Charlotte Louise Dolan (18 page)

“Oh, to be sure,” Mr. Kelso agreed instantly. “We would not wish her Grace to learn of her new estate from a chance acquaintance. Very embarrassing for her, and indeed, it would make it appear as if we were inclined to consider her to be an upstart, and such is not at all the case. Gorbion, would you—”

“Aye, nothing easier. After I deliver this, I’ll just drop ‘round where she’s staying with her aunt and deliver the message personal like. Then perhaps I’ll have a visit belowstairs—let them know we want the news spread around London quick as a cat’s wink.”

Mr. Kelso stiffened. “No need to go that far. It will be sufficient if you simply tell them about the child and let the resulting gossip proceed in a normal fashion, which I am sure will be fast enough to forestall any possible duplicity on the part of the dowager duchess. I do not feel his Grace would approve if we allowed even a hint of our feelings for that woman upstairs to become common knowledge.”

* * * *

It seemed to Elizabeth as if all of London society were resolved to be present at the moment when the message came from Colthurst Hall, with each individual bound and determined to be the first to hear the news, which would, of course, be truly of major importance and, when all was said and done, simply another piece of gossip for the gristmill of society.

With every passing day, more “devoted friends” attempted to squeeze themselves into her aunt’s drawing room, and yesterday, after Prinny himself had dropped in for a full half-hour of ponderous conversation with her about the war in Spain and what an admirable officer her husband was, Elizabeth had even suggested privately to her aunt—in jest, of course—that if the numbers continued to escalate at such a rate, they would soon be forced to use the ballroom for afternoon tea.

Aunt Theo had not thought it amusing. To Elizabeth’s dismay, her aunt had seriously considered doing just that, and only a personal inspection of the ballroom and an estimate of how many days it would take to have it cleaned and the chandeliers polished and everything put into proper order had dissuaded her from that course.

She had, however, insisted on changing from the more cozy rose room to the blue salon, whose connecting doors could, if necessary, be thrown open to the Chinese room, thus allowing for an overflow.

Today, so far, everyone had managed to squeeze into the one room, but it was a close-run thing. Elizabeth counted one princess—foreign, but still indisputably a princess—two duchesses, a countess, several viscounts and viscountesses, a sprinkling of barons, the requisite number of young bucks— ostensibly paying court to Florie, but all with one eye trained on herself—a colorful assortment of dandies, and the usual gaggle of matchmaking mamas with simpering offspring in tow.

What the latter expected to gain was not clear to Elizabeth, since the new—if such were to be the case—duke was already married to her, but apparently it was enough for them to be thought beforehand with the world, and to number a duchess—if such were to be the case—among their “very dearest” friends.

The door opened to admit more visitors, although there was scarcely room for those already present to take a deep breath. This time, however, no one followed Hodson, her aunt’s butler, when he paced majestically into the salon. A hush fell over the room and, like magic, a path cleared before him. No one moved a muscle while he approached her aunt and bent and murmured something in her ear.

With great aplomb Aunt Theo calmly set down her teacup, rose to her feet and said with total dignity, “If you will excuse us, ladies and gentlemen, we shan’t be gone long. Elizabeth?”

The room echoed with the silence that followed these brief words. Feeling herself speared by the avid glances of the curious, Elizabeth rose to her feet and followed her aunt out of the room.

No sooner was the door shut behind them, than a babble arose in the room they had just quitted, and Aunt Theo’s composure deserted her. She clutched Elizabeth’s arm with one hand while the other was pressed against her heart.

“Oh, my
dear,
a messenger has come from Colthurst Hall, and he wishes to speak with you
privately,
but I simply could
not
wait inside with the others. I shall be in my room lying down, and you must come
instantly
and tell me what news he brings.
Pray
do not
dawdle,
as my nerves are already
quite
overset. I vow, if he says, “Tis a boy,’ I shall
never
recover.”

“But, Aunt, you have not told me where I might find this messenger.”

