Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1) (18 page)

The Amberley Chronicles

May Burnett

Chapter 1

May 28, 1822

The vicar and his wife were the last guests to depart from Conway Manor, with repeated expressions of their appreciation for a delightful evening. Alone at last, Sir Mortimer Conway and his young hostess regarded each other with identical expressions of relief.

“I’ll have a cognac in the library before turning in,” the baronet said. “Join me?” Not that she would touch the liquor, of course. His great-niece was still two months shy of eighteen, hovering on the very doorstep of adulthood. Only four months ago she had been a schoolgirl in an exclusive Bath seminary.

“I’m not tired,” Celia Conway said, following her uncle into the library, where a small fire was burning merrily. She began to light the two braces of wax candles set on either side of the mantelpiece, her red hair shining in the flickering light.

Sir Mortimer poured a generous measure of golden brown liquid from the decanter into a crystal glass, sniffed appreciatively and sighed in pleasure. “Each time I taste this nectar, I remember the castle on the Loire where I was first introduced to it.”

Celia had heard him say so often enough, and paid scant attention to the remark. “Did you enjoy the menu I had Cook prepare? That second sweet was an old French recipe I found in the library. From the way our guests emptied their plates in near silence, I cannot doubt that it was found acceptable.”

“Everything was delicious,” Sir Mortimer reassured her. “We must have that strawberry pudding again while strawberries are in season, possibly as soon as next week. You did very well indeed. I can already see you presiding at a much grander dinner, when you are a great lady. A Viscountess at the very least.”

Celia served herself half a glass of cider from a covered jug standing next to the decanters, and sat down facing her uncle. “I’m not sure about that,” she said slowly. “Did you notice how Sir Jasper disapproved, when I contradicted him about workhouse conditions? Yet I was the only one present who had seen our local workhouse, or had the least idea of its annual budget. Grandmother claims I have inherited grandfather’s business head, and I do believe she is right. Presiding over grand dinners might well become boring over the years.”

The baronet straightened in his chair with an energetic movement. “Never say so! Of course you will find many other things to occupy you, quite apart from your children. Remember, you can afford to outfit your own workhouse, or even several, whenever you please. If Sir Jasper seemed surprised, it was because you are such a very young lady that he did not expect you to have any opinions of your own, or facts to back them up.”

“It was Sir Jasper himself who raised the subject. If he wanted to discuss it in the presence of ladies, he had to expect one of us to say something.”

“Not necessarily,” Sir Mortimer told her. “Many men prefer ladies to be an admiring audience, rather than active participants in a conversation. But if you marry a titled gentleman, then, as unfair as it seems, your opinions will carry more weight than they do now.” He took another reverent sip of cognac. 

Celia was not convinced. “Don’t most aristocrats waste their time with fashion and entertainment, as well as gambling and speculation? It would drive me to distraction to see my husband throw away the fortune my grandparents built up.”

“No man who gambles or speculates recklessly will do for you, no matter from which class.” Sir Mortimer sighed at this reminder of the myriad dangers facing his young relative. “Picking the right spouse is the most important decision of your whole life.”

“I have been thinking that a professional man might suit me better,” Celia said. “Wouldn’t such a husband be more likely to use my fortune responsibly? And his female relations would not go around raising their well-bred noses at my less than aristocratic pedigree, or make pointed remarks about the smell of breweries when I came into the room.” She could not entirely hide the slight bitterness creeping into her voice, and her uncle, despite the late hour, immediately caught it.

“Did that happen often, at your school?”

“Now and then. It is not worth talking about, please forget I said anything.”

“Some of that may have been envy as much as spite. Many well-born girls must be humbly grateful if they receive any eligible offers at all, and fear to remain spinsters if they do not take in the marriage mart. Whereas a pretty girl like you, with that large fortune, will have a greater number of suitors than most of
them
can expect.
Of course
they will try to make you feel small, by stressing what advantages they do have. Put it down to jealousy, and don’t lose any sleep over such ill-natured remarks.”

Celia nodded, and put her glass down on the table. “But the breweries are only part of it. Just how ineligible am I? Don’t you think I am old enough to know why my father has not been heard of in five years, and why everyone avoids mentioning him? What did he do that was so very bad?”

“That is not a fit subject for a young lady’s ears,” Sir Mortimer said very firmly, as he had met all previous questions on the subject. “I only hope he won’t turn up before you are safely married. He is trouble, Celia, I can tell you that much.”

“I don’t particularly love or even like him,” she said pensively. “When I was living in Bloomsbury with my governess, we did not see a great deal of him. Mostly he argued with Miss Barrett about how much money she needed for my upkeep. I wonder what became of her after I was taken back to Kent.”

