chapter 25

Arabella was dreading the visit from her parents-in-law. Meeting Gwyneth regularly was different: Gwyneth didn’t know the truth. But Margaret and Lawrence did and that was an entirely different matter. The servants had been working non-stop to ensure the house was spick and span for their arrival. Prudence was dressed in her best outfit from Harrods. They waited in the drawing room.

The butler was showing Margaret, Lawrence and Daphne up the stairs.

“It is good to see you again, Lord Lawrence and Lady Margaret,” said the butler.

“And you, Burchill? How have things been?” asked Margaret.

“Eventful, Lady Margaret, eventful,” Burchill said as he reached the top of the stairs.

“I can imagine,” said Lawrence as he inspected the new banisters.

“We have so many French staff employed here, I’m afraid there’s hardly anybody left for me to speak English to downstairs, my lady,” said Burchill.

“Poor Burchill!” said Margaret, as he opened the drawing-room door and ushered them in.

“Lord and Lady Armstrong and Lady Daphne,” announced Burchill.

“Charles!” said Margaret as she went to hug and kiss him.

“Mother!” said Charles, embracing her warmly. “And Father and Daphne!” He embraced them all.

Arabella stood up.

“Hello, Lady Armstrong,” said Arabella.

“Please, dear, call me Lady Margaret,” said Margaret, giving her a polite kiss but fixing her with a steely look.

“And this must be little Prudence!” said Lawrence as he picked her up.

They all swarmed around Prudence.

“She has a strong determined look about her,” said Margaret, realising Gwyneth was correct in describing the child as plain.

“She’s quite a good baby,” said Arabella. “She never cries or is contrary.”

“Well, that’s a blessing – at least,” said Margaret, eyeing Arabella.

“Goodness, I hardly recognise my house,” said Lawrence, looking around at the décor.

“Very ostentatious taste,” said Margaret.

Arabella felt herself go red. “I hope you don’t mind –”

“Of course they don’t mind!” said Charles quickly. He turned to his parents. “Your house is all modernised and it didn’t cost you a penny.”

“I imagine it cost you a very pretty penny,” said Margaret pointedly.

“And what’s it all for?” asked Lawrence. “A house that is only used for a couple of months for the season and will be unoccupied for the rest of the year.”

Arabella decided to change the topic quickly. “We’ve prepared lunch for you. You must be starving after the journey.” She went over and tugged the bell pull.

“Pheasant!” said Charles. “Roast pheasant for lunch.”

As Charles and Arabella followed his parents out to go downstairs to the dining room, she whispered to him, “Thank you for not claiming full responsibility for the refurbishment and for letting them think I was behind it!”

“Of course – I couldn’t take the credit for all this décor myself!”

Luckily Margaret was preoccupied with Daphne’s wedding dress and arrangements during their stay, which Arabella was glad of because her mother-in-law constantly got subtle digs in at her when they were together. It was obvious to Arabella that Margaret had no intention of letting her forget her past. Lawrence was kind but kept his distance from her, and seemed more preoccupied with his son’s lifestyle in London than anything else.

The night before they were to return to Ireland Margaret and Lawrence were speaking in their bedroom.

“They have mentioned nothing about returning home!” said Lawrence.

“They have no excuse any more. Prudence is older and nobody will doubt the facts of her birth . . . We’ll have to tackle them tomorrow before we leave.”

“Yes, I’ll speak to him and you can speak to her,” said Lawrence.

Margaret raised her eyes to heaven. “I suspect she’s somebody who doesn’t bend too easily. She’s far too stubborn for her own good . . . She never once asked about Harrison.”

“Do you know, I haven’t gone out to inspect the gardens even once since I arrived,” said Lawrence.

“Oh, they are being very well tended to,” Charles assured him. “We have an excellent gardener.”

“Is he French as well?” Margaret asked sarcastically.

“Come, Charles,” said Lawrence, standing up. “We’ll go and take a walk outside.”

Charles shrugged and followed his father out of the drawing room, leaving Margaret alone with Arabella.

Margaret smiled over at Arabella. “I’m glad we have this time to talk.”

“Yes?” said Arabella, shifting uncomfortably.

“I wanted to discuss your plans for the future.”

“I don’t think we have any, Lady Margaret.”

“That was what I was afraid of . . . you know, it’s wonderful to have a townhouse, but all this,” Margaret waved her hand in the air, “is only a townhouse to spend a few weeks in during the season. The same as the house in Dublin caters for the family for visits in the winter. But our real home is Armstrong House.”

“Yes.”

“So when will you be returning?”

“Well, Charles has no plans to return. He quite likes living here.”

“Then it is your duty to convince him otherwise.”

“I don’t think anyone can convince Charles to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

Margaret spoke slowly and patiently. “A wife’s role is to advise, guide and encourage her husband. That’s what you must do now, in order to return to Armstrong House and start training for your roles in life.”

“Our roles?”

“Arabella, you will be Lady Armstrong one day, and it takes a lot more than just sitting around in pretty frocks to assume that role. You need to return to Armstrong House where I can start directing and training you so that you are ready when the time comes.”

“I’m not Emily!”

“I’m not suggesting you are – and what do you mean by that?”