“Do not tease me, Elizabeth,” her aunt said sharply. “Simply follow Hodson. Now, do hurry, my dear, or I vow I shall positively die of suspense. There, already I am having palpitations. Oh, do someone ring for my maid to bring my vinaigrette.”

At her feeble wave of the hand, a footman instantly sprang to her side and held her arm solicitously while she tottered down the hall.

Elizabeth had never before been subject to the vapors, but on this occasion, for the first time in her life, she felt her nerves to be wholly disordered. Reminding herself that a St. John was equal to any situation, she followed the butler down the stairs to the study where the stranger waited, dressed in the blue-and-green livery of the Duke of Colthurst.

“Mrs. Darius St. John,” Hodson intoned quite formally.

There was silence, and she turned to see the butler still standing stiffly behind her, obviously hoping to be allowed to stay. Apparently even the servants were not immune from the general compulsion to be the absolutely first person able to impart the news to others.

“That will be all, Hodson,” she said, the humor of the situation allowing her to relax slightly.

“Very well, madam.” He stepped out of the room, pointedly opening the door even wider before he did so.

Elizabeth thought of shutting it herself, but was afraid that would merely serve to bring a reproof down on her head from Hodson for not staying within the bounds of propriety. Surely, as a married lady, she might be allowed to have a private discussion with a servant, even if he were male and a stranger to her.

The man tugged at his forelock, “Josiah Gorbion at your service, your Grace. As head groom at Colthurst Hall, I have been charged with bringing you the message that the dowager Duchess of Colthurst was yesterday delivered of a daughter.”

Before he was even done talking, she could hear the sound of rapidly receding footsteps in the hallway. Apparently propriety was not as strict a master as gossip. It was almost comical that in spite of the most valiant efforts on the part of the
haut ton,
the first people in London to hear the news would be the servants belowstairs.

“And is the child well?”

“Child?” The man looked bewildered.

“The baby. Is she healthy?”

Before her eyes the man turned beet-red. “I regret that I was not informed on that matter.”

Her astonishment must have shown on her face, since he continued after only the shortest of pauses. “But I shall request that the information be forwarded to your Grace as soon as may be.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth was not sure how to conclude the discussion. Not having her reticule with her, she was unprepared to give the man any remuneration for his trouble in bringing her the message.

He cleared his throat. “We was wondering, your Grace, if you plan to take up residence—in Colthurst Hall, that is to say.”

“I do not think ...” No, as much as she wished to escape from London, she could not be so presumptuous as to do such a thing by herself, unaccompanied by her husband. “I believe it would be best if I were to wait until the major returns from Spain. Oh, I must send him word.” Distractedly she moved toward the desk, but the groom interrupted.

“That has already been attended to, your Grace. Mr. Leverson, the late duke’s solicitor, is arranging for a messenger to inform his Grace. If there is nothing else ... ?”

At her shake of the head, he bowed and exited the room, discreetly closing the door behind him, leaving Elizabeth alone with her thoughts.

“Your Grace.” In spite of all her efforts to prepare herself mentally for either eventuality, it was still difficult to accept that this was not all a dream.

“His Grace.” Oh, my, would Darius be as angry about having to come home from Spain as Nicholas had said he would be? Since her brother had explained how adamantly opposed her husband was to quitting the army, it had occurred to her that Darius might simply choose to resign his title and let the next person in the line of succession take over, rather than to resign his commission.

That was assuming, of course, that the new duke was not already lying buried beneath Spanish soil. The last letter from him was dated three weeks previous, and even the newspapers were more than two weeks behind with information about what battles, if any, had been fought.

Elizabeth collapsed in a chair and buried her face in her hands. Fervently she repeated the prayers she already said daily, begging a merciful Providence to watch over her husband and shield him from all harm.

She was seated thus when her aunt erupted into the room. “Elizabeth, how
could
you keep me on tenterhooks so long? My maid—my
maid,
I tell you—has just informed me that you are the new Duchess of Colthurst. Oh, my
dear”
—at this point she pulled Elizabeth up out of the chair and clasped her to her heaving bosom—”I am so
happy
for you, I could
cry.
But come, the others are waiting.”