“Do you miss her?” Sir Mortimer asked curiously. “It must have been strange to live with just that woman for all those years.”

“No, I can’t say I miss her.” Celia frowned in recollection. “She was not a very likeable woman, but she did try to educate me as best she could, and she sometimes took me to museums and historic buildings. On Tuesdays and Fridays we would speak only French, and she gave me the rudiments of Italian and German, though her grasp of mathematics was weak. In the afternoons Miss Barrett always took a long nap, and I would sneak out to play with the other children of the building, or on the street.”

“What!” Sir Mortimer stared at his great-niece. “Don’t, I beg of you, mention that little fact in polite company.”

“I was safe enough – a poor neighbourhood is not the same as a slum. A young girl needs youthful company, to talk and play with.” She smiled. “I learned a great deal about life during those excursions.”

“That’s another thing you must not tell anyone outside the family,” her uncle warned. “It could so easily be misunderstood.”

“Very well.” Celia noted that her uncle’s cognac was half gone already. “What do you think of my notion that a professional man might suit me better than a lord?”

The baronet pursed his lips. “Very little; put it out of your head. Such men from the new middle classes give orders all day in their offices or chambers, and when they come home expect to go on giving orders there as well. They tend to be extremely conventional in their thinking, and all too often tyrannical towards their wives and children. If you marry into the nobility, or at least a solid county family like our own, you will be much better off in the long run. Aristocratic wives in particular have a great deal of freedom. That is even more important if the marriage does not turn out to be happy, and one never can be entirely certain beforehand.”

“Hmm.” Celia pensively tapped the table with her index finger. This was an aspect she had not previously considered.

“At the end of the day, it is your husband’s character and disposition that counts, more than what he does and where he comes from. I do agree with you to that extent. But it would make both your grandmother and me very happy to be able to call you
my lady
in due course. And you know it was the dearest wish of your late grandfather.”

Celia nodded. Her beloved grandparents, it could not possibly be denied, had always had their hearts set on elevating their descendants’ social rank. They had married their only child to Sir Mortimer’s nephew and heir, Peter Conway, merely because he came from a higher social class, though from all accounts he had nothing else to offer his rich wife. A rupture between uncle and nephew had ensued. Since the last time she had seen her father, five years earlier, she had painstakingly gathered every detail she overheard, desperate to put together the puzzle of his absence and mysterious disgrace. As it affected her own prospects, surely she had a right to know. Unfortunately the adults in the family conspired to keep her in ignorance.

“Just imagine,” her uncle went on persuasively, “how pleasant if would be if you attended a dinner where some of your former schoolmates were also invited, and they had to yield precedence to you. They might titter about breweries as much as they liked, but they would be gnashing their teeth at the same time.”

That picture made Celia smile fleetingly, but the possible discomfiture of her erstwhile schoolmates hardly seemed sufficient grounds for such an important decision. “That’s all very well, but where and how am I to meet that titled gentleman you expect me to wed? It is not as though they are very thick on the ground here in our neighbourhood. There is only Sir Jasper, old enough to be my father, and married; and Lord Lossley, also married, and half-witted into the bargain. We do not have any long-lost relatives who could invite me to town for a season, do we?”

“I am working on that,” Sir Mortimer said. Celia blinked in surprise. “In the absence of relatives, friends and acquaintances will have to serve. And enough money will find a way, even without those. We will manage, never fear.”

Was that mere wishful thinking on her uncle’s part? To Celia’s knowledge, he had no great acquaintance outside their placid village of Deedescombe. In the last few years, he had travelled from home only twice: once to France and Italy while she was in school, and then briefly to Wales for some old crony’s funeral.

Since she had not the smallest desire to move in social circles who did not whole-heartedly welcome her, she half hoped that Sir Mortimer’s efforts came to naught. “Well then, we can await your results before we continue this discussion.” She got up and pressed an affectionate kiss on his withered cheek. “I’ll retire now – good night, uncle, until we meet again at breakfast.”

“Good night, my dear child.” Sir Mortimer watched Celia leave, her trim figure outlined by the light, as with a halo. Strange, how the union between his deceitful nephew and a plain girl without pretensions of gentility had resulted in this lovely and intelligent young woman. A case of good coming out of bad, he mused. In fact, Celia was far too good for any of the young men of their own village and its environs.

He wondered how soon he would receive an answer to a letter he had sent two weeks earlier, to a member of the highest aristocracy. This young man had already brought about one significant improvement in young Celia’s life. Was it too much to hope he would do so again? 

