Claire considered the statement. “Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but it seems that you are familiar with Madame Kingston’s name?”
“Indeed, I am. She is my cousin, after all.” Claire’s jaw dropped, and she had to remind herself that was an impolite gesture. She glanced down at the lace on the table cloth and studied the intricate pattern. Life’s surprises certainly did yield some interesting patterns.
“I know what you might be thinking. Why haven’t I done for her what Lady Catherine has done for you? In truth, I tried to help her. But Agnes Kingston was always a proud woman, as are all of the Kingston’s. When she was caught in an illicit affair, it ruined her, and she was cast out of her father’s house. They weren’t nearly as influential as my own father, of course. The two brothers fell out a long time ago. I know it is hard to fathom given her lack of education, but it is the truth.”
Claire’s mind was still reeling at the revelation to consider why the Duchess might be telling her these things. When she next spoke, Claire asked, “Your Grace, why are you telling me of this?”
“I am telling you this because you have reached her in ways that I never could. She was once my dearest childhood friend. It is good that she has taken women under her wing to help them, but I fear no one can help her. I would appreciate a missive informing me of her state of welfare when you do see her, and I have no doubt you will figure out a way.”
Claire nodded almost immediately. If this meant the Duchess was willing to help her and Christopher, it was hardly a price to pay for all of the charity she had been given the last few weeks. Plus it would allow her the opportunity to see Madame Kingston again soon. “Of course, your Grace. Is there a message you wish me to give to her?”
“When next you see her, tell her that Lily misses her Annie.” Claire nodded, not needing to press as to what it meant. It was sure to mean something to Madame Kingston. It was strange that she was called anything other than Madame Kingston at some point, but she supposed she had never given it much thought.
“I will, your Grace.”
“You’d best return to the Marquess. I’m sure he is assuming I have fed you to my hounds. I expect the two of you to attend my Yuletide Ball, of course.” The Duchess smiled. Claire rose and curtseyed, overjoyed about seeing the Duchess in a new light.
“Thank you, your Grace. We would be honored to attend.”
After the Duchess left, Claire practically ran to Christopher, who was waiting for her patiently. He smiled at her look of excitement as they were escorted to the carriage.
“I must say, I am curious what the Duchess could have possibly have said that would have you in such a fine state.” Christopher leaned down and kissed her.
“It’s raining,” she murmured into his lips.
“Yes, it does that often in England. What has that got to do with the Duchess?”
Claire smiled up at him. “We need to return home and seek the comfort of our safe spot and I will tell you.”
“Our safe spot?”
She playfully nudged his arm, “yes, snuggled in bed together and confiding in one another.”
Christopher tossed his head back and laughed. “I think that is a fine idea. Do you think it’s possible that we could stay there forever with one another?”
“We could try. I can think of nothing I would rather be doing with the man I love.”
Claire kissed Christopher again as the carriage made haste to bring them back home and into each other’s arms once more.
THE END
The Commander’s Affair
Chapter 1
“Have you heard?” The Duchess of Cambridge peered over her teacup at the rest of the women in the tearoom. She smiled coyly, like what she was about to divulge was the most precious secret to a woman’s heart. Except, Miss Charlotte Rose was well aware that the Duchess’ penchant for gossip was far from pure and innocent. Whatever she was about to say was going to ruin someone’s life and make them miserable. Charlotte kept her mouth shut because she was so far beneath the Duchess that she was rarely spoken to directly without disdain. The only reason she was extended the invitation to the Duchess’ morning tea gossip sessions was because her late husband Mr. Rose was the Duchess’ personal textile merchant. Mr. Rose had kept the Duchess in the finest silks and linens, and she had invested in the company. The company was now under the supervision of Mr. Rose’s long-time partner. As per Mr. Roses’ last will and testament, Charlotte was given a monthly stipend from the company’s revenue to live comfortably for the remainder of her life. Charlotte had expected that once her husband, who was almost thirty years her senior passed, her invitations to morning tea would be revoked. But the Duchess surprised her by continuing to invite her. Charlotte assumed that she was remaining comfortable in her fine linens. Perhaps that was another facet of the many intricacies of her husband’s will.
