The Reluctant Duchess (6 page)

“You don’t strike me as the sort to worry about what is or isn’t prudent. If you would like to come, then come. I can assure you that I won’t let him near you, if you would prefer.”

He could see that she was wavering so he pressed his point home.

“I know that mother would enjoy your company. You have received her for months; why not let her return the favour, just this once.”

“Very well,” she said, shaking her head at her o
wn gullibility. “But don’t think that I can always be so easily persuaded.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Now I suppose I had better be getting back to the house.
I’ve hardly said two words to Mother since I got back.”

“Of course.” She got to her feet to see him out.

“Dinner is at eight, I shall send a carriage to collect you at quarter to the hour.”

“Thank you. I look forward to it.”

Annabelle opened the trunk to find that it actually contained a selection of gowns
, rather than cooking apparatus. She might have felt a little patronised, except that the Duchess had included a letter, explaining that she hadn’t thought to tell Annabelle to bring any evening gowns, which was awfully remiss of her and since they appeared to be a similar size, she had sent some of her own dresses for Annabelle to borrow, should she need to.

Annabelle could see th
is for the pretence that it was; she didn’t want her guest to feel out of place and since this was the Duchess’s ‘mistake’ she was simply correcting her oversight, sparing Annabelle any embarrassment.

Carol unpacked the five dresses, which thankfully hadn’t suffered for their confinement, and laid them out for Annabelle to choose from. For this evening, she chose a dark blue, off the shoulder dress with a matching short cloak, to keep her warm on the carriage ride to the house.

She sat patiently whilst Carol twisted and braided her hair into an intricate style, pinning or plaiting her curls into submission. Annabelle didn’t much like the look when it was finished, but she did look more like every other lady that she saw wandering around London.

The dress was exquisite
however, and it fit perfectly.

The carriage arrived on time and delivered her to the manor and as she stepped out, she felt a little like Cinderella must have, in
the story of The Little Glass Slipper. She hadn’t glimpsed the house on her way in but now she felt intimidated; it looked more like a castle than a house. There was a wide, turreted archway that they drove through, into a central courtyard, which was surrounded on all sides by the four wings of the house. Annabelle thought that there must be 300 or more rooms here! She had visited her share of wealthy homes when she was a child, but this was more a king’s palace, than a country or estate house.

Still, Annabelle wasn’t one to be easily intimidated, so she stiffened her spine and vowed to remember that even if she
was being paid for her services, she was a member of the aristocracy and had every right to be here.

Richard was waiting for her and she b
lushed, as his appreciative gaze roamed over her while he helped her step down from the carriage.

Dinner was a simple affair t
onight, with just three courses but that suited Annabelle fine, since she was used to only one course at home. The dining room was very grand and the table could easily sit ten, probably many more if its additional leaves were added and as she had been informed, this was just the family dining room. They had another that could seat up to 300!

Thankfully
they all sat at one end; Her Grace sat at the head of the table, with Richard and Annabelle on either side of her, giving the meal an informal feeling despite the grandeur they were surrounded by. After their talk earlier, Annabelle assumed that Richard chose not to sit at the head of the table because that had been his father’s chair, so although the arrangement was unusual, she didn’t bring it up.

Discussion was kept light
as Lavinia explained a little of the history of the house, such as how Queen Elizabeth had given it to her husband’s family in the early 1600s. It seemed as if everything in the house had a history too, from the paintings that adorned the walls, to the furniture they now sat upon. Annabelle found her stories interesting and oddly, it humanised this grand house. Knowing that this vase had been bought for Richard’s grandmother because she loved tulips, or that the rug by the hearth had been purchased by Great Uncle Peter on a trip to the Orient, made the place seem less forbidding and much more homely.

When
the dessert, apple pie, was served, Lavinia turned the conversation away from her home (which she was clearly very proud of) and onto the coffee house.

“I do hope you didn’t have trouble finding someone to cover for you,” Lavinia began.

“Oh, no. My household cook volunteered to do the cooking at the coffee house, and the other servants offered to cover her workload.”

“Offered? They must be very loyal
to you.”

“They are,” Annabelle smiled.
“I could offer them no guarantees when we left but they still came with me.”

“Then hold on
to them. Anyone can buy a worker but true loyalty is hard to find.”

They retired to the drawing r
oom after the meal was finished, and seated themselves on a cluster of chairs and sofas by the fire. The room seemed to be arranged into many of these clusters, presumably so that dinner guests could sit in smaller groups following their meal. In the corner of the room sat another pianoforte, which Annabelle eyed a little enviously.

“I understand that Richard has
also asked you to join us on Sunday,” Lavinia said as she accepted a glass of wine from her butler.

“Actually I asked her to share the whole weekend with us
, but she insists that she has to work on the desserts.”

“And I do.” Annabelle sounded a little insulted that he apparently didn’t believe her.

“I do hope that you will reconsider,” Lavinia said, “should you find yourself finishing early; I shall look forward to your company on Sunday.”

“Thank you.” Annabelle blushed
, and was seriously considering just returning to London when she was finished and skipping the gathering altogether. If Her Grace hadn’t been so nice, she might have done so but she couldn’t be rude to this woman, not after she had been so hospitable.

“I hope you don’t mind if I stop in to see how you are getting on tomorrow?”