“I’m not a project for you to mould and create.”

“My dear, you will learn a lot from me,” Margaret spoke assuredly.

“And where would we live during this – training?”

“In Armstrong House, of course.”

“All under the same roof!” Arabella said.

“If you prefer you can live in Hunter’s Farm for now. Hunter’s Farm is a very pretty –”

“I know what Hunter’s Farm is!” snapped Arabella, thinking of her secret liaisons there with Charles before they were married.

“I must say I have huge concerns about the fact that you will one day be the matriarch of our family,” Margaret said. “You very nearly brought destruction, not only on yourself but the whole Armstrong and Tattinger families as well.”

“I’m trying to put all that behind me now.”

“Easier said than done. You destroyed poor Harrison.”

“I know what I did to Harrison, and accept full responsibility for it.”

“Good! Somebody needs to! You behaved despicably and without conscience or morals.”

“And from what you are saying you will obviously never let me forget it, will you? I will always be a fallen woman to you. A woman who had intercourse before marriage. Who got pregnant before marriage. A whore!”

“You are only reaffirming my opinion that you are not worthy to be Lady Armstrong.”

“And you are reaffirming my opinion that we cannot return to Ireland to live. Live under the same roof as you? And put up with your constant disapproval?”

“I can see there is no talking sense to you.”

“I will always be grateful to you and Lord Lawrence for your intervention at the time, but I need to get on with my own life now – with Charles, with Prudence and with the child I’m carrying.”

Margaret blinked a few times. “You’re pregnant again?”

“Yes . . . Nobody knows yet – I haven’t even told Charles.”

“I see!” Margaret was taken aback by the news.

Arabella’s face softened. “I want us to be friends, Margaret. But you don’t. You want to punish me for the past.”

The garden was a long straight one with a mews house at the end.

“You see, Father, nothing to worry about, the garden is in full bloom,” said Charles.

“Yes . . . of course, maintaining a small garden in London is one thing – maintaining an eight-thousand-acre estate in Ireland is another.”

“Which you do excellently.”

“But I need help running it, Charles.”

“You have James.”

“James isn’t my heir, you are. And . . . well . . . this arrangement of living in London was only ever temporary, as you know.”

“And suggested by you.”

Lawrence felt himself become annoyed. “Suggested to get you out of the ridiculous circumstances you and that girl in there found yourselves in.”

“And a wonderful suggestion it was too. It’s worked out perfectly.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So when are you coming back to Armstrong House now the situation had blown over?”

“I’m not coming back, Father. I enjoy life here too much.”

“But this is not your destiny! Your destiny is Armstrong House and the estate.”

“And destinies wait until we are ready for them.”

“You think you are very clever, don’t you? I find it all irresponsible.”

“You find everything irresponsible.”

“This is still my house you are living in here, even though you’ve done it up like a bordello and filled it with French waiters!”

“Would you like us to leave? We will if you would prefer. I’m independently wealthy now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re still my heir. But you might find, however large your wife’s dowry is, money quickly goes when you run through it like you do.”

“Well, you don’t need to concern yourself with that.” Charles looked up at the sky. “I think it’s going to rain – shall we go back inside?” He turned and walked back to the house.

Lawrence hurried after him, full of anger.

“Arabella has some news,” said Margaret as Charles and Lawrence walked into the room, Charles relaxed and smiling, Lawrence with a face like thunder.

“Yes?” asked Charles.

“I’m with child.”

“Oh!” said Charles and then he smiled happily, went to her and embraced her. “What wonderful news! This calls for a celebration.” He went over and tugged the bell pull.

The butler appeared promptly.

“Champagne, Burchill! The very best we have!”

“Of course, why not?” sighed Lawrence.

“Just think, Father, this may be a son. A future Lord Armstrong,” smiled Charles happily.

“At least this pregnancy won’t involve a conspiracy of silence!” said Margaret.

Later Margaret and Lawrence sat stony-faced in their carriage as Daphne waved goodbye to Charles and Arabella who were standing at the door.

“See you at my wedding in Armstrong House next year!” Daphne cried as the carriage pulled away.

Arabella and Charles went inside and stared at each other in silence for a while.

“Well,” said Charles, “at least that’s over.”

Then they both erupted into laughter and fell into each other’s arms.

chapter 26

The cards were being dealt with around the table at Tom Hamley’s house. Their card-playing circle had grown considerably, mainly due to Charles’ connections and his subtle recruiting through them. The butler opened the door and a tall broad man entered whom Charles immediately observed was dressed expensively. He was nearly dressed too well for a card game on a Friday night.

“Mr Hugh Fitzroy,” announced the butler before taking the man’s cape, gold-crested walking stick and top hat.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Hugh as he nodded to everyone at the table.

“Ah, Hugh, you managed to find us all right?” said Tom, getting up and shaking his hand.

“Yes, you gave my driver good instructions,” said Hugh.

“Good! Good!” said Tom and he proceeded to introduce him to each person at the table.

When it came to Charles’ turn, Hugh stared at him intently with dark, almost black eyes then nodded.

Charles nodded back politely.

Hugh took his seat and the cards continued to be dealt.

“Any word of David Chester?” asked Tom.

“I believe he has returned to wherever he is from,” said Charles.