Chapter 2

James Ellsworthy and his old school friend from Eton, now the Marquis de Ville-Deuxtours, were ostensibly fishing in the brook that ran half a mile behind the house on James’ Sussex estate. Any truly dedicated fisherman would have deprecated their talking, however. Since they had not seen each other for nearly a year before Alphonse’s arrival the previous evening, they had much to discuss.

“Your twins are a terror,” Alphonse said. “Little Roger managed to twist off the buttons on my boots, without even using scissors. He’s only four, what will he be like when he’s fourteen?”

“He does require watching,” James agreed. “But Violet is faster, and sly. In any dispute between the twins, I would lay my money on her. And Verena must not be underestimated, despite her guileless air.”

“Doesn’t Verena miss her parents? Your brother and Marianne have been gone for five months now, haven’t they?”

“Almost six. Of course Verena misses them, but she is bearing up well. After Italy they decided to proceed to Greece before coming back home. I have no idea why George, who is no idiot ordinarily, would take his countess to a country fighting for liberation from the Turks. But from the last letters I received they are in good health, and even enjoying the enforced stay on that small island. For all I know, they may feel that Egypt is too close to miss before turning home again.” He hesitated a moment before asking, “And how is your own little daughter?”

“Still hanging on to life.” Alphonse’s voice was terse.

James threw a shocked look at his friend. “You sound as though you expect her to die any moment. Then why are you here, and not at home?”

“Because there’s nothing I can do for her, dammit!” Any stray fish still hovering in the vicinity was surely gone for good after his exclamation. “This last year has been hell. My mother and the girl’s wet-nurse hardly let me into the nursery. It’s all physicians and this and that patent remedy, a wonder she’s survived at all to her first birthday. When I see your wife and children so strapping and healthy, and consider that pale little scrap in my own nursery, not to speak of poor Louise-Henriette under the ground when she was barely twenty, I want to curse.” He quickly added, “Of course I’m glad that you at least have found such good fortune, and hope it will long continue.”

“I had no idea your little Monique was still so poorly,” James said sincerely. “I’m very sorry.”

“The worst of it,” Alphonse confided, “is that sometimes I almost hope for the tragedy to happen, so that the nerve-wracking uncertainty should be finally over. I’m afraid to get too attached to the child, and yet it’s already too late. If she dies, as everyone seems to expect from one day to the next, nothing will ever be the same. Now the year of mourning has ended, I had to get away for a while, to retain my sanity.”

“Perhaps she won’t die,” James said judiciously. “If your daughter were that weak, she would not have made it through the first year. Sometimes the seemingly feeble are tougher than their families give them credit for.” He re-cast his line, searching for the right words. “Have you considered that both you and your Louise-Henriette were only children from the most aristocratic French stock – your ancestors and hers must have been related to each other several times over. When we breed horses or cattle, fresh blood is necessary now and then. Why should it be different for humans?”

“We’re inbred, you mean? The blue blood running thin?” Alphonse’s first response was indignation, but then he considered the difference between Charlotte, his friend’s blooming and robust wife, and his own ethereal bride, who had inexorably faded away only hours after her first confinement. He was silent for a long minute. “There may be something to that theory. I’ll think on it.” He re-cast also. 

“Surely you are planning to marry again,” James said. “I would not have mentioned it otherwise, but I wish you all the happiness and healthy children with which I myself am blessed.”

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be in any hurry to remarry. But my mother is in indifferent health, and you know how the family was decimated during the revolution. Our branch is the only one that got out in time. She keeps telling me that I owe it to all our relatives who left their noble heads on the guillotine, to have sons to carry on the name after me.”

“And do you agree with that sentiment?” As far as James could remember, during their boyhood Alphonse had never seemed concerned with dynastic ambitions. Of course, at the time he had been an impoverished
emigré
.

“I suppose I do, though I do not feel as strongly about it as my mother does. It was thirty years ago, but many of the
canailles
who supported the executions are still alive. If I let the line die out, they would win after all.” Alphonse moodily switched the fishing rod to his other hand. “After the disaster with Louise-Henriette, whom my parents picked, at least Mother is leaving the choice to me this time around.”

“Why did they choose her in particular? The one time I met her, soon after your wedding, I remember thinking that she looked pale and fragile.”

“Her late parents and mine were old friends, and the family was politically very well-connected, in great favour with the Bourbons. The poor girl’s very name reflected their royalist politics. And of course she was extremely rich.”

“You got to keep the dowry?”

Alphonse shrugged. “Only a third is mine absolutely. The rest belongs to little Monique. As though being an heiress did her the slightest good – I’d exchange her whole fortune to buy her better health, if only it were possible. If she doesn’t survive to adulthood, that part will go back to Louise-Henriette’s family. Her uncle Hervé de Montalban would be the closest heir. For all I know he is offering candles daily, praying for my daughter’s demise.”

