they were wed slept together all night long. Even as she approached her final days before Charlie’s birth and she grew weary with her girth and the baby’s kicking, they’d spent their nights together.
“Are you sure?”
“I am quite well. Recovered.” She let her eyes go wide. “And if we find as we…um…progress that I’m not, then I have thought about a subject for a very long time that I do believe I must discuss with you.”
“Very well.” He unhooked the little frog at the collar of her robe. “If you find this difficult, you will stop me, won’t you?”
She nodded.
He slid his hand along her jaw. “I’d never hurt you.”
“I know,” she breathed as he spread little kisses along her cheek and nose and then blessed her lips with the glory of his need of her.
“I have missed you.”
She gave a little smile. “And I you.”
He undid the ties at the bodice of her nightgown and cupped one breast. Through the thin muslin, he kissed the tip and she arched into his sweetness.
“I want more children,” she whispered to his ear as she enjoyed the fiery warmth his affections spread through her.
“It will be my pleasure, my darling wife, to give them to you.”
“Perhaps three.”
He paused to stare at her and then chuckle.
“Or what do you think of four?”
“Four? My love. Four is a rag tag bunch. I’ll never see you.”
She leaned up and planted a huge kiss on his lips. “I guarantee you will see me. Always. I will never have enough of you.”
He pulled her up to sit. “Let’s ensure that and take this gown off, shall we?”
After he peeled it away and dashed it to the floor, she sank down to the linens, naked and hungry. She’d been refreshingly surprised that she adored making love to her husband. For some ladies of the ton, intimacy was a chore. She knew it, for she’d overheard their gossip in the ladies’ retiring rooms. But she had never a moment of displeasure in Win’s embrace. So she named herself for countless times since her marriage as the luckiest woman in England.
It was her pleasure as much as his to have each other in their bed. And so she eagerly wrapped her arms around him as he caressed her and took her up into the euphoria that only he could create.
And at the end, as they sighed and melded together, she grew tired but not exhausted enough to forget a nagging problem.
One hand to his warm chest, she put her head back upon the pillow and smiled up at him. “Be
fore you go to sleep, will you indulge me by discussing an unusual topic?”
He smoothed her hair from her cheeks and kissed her quickly. “Name it.”
“You must promise not to laugh at me.”
“Only ever will I laugh with you.”
“And you won’t think me suffering from some female delusions?”
He propped himself up on one elbow, dead earnest. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re certain?”
“On my honor, darling.” He searched her expression. “What is it?”
She’d come this far, she might as well make a complete arse of herself and find out. So she cleared her throat.
“Come. Come. For the lady who defeated two dastardly rivals, this reluctance is novel.”
“Right you are. So. Yes. Well. Ahem. Do Roderick and Caroline talk to you as you pass?”
His mouth fell open.
Oh, dear. “Do they?”
He fell back to the pillows, laughing.
“Hmm. That is either ‘no, never’ or ‘are you mad’ or ‘quite the joke’. Which is it?”
He grinned at her. “None of the above.”
“Well that does not help me.”
“Sweetheart,” he beseeched her, then lifted her chin to make him look at him. “They do.”
“Ohhh! You’re being honest. Oh, my.” She gulped. “I thought I was headed for the asylum. You know they talk? Pan, I do believe, chatters at them. And that’s…absurd! But…but I have heard them many times. And really, let’s be honest. How can they talk? They’re portraits! Pigments and canvas and wooden frames.”
He lifted a shoulder. “They are a family phenomenon. Speaking to many.”
“By making the inhabitants question their sanity? Not very kind of them.”
“True. But we tend to keep it a family secret.”
“I’d say that’s wise,” she said with a grimace. “When do they speak? And do you know why? Or are the two just jolly ghosts up for a prank?”
“A few of my ancestors have written of the phenomenon. I’ll show you diaries. They, too, at first asked if they were going insane. If it’s any comfort, Roddy and Caro spoke often to my mother throughout her marriage. After my father died, they spoke even more frequently. I know she was quite unhappy for decades—and with good reason.”
“That is sad.”
“Quite.”
“Why do you have them here? If they are ancestors, shouldn’t they hang in Cartwell House?”
“They should. They were. But after my father died, they set my mother on edge. One day she told me she wished to take them down and burn them, but I declared them family treasure. I took them both and hung them here.” He sighed. “Then they began to talk to me.”
“What did you think when they did? What did they say to you?”
“I’ve read the diaries of those who’ve heard them. It seems Roddy and Caro have a desire to cheer people in the house. Especially the master and his wife.”
“But when they began to chat with me, I was not your wife. I was the governess.”
He tipped his head. “Then they must also speak to those who should be the master’s wife.”
She cast him a scolding look. “You’re making that up!”
Win’s blue eyes clouded. “Do they speak to you now? Often?”
Win’s sudden concern put her on alert. “No. That’s just the rub. They used to when I first came here. But now? Since our marriage? No. Not a peep. Not a wink. Not a chuckle.”
He beamed at that, his eyes bright with relief. “Oh, so they are done with you.”
“What? Why? How do you know?”
“Because, my love, according to family records, Roddy and Caro stop talking to anyone after they are happier. They spoke to me, I believe, because I was lonely. Needing one I could adore. And that was and is you, my love. You!”