“Who’s David Chester?” inquired Hugh.

“A young man who arrived from the country a while back with more money than sense . . . and has returned to the country with considerably less money and hopefully a lot more sense!” said Charles, causing everyone to laugh.

Hugh nodded knowingly. “Card-playing is for fools, unless you know what you’re doing.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” said Charles as he turned his cards over.

Charles continued to observe Hugh Fitzroy during the night. He guessed him to be a good but cautious player. The man seemed to have the trappings of wealth: gold cufflinks, gold cigarette case, plenty of money to bet with. But the man was obviously not of their class. He tried hard to disguise it but his manners were unpolished, his etiquette uninformed, his education not obvious. It was his accent that most intrigued Charles. Hugh clearly had a common accent that he was trying very hard to hide.

“Who is he and where on earth did you find him?” Charles asked Tom during the break as Tom refilled Charles’ wineglass.

“Hugh Fitzroy is a very, very wealthy man,” said Tom.

“But I’ve never heard of him,” said Charles.

“You wouldn’t have. He’s from somewhere down the East End.”

“The East End!”

“Yes. I don’t know much about him. I met him through an acquaintance of mine. He’s completely self-made seemingly.”

“And how did he make his money?” Charles was becoming more intrigued by the minute.

“Who knows? He doesn’t give much away.”

“I’m surprised you’re allowing him into our circle,” said Charles as he watched Hugh eat canapés clumsily.

“Why not? His money is as good as anyone’s, isn’t it?”

“Call a cab for me, will you?” Charles asked Tom’s butler, as they were all putting on their coats and hats to leave.

“Can I give anyone a lift? My driver is outside,” offered Hugh.

“I’m going to Regent’s Park, if that’s on your way?” said Charles.

Hugh put his hand out to indicate to Charles to go first. Charles walked down the steps from Tom’s house and found a large ornate carriage waiting for them.

“Go first to Regent’s Park,” instructed Hugh to the driver. He turned to Charles.

“I’m staying at Claridge’s. I have a suite of rooms there.”

“But Regent’s Park isn’t in your direction at all! I’m taking you out of your way,” said Charles.

“No matter,” said Hugh.

There was a heavy fog as the carriage drove through the London streets.

Charles found Hugh socially awkward and almost a little nervous as they chatted, but he suspected this man was no David Chester. He imagined him to be very tough.

“Tom said you were related to a duke?” Hugh said.

“That’s right – my sister is the Duchess of Battington.”

“And you’re the son of an earl?”

“That’s right,” Charles chuckled. “My father, the present Lord Armstrong, wants me to go back to Ireland and assume my position, but I’m having too much fun here!”

Hugh nodded as the carriage pulled up outside Charles’ house.

“Well, thank you for the lift,” said Charles. “Er, I’m having a card game here at my house next Friday evening, starting at nine, if you’re free. Tom Hamley and the rest from this evening will be here.”

Hugh seemed surprised at the invitation and just nodded. “See you then. Drive on!” he shouted at the driver.

“I’m having some friends over tonight. We’ll be down in the dining room and so won’t be bothering you,” Charles informed Arabella the following Friday in the drawing room.

“Shall I have Burchill prepare food?” asked Arabella.

“No need. I’ll have something light sent up from the kitchen when they are here.”

Later that evening Arabella watched from the balcony of the drawing room upstairs as Charles’ friends arrived one by one. She was struck by an oversized carriage that pulled up. Unlike the others, who arrived in cabs, this was obviously a private carriage as the man got out and the driver made no move to leave.

As the man made his way up to the front of the house he looked up, inspecting it. He stopped still when he saw Arabella standing there looking down at him from the balcony and stared at her. Arabella got an uncomfortable feeling and turned and went back inside.

As the hours of the evening passed by Arabella sat in the drawing room reading. She became curious as there wasn’t a sound coming from downstairs. Finally she decided to go and investigate. She went downstairs and over to the dining room. Opening the door, she walked in. She found the group of men sitting around the table playing cards.

Seeing her, the men all stood up and bowed.

“Good evening, Tom . . . gentlemen . . .” she nodded at them and gestured that they should sit down.

She saw the man from the carriage at the end of the table, again staring at her and making her feel uncomfortable.

“Can we help you, dear?” asked Charles who hadn’t bothered to stand up. He was looking none too pleased at her entrance.

“Charles, could I speak to you for a moment?” she asked.

“Is it necessary?” he asked, annoyed.

“Yes, it is!”

He mumbled under his breath, put down his cards and followed her out, closing the door behind him. She walked across the hall to the study. They both entered and he closed the door.

“Well?” he asked impatiently.

“What do you mean by having a game of baccarat in my house?” she demanded.

“I think you’ll find it’s my father’s house.”

“In my home then in that case?”

“Why shouldn’t I have a game of cards here? I’m always having games in the others’ houses.”

“I don’t care what you have in the other houses, but I will not have you play illicit games here,” she insisted.

“Whyever not?”

“Because I don’t want to be associated with something like that! Gwyneth would never have a game of cards in her house or any other of the ladies we know.”

“I think we are already aware from your past that you are not like the other ladies we know,” he said mockingly.