“Of course not.” Annabelle assured her. “I look forward to it.”

The evening broke up soon afterwards as Annabelle insisted that she needed an early start in the morning. Rich
ard offered to accompany her home but she wouldn’t hear of it, more for fear that she might invite him inside, rather than fearing what he might do. He accepted her decision without argument but she could see that he was disappointed.

As it happened, Annabelle didn’t rise very early the next day and had to be awoken by Carol. When she realised that the time was 10am, she was frantic for a moment.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I thought this
was
early.”

Annabelle let out a long breath.
Of course she was right, 10am was early among the upper classes, and most of them didn’t rise until noon. Richard didn’t strike her as a layabout though, neither did his mother. She wondered if he was awaking also at this moment, with sleep tousled hair. Did he wear a night shirt or-

She tore her thoughts away before they could derail her any further.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She should still have time to do what she needed; she just had to remain calm and not allow herself to become flustered.

An hour later she was in the kitchen, ready to start. Since she had no plans to leave the house today, she had worn a simple dress under her apron and was keeping her hair off her face with a kerchief
, rather than putting it up once dry.

She began with the most complex dish, the
three triangular, 10 layered tortes, with alternating slices of vanilla sponge and chocolate cake, with chocolate buttercream between each layer and caramel frosting. The baking trays were square, so Annabelle would have to cut it to shape once finished.

Once the cake mix
ture was made (using ground almonds in the vanilla slices and ground hazelnuts in the chocolate slices) the baking trays were placed in the oven. She then took the sponges from the oven and whilst they cooled, she prepared the chocolate butter cream.

She was just placing the third thin slice onto the cake
, when there came a knock at the kitchen door and Mary opened it to the Duchess. The kitchen maids looked terrified.

“Why don’t you two girls take my carriage back to the house and share lunch with the others servants. I’ll keep Miss Wyatt company.”

“But the washing up-” Sarah tried to say.

“Will still be here when you get back. No
w go, enjoy your lunch and do not hurry back.”

The maids hurried off, unwilling to contradict even such an odd order.

Annabelle had got to her feet, also surprised by her appearance.

“Oh, please carry on,” Lavinia
said as she placed a basket on the table. “Having you catering for the party reignited an old passion and I thought that I might give a chocolate cake a go.”

“You’ve baked before?” Annabelle asked as she sat down at the table.

Lavinia pulled a long sleeved apron out of the basket, much like Annabelle’s, and pulled it on over her clothes.

“I used to,”
Lavinia said as she unpacked the ingredients she would need. “It started when I was a child and wanted to bake a cake for my father. I didn’t get to do much of the baking, of course, but the cook let me ice it. It looked awful but my father loved it.” She sat down opposite Annabelle and began to make her cake mix. “That was it, until after I married. James was away on business for a few days but I was unwell, so I couldn’t accompany him. It was our first separation. The day after he left, I felt much better and began to miss him terribly. I wondered what I could do for him when he got back. Chocolate cake was always his favourite indulgence, so I thought that I would have the cook make one, but it didn’t seem a very loving gesture.

“Then I remembered making that cake for my father and how much he
had loved it. Cook taught me how to make it, although it took quite a few attempts until I got it right. The day he was due back, I made the whole thing from scratch. After that, it became something of a tradition whenever we were separated.”

“That's very sweet.”

“Yes,” Lavinia smiled sadly. “In the last years of his life though, he wasn’t able to journey very far, and I wasn’t inclined to leave his side, so it’s been a while.”

Annabelle wond
ered why she was baking one now; was it a farewell, or a celebration?

“
So how about you, my dear, how is your business doing?”

“Trade is good, I can’t complain.” She answered,
although she felt uncomfortable with the question. Trade was good but it wasn’t enough.

“And
how is your mother doing?”

Annabelle’s expression fell. “Not well. The good day are becoming fewer and fewer.”

Lavinia reached out and grasped her hand. “It’s not easy to see someone you care for descend into madness.”

“No,” Annabelle agreed. “She’s not the woman I remember anymore.”

“Nor was my father,” Lavinia confessed. “It became painful to see him in the end. He had been so vital for most of his life and suddenly, he was this raving madman that I could hardly recognise.”

Annabelle nodded her understanding.

“Just hold onto your memories,” Lavinia advised. “Don’t remember her as she is now, she wouldn’t want that.”

“No,” Annabelle agreed, “but it has been so long since this started,
that my memories of who she was are beginning to fade.”

“Is there no hope?”

“The doctor injects her with a dose of mercury salts each month, but even he said that we are just delaying the inevitable. Anyhow, enough of that, let’s move onto happier topics, shall we?”

“Well I’m not sure this qualifies as happier, but I did want to thank you for seeing me after my husband died. I know how busy you must be but you always found the time for a chat. I don’t know how much you know about my family, but those talks with you saved me from slipping back into the shy girl I used to be.”

“I find it hard to believe that you were ever shy, but you are most welcome. It was nothing.”

“It was something to me,” Lavinia assured her. “After his first brush with insanity, my father became very protective of us younger girls, sheltering us dreadfully. I don’t think he wanted us to marry because he didn’t want to lose us. If it hadn’t been for my husband, James, I would probably be a spinster now, like my sisters. He gave me the strength to stand up and tell my father that I wanted to marry.”

“He sounds like a wonderful man.”