Charlotte lived in a modest townhouse without the benefit of a summer home. She didn’t mind though, she never understood why people needed more than one home. The one she had was enough to take care of. The time of year was on the cusp of the Season. Her invitations to the Duchess’ morning tea had commenced, and she knew this first one would be brutal on whomever the Duchess decided to single out. It seemed there was always a new life to ruin or play with. Charlotte hated it, but she kept her mouth shut knowing her social standing put her in a precarious position. She could easily be shunned at twenty-eight and a widow. It was unlikely she would ever find another husband, even though the Duchess herself was three times her age. Charlotte was suspected of being damaged goods. Not that she would ever admit it to the Duchess or any of her faithful halfwits of the ton.
Charlotte’s marriage had been arranged. Mr. Rose had been a lonely older man when she married him eight years ago. He wanted someone to come home to when he came back from trading with France. Her family was destitute, holding onto the very threads of social standing amongst the ton. Mr. Rose understood that he wasn’t exactly eligible, so the marriage was performed hastily and with little ceremony. He hadn’t been a horrible husband, which is why Charlotte always felt the pangs of guilt and regret when she thought of him. The truth was, she had partaken in a tryst. It had started out innocently enough, a connection between two youths who found themselves commonly lonely. But the man who held her friendship and affection whilst her husband was away became more than just an exhilarating secret suitor. Charlotte grew to love him, and then he too was called away overseas.
The guilt stemmed from the unfaithfulness she felt in her heart. Although their secret encounters had been purely for friendship and companionship. The man himself was married, and it was a partnership of deep discontent. From what little Charlotte knew of his wife, she wasn’t a horrid woman, but she and Charlotte’s friend were just not compatible. It didn’t make the emotional attachment Charlotte felt for him any less inappropriate. She still worried that one day the Duchess would discover and reveal her secret.
She lifted her teacup and silently took a sip, regarding the other women around the table who looked rapturously at the Duchess; waiting with bated breath to know whose life was about to be ruined. “Miss Sarah Richards, the wife of Commander Daniel Richards, has run off with a fisherman from the north!”
Gasps and cries of surprise went around the table. Charlotte was careful to hide her shock and fear when the name of the wife of the man she harbored a secret love for passed from the Duchess’ lips.
“Say it isn’t so!” one woman cried. Charlotte knew she was a Lady, but she had a hard time keeping track of them all.
“What has the Commander Richards said of it?”
“Poor man, coming home from overseas to an empty house and a wayward wife.”
“Commander Richards is home from overseas?” The question slipped from Charlotte’s mouth before she could stop it. The entire room went silent as every woman stared at her. She rarely spoke, especially not without being spoken directly to first. She slowly lowered her teacup with trembling fing
ers; afraid they would find her interest in the Commander’s activities more curious than the emotional upheaval of a wayward wife. “I…I was just wondering when he returned. He and Mr. Dylan, my late husband’s partner, have a business venture together. I would ask about Mr. Dylan.” Charlotte thought quickly and told them. She looked down at her teacake and tried not to blush.
“Yes.” Charlotte felt her heartbeat faster as the Duchess’ voice drawled across the table. She could feel the older woman’s eyes bore into the side of her face. She was afraid the Duchess was seeing right through her ruse. “It will be good to receive the newest fashions just in time for the Season. France is always setting the finest trends, are they not?”
Charlotte felt the tightness in her chest lessen a little. Of course the Duchess would pay her as little regard as necessary. She, or rather her late husband, had been a means to an end and continued to be so. The Duchess had no personal interest in her, which was just as well.
“Yes, your Grace,” Charlotte murmured. The other women hastily agreed and all the attention that had been diverted from her.
The Duchess continued, “Yes, it is true. Lady Richards has run off with her lover to the north and what’s more…” She paused for effect. Charlotte felt lightheaded and couldn’t wait to leave the Duchess’ townhouse. “What’s more is that the Commander Richards has told Commander Balfour, his longtime mentor and friend, that he intends to do nothing.”
“Nothing?!” The women were all a dither again.