His words were like a slap across the face. “No, you’re right. I’m not like the other simpering wives we know. I think we’re both aware of what I’m capable of.”

“Arabella –”

“You brought me to the edge of destruction once before and I will never allow you to risk mine or my children’s futures again.”

She marched across the room to the door.

He grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

“Let go of my hand!” she snapped.

He held her tightly. “Answer my question.”

“I’m going across that hall and I’m going to tell those men to get out. And I won’t be telling them politely.”

She shook him free and continued to the door and across the hall.

“Arabella!” he hissed. “All right! I’ll tell them to go.”

She turned and faced him. “You’ve got five minutes to get them out of here.”

She walked up the stairs. He looked after her angrily before turning and walking into the dining room.

“Sorry about this, chaps – I’m afraid we’re going to have to call it a night.”

chapter 27

The next day Arabella and Charles were sitting in an uneasy silence in the drawing room when Burchill came in carrying a huge hamper.

“What’s that, Burchill?” questioned Charles.

“A hamper from Harrods delivered for Mrs Armstrong,” said Burchill as he struggled to put it down on the floor. “There’s a note attached.”

He handed the note to Arabella and left.

She opened the note.

“Well?” asked Charles.

“It’s from a Hugh Fitzroy.” She struggled to read the almost illegible scrawl. “He says . . . ‘Sorry for the embarrassment last night’.”

“He must mean your hissy fit at the card game,” said Charles as he opened the hamper. “But this is crammed with the very best food.”

“Who is he?” asked Arabella, knowing he was the man who had been staring at her.

“I met him through Tom Hamley. Filthy rich apparently – bit rough around the edges though,” said Charles as he unscrewed a jar of caviar and sniffed at it. “Maybe you should cause a scene more often, if it gets these results!”

Arabella looked at the hamper, feeling uneasy.

Hugh Fitzroy became a regular with Charles’ card-gaming set. Charles found him never outspoken or loud. He was polite to everyone, but could be rough to staff. He was a strange mixture of confidence and insecurity. He was always keen to display the trappings of his wealth to everyone present. He seemed to focus in on Charles a lot and listened intently as he spoke about people he knew or parties he was attending. Soon Charles began to realise that if he discussed Armstrong House and his family or the Duke of Battington, Fitzroy seemed to become awestruck.

“You have to realise he’s never met aristocracy before,” said Tom as they discussed him one evening.

“Well, money opens doors, no matter how uncouth he is,” Charles said.

Charles had an appointment with the bank manager, Mr Jones, and set off on foot to the meeting. He walked down Regent Street and through Piccadilly Circus until he reached the bank.

“I’m afraid money has been pouring out of your account,” warned the bank manager, handing over the figures.

Charles stared at the amount left in his account in shock.

“But there must be some mistake! The money deposited from my father-in-law on my wedding was ten times this amount.”

“There’s no mistake, I’m afraid to say . . . The bank did write to you many times to update you on your ever-dwindling account.”

“But . . . but . . .” Charles couldn’t think what to say. He never read post from banks.

Mr Jones observed Charles. The young aristocrat’s lavish lifestyle had become notorious around London.

“I should think there is no need to worry,” he said. “With an estate as large as your father’s which one day will be yours . . . several thousand acres, isn’t it?”

“Eight thousand,” corrected Charles, still feeling dazed.

“If I could suggest you dramatically cut back on your expenditure. I believe you employ a French chef? Myself and my wife have just employed a girl up from Sussex who is extremely reasonable and quite adequate – she can boil a perfect egg.”

“I imagine you and your wife do not have the same calibre of guests that we do,” snapped Charles unpleasantly. “You can keep your Sussex girl – I’m sure she is adequate – for Wimbledon, or wherever you live!”

Mr Jones sat back, surprised, and his voice became colder. “In that case may I suggest you go and speak to Lord Armstrong? Hopefully he can provide funds for the life you have become accustomed to.”

Charles was confused and angry over the next few weeks as he tried to understand how all the money had gone so quickly. He knew he had been on a losing streak with the cards for a long spell, and he had lost huge amounts. But that was temporary and his luck would change soon.

Arabella walked into the study, holding a menu.

“Charles, can you take a look at the menu Monsieur Huppert has prepared for the dinner party next Saturday? He’s suggesting quail and doing the most extraordinary thing with it involving olives. But Lady Hollander is coming, and I think it won’t sit well with her – you know she’s very fussy –”

“Oh for goodness sake, Arabella! Can’t you see I’m too busy to be bothered with those trivial things!” he snapped.

She looked down at the bare desk in front of him. “Doing what exactly?”

“I’ve far too many things to organise to be discussing Lady Hollander’s faddy tummy!”

“What – like organising your next card game?” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

“Just leave me alone, and let Huppert sort out the bloody menu – he gets paid enough!”

“Right, I will! I’ll tell Monsieur Huppert to go ahead with the quails and bugger Lady Hollander’s stomach. You know, I don’t understand what’s been wrong with you lately – you’re in foul form.”

“I have a lot of responsibility, you know,” he defended himself.

“Not according to your father – he thinks you’re very good at avoiding it,” she said, before turning and leaving him.

He stood up from behind the desk, went to the window and looked out at the long garden.