“So let me see.” She lifted a hand to count her blessings. “I have married into a house where I’ve gained a charming little ward, with two mischievous animals, a butler who is known by a moniker which does not describe him but the opposite. I’ve gained a mother-in-law who didn’t think me worthy and a grand-mother-in-law who remembered who I once was.”
“Hmm. Yes, and do add that she loves her spirits.”
“And now a delightful duke!”
She sank back to the pillows and drew her husband down to her. “I also have a lovely little son who is a cherub from heaven. But most of all I’ve gained a perfect husband, kind and honorable, the hero of Waterloo, delightful, dashing Baldwin Summers. My Win. Mine.”
“Forever more.”
THE END
Travels with Cerise
Regency Townhouse, Brunswick Square, Brighton England
I’ve often delighted in touring English townhouses. In every nook and cranny, I’ve found little joys that I’ve tried to add in my novels.
In my fictitious Dudley Crescent that I invented for this series, I take bits and pieces from a few houses I’ve visited in England. Most often, I reference floor plans for a house in Brighton that I recommend everyone visit. This house, officially dubbed Regency Town House, is currently being restored by volunteers who are specialists in home construction and Regency period lifestyles. They have formed a non-profit organization and promote their work in Brighton, offering tours, dinners and other entertainments to educate everyone. (Look for the house on the internet.)
Drawing Room shutters, detail. Regency Town House, Brighton, England
When I last visited, this group was involved in discovering the original paint colors on the walls, ceilings and fittings. Here I show you the intricate design on a door and on drawing room shutters. Each house in Brunswick Square originally sold in the 1820s for approximately three thousand pounds. This did not include cost of such items as draperies, chandeliers or furnishings. A buyer could expect to purchase his or her own embellishments, according to his means, to make the house a home.
When completed, a townhouse would be home not only to the owners’ family but also a team of servants. In this Brighton home, for example, servants could enter the house from the front street with steps down to the basement. There the housekeeper had her spacious room, the butler his wine cellar, the servants their dining room, an exit to the center kitchen garden and the servants’ privy! From the center hall in the basement, servants waited upon their masters upstairs accessing their own staircase. This rough-hewn wooden set of steps was narrow and lit only by one window. Near this staircase is the kitchen, a wide expanse with cupboards, a glass ceiling and a huge fireplace. Maids slept in an alcove in the kitchen and footman slept on the cold stone floor. From the kitchen, one could exit to the mews.
Door embellishment, Syon House, England
While my Dudley Crescent townhouses most nearly resemble the Brunswick Square Brighton townhouses, they haves similarities to the Royal Crescent in Bath and to those in Earl’s Court in London. A few similarities also exist with architect Sir John Soanes’ house in London. Do visit this house when you are there next. Wonders abound, especially his device for hanging and displaying his precious collection of paintings.
Syon House, Foyer decor
Townhouses showed the owners’ wealth and status. These homes often rivaled the nobles’ main country homes and their London residences in quality and appointments. Owners brought in sculptures, paintings and furnishings and even built little libraries. Whether in London or in smaller cities and towns, the different layouts and styles offer a treasure trove for a happy tourist!
Noting how Belle hid her documents in secret drawers, I will tell you that the cabinetmaker acclaimed for this was George Hepplewhite. An Englishman, he crafted desks and other types of cabinetry with hidden compartments. His work, often imitated by other lesser known craftsmen, was popular. Belle’s family could have owned quite a few pieces that resembled his style.
I will say as an aside that the auction of Belle’s house was a usual phenomenon. Numerous advertisements appeared dail
y in newspapers, detailing the auction of houses and contents. Some were estates owned by titled men and women, others had been those of tradesmen or those who had gone bankrupt. Contents up to bid could include everything in the house, even as you see here in the ad which I adapted from real ones I found in many English newspapers of 1820s.
Thanks for reading! Do return for my next in this series, HIS NAUGHTY MAID.
All photographs bear Copyright 2019 Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.
His Naughty Maid,
Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book 3, An Excerpt
Friday July 6, 1821
No. 6 Dudley Crescent
London, England
Charles Sandys-Hough, Viscount Rockingham, had spent most of his twenty-seven years doing his duty by everyone. At all times of day. At all hours of night. For his rarely communicative father. His disdainful Mama. His demanding and yet oh, so effective Horse Guards Colonel. And yes, even his intemperate wife. God rest her soul.
The one person from whom he’d rarely heard a request and yet who merited all his devotion was his younger sister, Lydia. That she should pace before him now, her blue eyes wary and her hands clasped tightly together, told him he’d best grant her request.
“But, my dear, I have enough servants.” He’d invited her to sit for this sudden visit of hers.
She ignored him, then strode to the window, looked out as if to check the traffic in the street and spun back to face him. “One more, Charlie. How can it make that much difference? We’re all overwhelmed with new events for Prinny’s coronation. You’ve complained about your cook not being up to snuff and—”
“That was Rosalyn who complained about Cook, Lydia.” His wife had been an angel in temperament, except to the staff. Them, she rode like the very devil. “I am perfectly happy with the woman.”
“But you’re giving a dinner party the night after Prinny’s crowning. Why not indulge in a new Cook’s first maid who is known for her desserts? One glacé and you are in heaven.”
His Tempting Governess: Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book 2 Page 19
