Page 2 of Her Summer Duke

Chapter One

Fieldhurst House, Bradbury Crescent, Bath, June 1816

Lady Margaret Caulfield had wanted to spend the day enjoying the summer countryside, but instead, as a steady drizzle of unseasonable rain fell outside the window, she was sitting in her chamber’s window seat complaining to her maid, Lucy. The maid nodded politely, half hearing her mistress’ rants. Lucy was quite used to Lady Margaret becoming agitated about this or that. Lady Margaret tended to get herself into one difficulty after another and, in typical form for her, now the young woman found herself promised to one fine gentleman while madly in love with another. Quite a quandary of the heart.

Of course, a young woman could change her mind at any time about her engagement, although crying off would not do her reputation any good, whilst her intended, especially if he was somewhat older than her, was deeply bound by the agreement.

In this case, it was not a formal betrothal, but rather an agreement which had been in place for eight years now. An agreement which everyone expected to lead to marriage. Yet, Lucy wisely did not offer her mistress any advice, for surely, she would utter the wrong words and Lady Margaret would chastise her unmercifully. Lucy merely allowed Margaret’s long tirade to wash over her, until it eventually came to an end. Margaret’s head bobbed up. She asked about the weather.

“Lucy, when will this rain come to a standstill? I truly wanted to go to Bathampton Down for a picnic today. The countryside is so lovely and would lift my spirits, but now, here I am.”

“Yes, there you are, still attired only in your night rail and wrap. If I may say so, would not it be wise to dress now, Lady Margaret? It is almost ten and breakfast will be served. I know that you would not want to keep Lady Mantrell waiting on you.”

Margaret eyed the gown which was lying atop the four-poster bed. It was lovely, with short sleeves and the most frivolous ruffle down the middle of the front. Next to it on the bed, Lucy had put light corset of the type that was called a divorce. Just recently Margaret had begun to wear one.

The divorce separated her breasts and was quite uncomfortable since the central part of it was made of steel, enclosed in rather inadequate padding, which gave it very little appeal to her, no matter how fashionable it made her appear. Lucy had insisted that Margaret should wear it, since it parted her breasts quite effectively and made her gowns fit better. Margaret had not the least interest in wearing it, even if it made her look more fashionable.

Margaret lifted her nose into the air and sniffed.

“I do not want to wear that thing today.”

“But Lady Margaret…”

“I shall not. That is that. I do not know why I even bother to put on any attire at all. If I cannot go out into the countryside and I must stay within the confines of Bradbury Crescent, it is hardly going to be a day of enjoyment and there is no need to adorn myself as if I was going to a Ball.”

“If I may remind you, Lady Margaret, you are of le beau monde. As such, you are expected to always dress well and be of refined manners.”

Lucy dreaded these trying mornings when Margaret insisted on an argument before she dressed, and Margaret knew it. Inside, she felt a little guilty for the difficulties which she put her maid through. At the same time, she found it almost funny – Lucy tried so hard to be serious, and to encourage her mistress to live up to society’s expectations. Margaret knew that she was rather a lost cause – she had always been too much inclined to run wild, given the chance. She tilted her head back and laughed softly, her ringlets of reddish-brown curls falling loosely down her back, since the curls had not yet been captured and tamed with combs and pins for the day.

“Oh, Lucy, do you not believe that it would be much better had I been born poor?” She swooned theatrically with the back of her hand braced against her forehead, “Oh, to be poor! It is so much more romantic - don’t you agree?”

Lucy pursed her lips together tightly, as if she was certain that no matter what answer came from her lips, it was bound not to be the correct one.

Margaret knew that Lucy remembered her days on the streets of London, before Margaret’s father, had found her, and been generous enough to offer her employment in his household. Being poor involved terrible hunger and freezing on the streets, hardly a romantic scenario, but Lucy held her tongue, as Margaret had expected.

“I know what you are thinking, Lucy. You are thinking ‘Oh, but she is engaged to Hugh Fortnum, Duke of Saltonbury, how can this young woman have thoughts of another kind of life, or another love?’ Well, let me be honest and bare my soul, Lucy. I do indeed entertain dreams and thoughts of another love. I am desperately, wantonly, miserably in love with the man I met at the Masquerade Ball just this Season past, in London. I know that his name is Ensign Chester, though I know nothing more – nothing beyond the fact that he has captured my heart.”

Lucy could hold her tongue no longer. She snorted, “Ensign? An Ensign? You would be marrying a man near a pauper. I dare say an Ensign would bring you only a few shillings a month! How would you live on that, when you are used to having so much more?”

Margaret leapt up from the window seat. “Oh, you are just worried because you would lose your position as my maid if I were unable to pay you. But would not it be so romantic? I would run off with Ensign Chester and we…”

“Enough. I will hear no more of this running-off talk. Let’s get you dressed and your hair attended to, and then you can go downstairs to breakfast quite presentably.”

“Must I always be so presentable? Breakfast is hardly the ‘Marriage Mart’! I am so very tired of it all, Lucy.” Margaret dramatically waved her hand in the air. “Is there no room in my world for true love?”

She sighed, choosing to be overly dramatic.

A sharp knock at the door sent Lucy scuttling to it. She opened it slowly, putting her face into the crack.

“Yes? Well, Lady Margaret is hardly available to accept a visitor this morning.”

Small delicate hands pushed open the door and Lady Phoebe Archbolt pushed Lucy aside.

“She will accept me, will you not, Margaret?”

Margaret ran to Lady Phoebe, as Lucy quickly shut the door behind her, and tightly hugged the young woman against her.

“Phoebe! Oh, you have come in the nick of time. I fear I was destined to die of ennui today. Have you broken your fast? I was just about to go down to breakfast?”