“All those assets that will one day be mine, and here I am worried about money!” he said to himself. “All those assets . . .”

Charles marched into the bank manager’s office.

“Good news, Mr Jones, good news!”

Jones looked up, surprised. “It’s always good to hear good news. What is it exactly?”

“I have corresponded with my father and he’s agreed to raise a mortgage on his house at Hanover Terrace. The money is to be paid into my account.”

“Right!” Jones was surprised.

“It looks like we won’t have to be relying on Sussex girls and boiled eggs just yet. Prepare the mortgage documents at your earliest convenience, Mr Jones, and I will have them signed by my father when I return for my sister Lady Daphne’s wedding in Ireland. Good day to you, Mr Jones!” Charles turned and strode happily out of the office.

chapter 28

Charles was in the study the morning they were due to depart to Ireland for Daphne’s wedding. He was sitting at his desk and was reading through the new mortgage documentation. All seemed in order. He only needed his father’s signature to release the funds into his account.

Arabella came into the study.

“Charles, the cab has arrived to take us to the train station,” she said.

Charles quickly tidied the paperwork away into a small leather case and locked it.

“Just coming now,” he said, standing up.

Arabella was heavily pregnant at this stage, with only a little over a month to go, and wasn’t looking forward to the long trip to Liverpool, the sea journey across the Irish Sea and another long journey from Dublin across Ireland to Armstrong House.

At least she wouldn’t be confronted by Harrison. It had been confirmed by Margaret prior to Charles and Arabella even being invited to the wedding that Harrison would not be returning to Ireland for the event.

They quickly walked out of the house.

“Have a good journey,” said Burchill as he and the driver put their trunk on to the back of the carriage.

“Thank you, Burchill,” said Arabella as she got into the carriage with Charles’ help.

“Au revoir! Au revoir!” sang Isabelle as she handed Prudence into the carriage. Arabella had agreed that Isabelle should take the opportunity to visit her family while they were away in Ireland.

Burchill sighed as he waved the carriage off.

“Monsieur Burchill! You look relieved they go,” Isabelle chastised him as she saw him rest against one of the Roman pillars in front of the house and light himself a cigarette.

“I’m delighted that circus has left town for a couple of weeks,” said Burchill cheerily. “You have to remember this house was only opened for a couple of months every summer before them two arrived. It was nice and relaxing around here before it became their party house with their posh awful nosh . . . first thing I’m going to do now is order me in some good old-fashioned Irish stew!”

“Irish stew!” Isabelle looked horrified. “Monsieur Huppert will not allow!”

“Monsieur Huppert can stick it up his Versailles, for all I care!”

Arabella observed Charles’ smiling face as he played with Prudence in the carriage.

“Well, at least you seem in better form recently,” commented Arabella.

“I am, dear, I am!”

“It must be the thought of seeing all your family again at the wedding,” she mused.

“It must be, it must be!”

“All your family except Harrison,” she said.

“Nobody is keeping Harrison away. It’s his choice if he doesn’t want to attend his own sister’s wedding. Selfish, if you ask me.”

She stared at him, trying to figure him out. “It’s quite obvious why he isn’t coming – he doesn’t want to see either of us! Or put the rest of the family in a compromising position. We were only invited after Harrison declined.”

“Nonsense! Do you know, you can be quite deluded at times. As if I wouldn’t be invited to Daphne’s wedding!”

“I wouldn’t test their loyalties, Charles, not after everything that’s happened,” she said, turning and looking out the window.

When their carriage pulled up outside Armstrong House, Charles helped Arabella descend and she looked up at the building with trepidation.

The front door swung open and Emily came rushing out, shouting “Charles!” as she jumped into his arms and hugged him.

“Well, this is a welcome home!” said Charles.

Emily turned to Arabella who was holding Prudence and smiled at her. “Hello again, Arabella.”

“You’re looking very well, Emily. Say hello to your Aunt Emily, Prudence.” Arabella held the toddler out to her.

Emily looked at the child with disinterest.

“What do you think of your niece?” asked Charles.

“There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead – When she was good she was very good indeed, but when she was bad she was horrid!” sang Emily, before holding on to Charles’ arm tightly and leading him up the steps to the front door. “I’m so glad you’re here, Charles. You can rescue me from all this wedding talk around here!”

Arabella raised her eyes to heaven as she followed them into the house.

Arabella found Margaret courteous but inclined to keep her distance, her smile not carrying to her eyes. Lawrence was as pleasant as ever. Emily fawned over Charles, and Daphne was too wrapped up in her wedding arrangements to be concerned about anything else.

That night Charles and Arabella joined the family in the dining room.

“Gwyneth hasn’t arrived yet?” asked Arabella.

“No, she and His Grace are coming the day before the wedding, along with the other guests,” said Margaret.

“The Foxes aren’t coming,” said Daphne.

“Why not?” asked Charles.

“The Land War!” snapped Lawrence. “Have you forgotten about that while busy being a socialite in London?”

“Of course not, Father. I just wonder why it’s stopping the Foxes from coming.” He looked at his father challengingly.

“Because their estate has become embroiled in it,” said Margaret.