“Yes, nothing. It’s quite a scandal, is it not?” Charlotte could feel the Duchess’ eyes on her face again, but she kept her gaze down, not wanting to give away any evidence that she might have been the cause for Lady Richards to run off.
Charlotte felt as if the morning crept by so horribly slowly that it seemed as if it would never end. She couldn’t wait to be safely tucked away in her carriage, finally able to relax and have a moment’s peace. The rest of the morning was spent listening to all of the ladies in attendance speculating as to the nature and circumstances of the illicit love affair. Furthermore, they veritably picked apart poor Commander Richards about his motivations for not going after his wife. By the time Charlotte was tucked away in the carriage, she felt a throb in her temple begin to pound lightly. She was breathless, wondering what this might all mean if he really was back amongst the ton. She supposed it didn’t mean anything. He sent a few letters when he had first gone away with Mr. Dylan, then the letters had stopped coming, and she stopped writing. She had gone into seclusion for a while after that. A broken heart was just as much of an ailment as any sickness. She stayed in bed for long periods of time, crying as she re-read his letters and then falling asleep only to find them stuck to her cheek when she woke.
Charlotte was eternally hopeful, however. Commander Richards, whom she affectionately referred to as Daniel, often accused her of being fanciful. Of course, such familiarity wasn’t proper, but neither was their deeply personal, emotional relationship. Charlotte felt the pitter-patter of her heartstrings as she climbed down out of the rented carriage. She wasn’t so well off that she could afford to keep and maintain her own. But it was just as well; she did not mind shirking that responsibility.
Charlotte climbed the steps to her modest, two-story townhouse and let herself inside. She didn’t have a chaperone or a butler. She peeked in the formal front parlor, and then further down the hall into the sitting room. She did not see her housekeeper, Ms. Chauncy. “Bitty!” Charlotte called out. She heard a clunk from the far end of the hallway and she smiled. She made her way down the hall and opened the door that led into a simple kitchen. Ms. Chauncy, whom she referred to as Bitty, which was short for Beatrice, was clanging away over the stove. “That smells divine, Bitty,” Charlotte remarked.
“Ah, you’re back!” Bitty looked up from the stove. It was to be a stew of some kind, judging by the smell. Charlotte guessed it was lamb stew. Her favorite.
“Yes, I am. Is that lamb?” she eyed the cubes of meat set out on a slab on the wooden worktable.
“Aye, there was a discount at the market. I thought it might be a nice treat for you today, Ms. Rose.”
“Truly? I wonder what calls for such an occasion,” Charlotte said dryly. She sat on the stool opposite Bitty and began peeling potatoes.
“I can’t spoil you from time to time?” The older woman’s eyes twinkled. They were a beautiful hazel with a touch of green and brown mixed together like the forest.
“Oh I didn’t strictly say that, Bitty. I just meant…”
“I know what you meant, Ms. Rose. And look here, you’ll end up with rough hands if you keep attending to the household chores!” Bitty snatched at the potatoes and Charlotte forfeited the one she was peeling.
“I don’t mind. It’s something to do, at least. Besides, you know I have never cared about such things as rough hands.”
“Ah well you should. You never know who might come calling. That, and what would the other ladies say at the fancy tea parties and such?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and tried to change the subject. “How come you insist I call you Bitty, but you still won’t call me Charlotte?”
“Because I’m the hired help, Ms. Rose. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“It’s only you and I, Bitty.”
“Oh, I know, but someday there will be a Mr.”
“Honestly, Bitty. There already was a Mr. Rose,” Charlotte sighed. She had no qualms about the fact that she was not in a social position to be making acquaintances and meeting new bachelors of the ton. She was not interested in competing against the younger debutants, and besides, she didn’t think she stood a chance against their youth and virtue. Mr. Rose hadn’t been overtly amorous in his husbandly duties, but they had consummated the marriage. It wasn’t a horrid experience as she had expected, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant either.
“Aye, there was. But there has never been a man who has swept you off your feet, Ms. Rose. At least not in the biblical sense, as of yet.” Bitty eyed her suspiciously and Charlotte rolled her eyes again.