“You can’t mean that,” James protested. “It seems to me that you have become too cynical – remember, we are only twenty-eight, still young men. Even if it seems hard to imagine now, I believe you will yet have many happy years and a large family.”

“
Merci
.” His friend kept his eyes on the water. “So, is everything as perfect with you as it looks on the surface? And let me tell you, it looks very perfect indeed.”

“Even better,” James informed him, unable to completely banish his pride from his voice. “We are expecting another child in about six months’ time. Charlotte should be starting to show sometime in the summer.”

Alphonse hid his involuntary wince. “And you are still happy together? It has been five years, after all, since I was witness at that hasty wedding. I confess I had my doubts then, about the wisdom of your actions.”

“Marrying Charlotte was the wisest thing I ever did in my life,” James maintained. “Even at that age, I knew perfectly well that when you find a good thing, you grab hold of it with both hands and don’t let go. I acted on that belief and have not regretted it for a moment yet, even on those rare occasions when we disagree.”

“So young and so wise,” Alphonse sighed. “Maybe some of your luck will rub off on me. I could certainly use it. I am planning to stay for a few weeks, unless Charlotte and you have other plans.”

“We are delighted to have you. With all these children and no less than three nannies, and Charlotte’s delicate condition, we are fixed here for the entire summer. Why don’t you send for your little girl and her nurse? Whatever is so bracing in the Sussex climate and food that makes our children thrive, might also do your little Monique good.”

“Bring her here?” Alphonse was startled at the notion. “But the dangers of the trip …”.

“Well, you know best. After all, you are her father. But in your situation, I would not want to be separated from the child, whatever happens. You can consult our own nannies how dangerous they consider the trip, and what precautions would have to be taken.”

“Even if it is deemed safe, my mother would not likely allow the child to travel,” Alphonse said. “But it would certainly make me easier to have her close. I presume your nursery is large enough to accommodate another tiny child and her nurse?”

“Right now, yes,” James said. “If my sister Jennifer visits, as she has announced she might, and brings all four of her children, then it is going to overflow. But her two eldest boys could be given an ordinary guest room, I suppose. Plenty of those still available.”

Alphonse contemplated the picture in silence. Four children coming to visit, three already in residence, and one on the way. It was certainly an abundance of blessings. “Your sister Jennifer married outside the aristocracy too,” he recalled. “A rich businessman, I believe?”

“Yes, they live in Bristol. I’m not overly fond of Bartholomew, her husband, but for Jenny’s sake I am polite. I don’t know why Mother allowed her to marry the man, though they seem to suit each other well enough.”

So it would seem, with four children, Alphonse reflected. Casually, he asked, “And how is your lovely younger sister, Lady Minerva? Where is she? ”

James had never been certain if Alphonse had been aware of Minerva’s schoolgirl longings for him, most likely long forgotten by now. “In town, enjoying the season under Mother’s eye, where else? The last time I went up, they were in hourly expectation of Molyneux coming up to scratch. Minerva has more admirers than we have hounds here at the hall, but he was the clear frontrunner, I was given to understand. Mother was ecstatic at the prospect of marrying Minerva off to a duke’s heir, as you might imagine.”

“But it is not yet official?”

“No, and now that you mention it, that is rather strange. From the way Mother talked it seemed all but settled, and that was two weeks ago.”

“Well, whatever happens, I wish your sister well. She is a delightful young woman and would make an admirable duchess.”

For a while they fished in silence, though with no more success than before. Eventually Alphonse said plaintively, “James, it does not look like the fish are inclined to bite today. Can it be that we are using the wrong bait?”

“Perhaps they just do not feel hungry. On the other hand,
I
am starting to hanker for my lunch. Shall we go back to the Hall?”

The two friends gathered their fishing paraphernalia and made their way back to the house, each in a very thoughtful mood. The shouting of young children, chasing across the lawn with a shaggy puppy, soon distracted them.

“Papa, look,” little Violet cried, jumping over the barking puppy in a most athletic fashion. “I can jump better than Roger and Verena!”

“Cannot,” Roger protested, and endeavoured to prove his own prowess, only to stumble on landing and smear grass stains all over his freshly laundered and starched clothes.

“That will be enough of that,” James said sternly, tugging a squirming child under each of his arms. “Where are Verena and your nannies?”

As he carried the twins indoors, Alphonse followed more slowly.

He would give anything, even his title and the family castle, if he could change places with his fortunate friend.