“They are being boycotted, you see,” said Emily. “They had to bring in workers from England to save the harvest.”

“And all their house staff walked out. Mrs Foxe has had to send for a cook from England through an agency.”

“How terrible!” said Arabella. “Is there nothing you can do to help?”

“Of course there isn’t!” snapped Margaret impatiently. “Or else we’d get dragged into the cursed war ourselves! Your gilded life in London seems to have made you forget the harsh realities of the politics of your home country.”

Lawrence sat back and drank from his glass of wine. “The Foxes are probably our oldest friends in the county, but they know they can’t expect us to come to their assistance. If I sent some men over to help with their work, we would end up being boycotted too.”

Arabella nodded sympathetically. With all the grandeur, power and lavish socialising at Armstrong House she knew it wouldn’t take much to have hatred spill out against them and put them under siege.

“They felt it would be unfair on us if they came to the wedding as we would be seen to be siding with them, and so they have diplomatically chosen to stay away.”

Margaret fixed Arabella with a steely look as she thought of Harrison in New York. “And they are not the only ones not attending out of diplomacy.”

Charles waited until he was sure everyone was asleep in the house before he got out of bed and slipped on his dressing gown. He then went to the wardrobe and took out the leather case hidden there. He left the room, crept along the corridor and down the stairs to the library.

The room was still dimly lit from the embers in the fireplace and he crossed over to the oil lamp and lit it. Putting the case on Lawrence’s desk, he crossed over to a shelf. He picked a book on trout fishing and placed it open on the desk. If anyone came upon him he would say he couldn’t sleep and had come downstairs for a book to read. Then he took a file down from another shelf and brought it to the desk where he opened it. He studied Lawrence’s signature on some documents inside. Taking a sheaf of paper from his case he copied the signature again and again. Then steadying his nerve he took the documents for the new mortgage he had arranged for the house in London out of the case and forged Lawrence’s signature on them. Finally he closely compared the forged signatures with the originals and was confident there was no telling them apart. He then put back the file, put out the oil lamp, took the case and returned upstairs to bed.

chapter 29

Returning to Armstrong House brought back all the memories to Arabella: coming there with Harrison when they were in love, meeting Charles there, the beginning of their affair and on to the horrible confrontation that resulted in their marriage. Over the next few days she took a back seat and watched while the Armstrongs did what they did best – entertaining on a grand scale and organising a big social occasion to perfection.

On the day of Daphne’s wedding they made their way down to the church in the estate village which was crammed with wedding guests. As she watched Daphne and her bridegroom exchange their wedding vows, she couldn’t help but marvel at how opposite this occasion was to her own meagre rushed and absent-of-ceremony marriage. But as she looked at Charles sitting beside her in the pew and contemplated her life, she was happy with her present state, even though it had been a rough journey to get there.

The rest of the day passed in a whirl of excellent food, amusing speeches and dances back at Armstrong House.

Margaret observed Daphne dancing with her bridegroom in the ballroom and turned to Gwyneth who was seated beside her.

“Well, that’s two daughters successfully launched and happily married,” said Margaret.

“Yes, they make a lovely couple,” said Gwyneth.

“Daphne is such a social butterfly she accepted every invitation going and had the good sense to meet and fall in love with a brewery heir without ever even needing to be presented and do the season in London.”

“It’s seems a love match all right.”

Margaret sighed. “There will be no such luck with Emily. She accepts no invitations that come her way. I sometimes despair of her. She definitely needs to be presented in London for her to find a suitable husband. I had hoped to take her to London next year.”

“Well, why don’t you? Her education seems complete to me.”

“She’s flatly refusing to go! Silly girl.” Margaret looked over at Arabella who was chatting amicably with guests. “If we do go, I don’t fancy living at Hanover Terrace for the summer months with Arabella and Charles and their French cook either.”

“It’s your house – you shouldn’t feel uncomfortable staying there,” objected Gwyneth, concerned.

“Well, I do! Arabella was quite rude to me on our last visit there.”

“Arabella – rude? I can’t see that.” Gwyneth was surprised.

“Well, more outspoken.”

“You didn’t provoke her, did you?” Gwyneth eyed her mother knowingly.

“I just tried to talk to her about the future . . . of course it’s very hard to discuss the future with someone when all you can think about is her past.”

Gwyneth heaved a sigh. “Mama, I meet Arabella regularly in Regent’s Park when we are walking the babies, and she’s lovely.”

“She’s good at putting on acts all right . . . I can never forgive her for what she did to this family, what she did to Harrison.”

“It was all very unfortunate, but the past is the past. She fell in love with Charles and unfortunately that meant breaking Harrison’s heart.”

“If that was all she did!” snapped Margaret bitterly.

“What do you mean?” asked Gwyneth.

Margaret had an overwhelming desire to tell her trusted and most adored daughter about the affair and the pregnancy but knew she could never tell the truth, even to Gwyneth. “Just poor Harrison!”

“Any word from him?”

“No. We write to him all the time, but he hardly ever responds. We got a card at Christmas. And then he wrote to Daphne saying he was unable to attend the wedding. It’s like he switched off from us all after what happened. I wanted myself and your father to go to New York to see him.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“We can’t with all the trouble now at the Foxes. Your father won’t leave in case the mess spills over to our estate.”