“What? Unless you think I’ve taken up with a rake hellion on my way to and from tea with the Duchess, I can assure you my feet are firmly planted on the ground. I am well aware of where I stand.” Charlotte folded her arms across her chest. She loathed when Bitty got that knowing look in her eyes, like she knew a secret and was debating whether to let Charlotte in on it.
“There were some interesting bits of gossip down at the market, Ms. Rose,” she said quietly after a moment. She glanced up from the simmering pot and Charlotte nodded.
“So you’ve heard?” she said quietly. There wasn’t a soul alive who knew of her love for the Commander Daniel Richards, save for Bitty, who had rocked her and let her cry through the pain of her broken heart.
“Aye, I’ve heard. Have you seen him?” She looked worried and Charlotte immediately shook her head.
“No, and I don’t expect I will. He’s got enough troubles that dealing with the likes of me is probably last on his list of things to do. I only know because the Duchess was…”
“Her usual horrid self, I presume? That woman has enough venom in her to poison all of the rats in London.” Bitty sliced the potatoes with extra rigor, and Charlotte wondered if she was going to cut clean through the wood.
“Yes, I suppose she was. If I ever end up as cruel and bitter as she is, you will tell me. Won’t you, Bitty?”
Charlotte drummed her fingers on the wood. She only had one pair of gloves. In the Society, that was a faux pas of such caliber akin to the eighth deadly sin. But she always took them off upon returning home and tucked them safely away. They were currently with her dress cloak draped over the banister in the front hall waiting to be brought above stairs to her bedroom.
“If you ever end up like Her Grace, I’ll find another household to work for,” Bitty answered. Charlotte smiled, knowing Bitty wouldn’t be going anywhere. She was like a mother of sorts to Charlotte. Charlotte’s own parent
s were deceased and her sister had moved way across the country, currently living in Wales. She hardly ever saw her, but sent letters every now and then. She was aware there was a brood of nieces and nephews who she wasn’t acquainted with, but she could hardly justify covering the expense of a trip to go out and meet them and visit, especially not without children of her own. After Mr. Rose had passed away, Bitty had been a Godsend as Charlotte’s only companion. She was her savoir, letting her wallow in her grief after she lost Daniel. Then she showed her the strength and fortitude to get back up and keep on with her life when it was apparent he was gone for good.
Now that he was back, Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder what he would do. Should she demand an explanation or an apology? Charlotte’s mind whirred with questions, none of which were likely to be answered anytime soon. So she did what she always did when she needed a distraction. Charlotte rose from the wooden stool and walked to the door.
“I’m going out back to the garden.” She looked over her shoulder at Bitty who nodded.
Charlotte made her way up to her room and put her finery away, and changed into a simple and plain everyday dress. Over top of the dress, she tied a stained apron around her waist, and then donned a simple brown cloak as the afternoon breeze was chilly. Once she had redressed, Charlotte was prepared to go where she always went when she welcomed a distraction to her thoughts: out to the shed to her easel and painting supplies.
Chapter 2
Charlotte enjoyed painting. She never had any formal training, but it was a pastime she indulged in quite frequently. She knew there were far more appropriate hobbies for a Lady to partake in, but capturing picturesque scenery from her mind’s eye was always Charlotte’s favorite. Daniel and Charlotte would spend hours talking and enjoying each other’s company, escaping the prying eyes of society. Daniel would describe the places he had seen throughout his travels for business, and she would paint her interpretation of his words. Since he left, she’d been forced to re-imagine the places he’d previously described or paint other places around England. She’d done a bit of traveling with Mr. Rose, but never out of the country. She changed the scenery to reflect the seasons, but she was sorely need of new and exciting source material. Sometimes she sat in front of the easel and stared at the white canvas, thinking how it would be nice if she could simply dream up the far off exotic places she so wished to paint. But much like her purse, her imagination had its limits. She was unable to afford anything but the painting supplies. Even they were certainly a lavish frivolity, especially on her stipend, but she relinquished the necessity to have a new dress every Season. She was no longer one of the prized eligible ladies of the ton; she didn’t need to have shiny new dresses, shoes, and gloves. It helped her save money to support her hobby.
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