Elizabeth pulled herself out of her aunt’s arms. “You go. I fear I cannot face the barrage of questions and congratulations.”

“But, of course, you must lie down. I can manage very well without you. I shall simply say, ‘Her Grace, the Duchess of Colthurst, begs to be excused, as she has the headache.’ No, that doesn’t sound right. I don’t think duchesses are allowed to have headaches. That would be by far too common.”

“Just say I am a trifle fatigued and wish to lie down.”

“Yes, yes, I shall say your nerves are quite overset. I am sure duchesses are allowed to have nerves, wouldn’t you say? Oh, this is exciting. Thank you, my dear.”

With those words her aunt hurried out of the room, leaving Elizabeth to wonder just exactly what she was being thanked for, since she had been in no way responsible for the Duchess of Colthurst having a baby girl.

Making a mental note to inform her aunt later that it was indeed possible for a duchess to have a headache, since her head at this moment felt as if it were splitting in two, Elizabeth left the study and retreated with all speed to her room, which she was thankful to reach without being waylaid by any of the guests.

* * * *

Spirits were high among the English troops, and none were higher than those of Major St. John. With the victories at Badajoz and Ciudad Rodrigo behind them, the prospects were good for the summer campaign. Never, not since Napoleon had first invaded Spain, had the French armies been in such a bad field position, and the possibility existed that they could be driven completely out of Spain before winter weather curtailed the fighting.

It was not, however, a French victory that caused Major Darius St. John’s mood to evaporate one fine day in late spring. It was, in fact, a fellow British officer who accomplished that. Riding back into camp, Darius was greeted with a smirking grin and a “Good afternoon, yerrrrr Grrrrace.”

While the major, now to his disgust apparently the tenth Duke of Colthurst, rode between the rows of tents, the expression on his face should have warned his fellow officers that they were pushing him too far. But they all seemed oblivious to any danger, bowing until they were nearly bent double and calling out, “My lord duke,” and “your Grace,” with equal delight.

Only Munke looked as unhappy as Darius felt. Certainly the courier appeared to have no inkling of receiving anything but a heartfelt welcome when he handed over the impressive document from London with a hearty “Congratulations, your Grace.”

Darius broke the seal and inspected the contents impassively, then uttered the thought he had been toying with ever since he had learned of his cousin’s death.

“You may return to Mr. Leverson and inform him that I decline to accept the title. Let it go to my heir.”

“But ... but, your Grace, you can’t.”

“I cannot give up the title, the estates, the vast wealth? On the contrary, you will find I can give them up like that.” He snapped his fingers under the man’s nose—a childish gesture, but much milder than what his mood called for now.

“I beg pardon, your Grace, I don’t wish to contradict you. But you see, your Grace, the fact is, your Grace ... Mr. Leverson has instructed me ... That is to say, your Grace, Mr. Leverson anticipated that you might say something of this nature.”,

“Spit it out, man!”

Apparently the man was unused to having orders snapped out at him in such a way, for he backed up a step and occupied some few minutes with swallowing convulsively and clearing his throat before he managed to force out the fateful words, “You have n-no heir, your G-Grace.”

“That’s ridiculous. I am fully aware that I have as yet no son, but there must be someone to inherit—some distant cousin.”

Showing more confidence, the messenger proceeded to elaborate. “The matter was looked into quite thoroughly when the eighth duke succeeded to his honors, your Grace. The last heir presumptive, a fifth cousin, I believe, was a minor civil servant in Northumberland, who died at about that same time, leaving six daughters, and your uncle, that is to say, the eighth duke, had a most thorough search made. I am afraid the matter was quite clear-cut. Every line was successfully traced until it either died out or ended with females. I am afraid the family has always—”

“Yes, I know. It has always run to girls.” Darius made a silent sign to his batman, who made haste to lead the unfortunate messenger away with soothing words about dinner and a suitable beverage with which to wash it down.

Left alone at last, the new Duke of Colthurst threw himself down on his cot and contemplated his future. After the long years of defeats, it was particularly painful to leave his regiment now that the French were the ones being forced to retreat.