Emily linked her arm through Charles’ as they walked through the gardens.

“I miss this – the walks and horse rides we had together,” she said. “I wish you’d move back.”

“Well, you’ll be married yourself soon with your own house and family, if Mother has anything to do with it.”

Emily pulled a face. “Mama can force me to do many things, from German grammar to needlework, but she can’t force me to say ‘I do’ before an altar.”

“Don’t destroy your own life in trying to be disobedient to Mama.”

“Destroy my life? I can’t think of any better way to destroy my life than getting married to some fool I don’t love and churning out child after child.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Do you know Felicity Keane? She got married three years ago and has had three children in that space of time! It’s an awful life! Stuck in some marriage and having baby after baby like a prize heifer. And that’s what Mother has tried to make me into.”

“What’s the alternative, Emily? Stay here a spinster minding Mother and Father into their old age?”

Emily sighed loudly. “I just want to be free.”

“Unfortunately freedom costs a lot. We’d better be getting back to the wedding,” he said, turning around and heading back to the house.

Arabella had not being feeling well all afternoon and as the evening progressed she began feeling worse. She turned to Charles at the table.

“I think I might go upstairs to lie down,” she said.

“If you must,” said Charles, feeling anxious. He had signed many cheques before leaving London and was anxious to get back as soon as possible to execute the mortgage and have the money put into his account for fear they would bounce.

“I won’t drag you away from the fun,” said Arabella sarcastically, standing up, irritated that Charles hadn’t offered to walk her up.

She set off walking across the dance floor, but suddenly the room started to swirl and she blacked out.

Charles waited anxiously with his parents and Emily in the drawing room while the doctor tended to Arabella upstairs.

“You know, I always suspected she may have a weak disposition. Do you remember that sea-sickness nonsense she claimed to have?” said Margaret. “I only hope the baby is all right.”

“It was probably the journey over was too tiring for her,” suggested Emily.

“I’m sure it’s something or nothing,” Charles said, not looking too worried.

The doctor came in.

“Well?” asked Charles.

“She needs rest, and plenty of it until the baby is born. I’ve advised her not to come down for the rest of the day and to try to get some sleep.”

“See – as I said it’s something or nothing,” dismissed Charles.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that either. It’s important she gets rest and stays off her feet as much as possible,” contradicted the doctor.

“And I’ll make sure she does just that when we get back to London,” Charles assured him.

“Oh, there can be no returning to London until after the baby is born, I’m afraid,” said the doctor.

“What?” shouted Charles.

“Oh yes, I’m afraid that’s out of the question. She’ll have to stay here – she can’t risk that journey back to London.”

Emily was delighted at the prospect of Charles staying and volunteered, “I’ll help mind her.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” snapped Margaret.

“But, doctor, it’s paramount I get back to London as quickly as possible!” said Charles.

“You’ll have to delay all such plans. Travel at this point would endanger both your wife and the baby.” The doctor turned to go. “Enjoy the rest of the wedding day.”

Charles stared into the fire in a mixture of fury and annoyance.

Margaret leaned over to Lawrence and whispered, “That girl can’t seem to have a pregnancy without attaching the greatest drama possible to it.”

Charles went up to check on Arabella and found her sleeping in their bed. He then returned to the wedding where he caught up with old friends. The doctor’s statement that Arabella was unfit to travel worried him greatly. He simply could not be stuck in Armstrong House for another month. He had to get back and get that money into his bank account before those cheques started to bounce. Everything from the staff wages to the money he owed to his gambling circle would bounce and how would he explain it all? What would Arabella say if she found out? He needed to get back as soon as possible.

Charles was the last to go up to bed that night. As the staff finished clearing up and went themselves exhausted to bed, he walked out to the forecourt and had a cigar while he contemplated what he must do. Then he went up to their room.

To his surprise he found Arabella awake and sitting in her dressing gown beside a roaring fire.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked as he sat on the bed.

“Still very weak. I’m mortified that I collapsed in front of everyone like that.”

“Not half as mortified as I was. If you were feeling so unwell, why didn’t you go up sooner?” he said with irritation.

She looked at him angrily. “Your concern is touching, Charles! If you had bothered to get up and walk me out I might not have collapsed so spectacularly!”

“Had I done that you would have brought me down with you!” he said.

“I don’t think you’ll ever need any assistance to bring yourself down,” she sneered.

Both sat fuming for a while and then Charles said, “The doctor says you can’t travel.”

“I know. I’m annoyed with being trapped here as much as I’m sure you are.”

“Felicity Keane was out on a hunt the week before she gave birth, my mother was saying.”

“Well, you should have gone and got her pregnant then, shouldn’t you?”

Arabella sat back and closed her eyes.

“Well . . . you should be quite all right here with Mother and Father, and Emily has said she’ll wait on you hand and foot.”

Arabella’s eyes sprang open. “And where do you suggest you’ll be?”

“I have to return to London – pressing business which I can’t delay.”

“Return to London!” Arabella’s voice rose.

“There’s nothing I can do. I’ll be back before the birth, naturally.”

Arabella stood up and walked towards him. “Do you honestly think you are going to walk out on me for a second time while I’m pregnant?”

“I’m not walking out on you – don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Forget it, Charles! You’re going nowhere!”

“I have to!”

“And leave me here with your horrid mother and . . . and . . .” Arabella rarely cried, and certainly never in front of others, but the tears started to well up in her eyes. But as she glared at Charles she knew she must never let him see her cry and she willed the tears to go away.

“I’m going and that’s an end to it!” His voice was raised now.

“You are not going – and that’s an end to it!” she screamed at the top of her voice.

He looked at her in horror and shouted back, “You’re going to wake the bloody house up!”

“I don’t care – you selfish bastard!”

They stared at each other angrily.

“You don’t understand, I’ve made no arrangements to be away, the staff wages, the . . .” He stopped speaking, aware he could not let her know the predicament they were in financially. He couldn’t let anyone know.

“You can post them cheques. I take it you brought your cheque book? You take it bloody everywhere with you.”

“I forgot it!”

“Well, tough! Write to Jones in the bank to sort it – but you are not walking out on me. Not when I’m about to give birth to your heir! Not now – not ever!”

She went and stood by the window, staring out at the lake.

He watched her for a long time.

He put his hands up in the air. “In that case – I won’t go. I’ll stay and hold your hand and mop your brow and do everything else –”

“That a good husband should do!” she spat.

He walked towards the door.

“Where are you going now?” she asked.

“Downstairs for a glass of claret. If I’m allowed to do that?” He walked out and slammed the door behind him.

Margaret and Lawrence were sitting up in bed, listening intently. Arabella’s screaming had awoken them.

“He’s gone downstairs,” said Lawrence hearing Charles trot down the steps outside.

“Maybe I should go down and see if he’s all right?” said Margaret, getting out of the bed.

“No, you don’t!” said Lawrence, grabbing her and pulling her back. “Stay out of it.”

“How can I stay out of it when they nearly took the roof off with their screaming? And all the wedding guests here to hear!”

“It’s none of our business. Charles and Arabella have both said they don’t want our interference.”

“Well, there’s something wrong with that marriage, I can tell you that!” said Margaret as she lay back on her pillows. “And why wouldn’t there be when it was built on the shakiest foundations known to man. And I know the problem is her!”

chapter 30

Arabella and Charles kept a cool distance from each other after their row.

She took the doctor’s advice and rested a lot, only joining the family for dinner in the evenings if she felt able for it. It was obvious from the embarrassed looks some people gave her the next day that they had heard their argument. She was angry with Charles that he would have abandoned her without a second thought. Angry but not surprised. Because she knew her husband. She never kidded herself that he was really in love with her. Oh, he was proud of her and enjoyed her and did love her in his own way. But she feared Charles could never really love anybody, except perhaps himself and the good life. He was very good at convincing others that they were the centre of his world, and maybe in that passing moment when he was being entertained by them, they were. But when push came to shove, Charles suited himself, he always had and he always would.

After a month at Armstrong House Arabella, went into labour and in the early hours gave birth to their son.

Charles looked delighted as he held him.

“Well, it’s good to see you with a smile on your face at last,” said Arabella cynically.

“I’m getting to choose the name this time. I’m calling him Pierce. Lord Pierce Armstrong, it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” said Charles.

She nodded and smiled. “Yes, it does.”

He bent down and kissed her.

The family gathered around later on in the day.

“It’s fitting that my future heir was born in Armstrong House,” said Lawrence, delighted that the succession was secured.

“He is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen,” said Margaret, amazed as she had half expected the child to be as plain as Prudence. But this child had a combination of the best of both his parents’ looks.

chapter 31

When they arrived back to London, Charles was confronted with an army of disgruntled French staff and even a sour-looking Burchill.

“It is not right to disappear off to Ireland and leave us with no funds to run the house or pay wages,” objected an irate Monsieur Huppert in the study where Charles was going through a pile of letters, all of which were complaining about cheques that had bounced.

“Well, I couldn’t help it if my wife took ill,” said Charles, only half listening as he opened another demand letter.

“I’ve worked in the best hotels in Europe and never have I been left in such awkward circumstances as these past few weeks.”

Charles suddenly looked up and glared at him. “You’re forgetting your place, Huppert.”

“But –”

“I don’t want to hear another word – get out of my sight!” Charles glared angrily.

Huppert was stunned at the outburst from the usually cheerful Charles.

“I’m sorry if I have offended,” said the chef as he exited quickly.

Charles took all the correspondence and locked it in his desk and then headed to the bank as quickly as possible to hand in the forged mortgage documents.

“Congratulations – I believe you had a son,” smiled Mr Jones.

“Yes, never mind all that. These are the mortgage documents signed and my father wants the money transferred into my account as soon as possible, as you can see from his letter.”

Charles never was so relieved as when the money was transferred and managed to start breathing again normally. He quickly reissued cheques for debts that were outstanding and letters of apology saying it was unavoidable due to being stranded because of his wife’s illness.

Now all he had to do was face his friends. He had given cheques to a considerable number of his card-playing friends and those cheques had bounced as well. He was more concerned about this than the other bills. Firstly, they were friends he could not afford to be ostracised from and, secondly, if word got around that he wasn’t good for his money he would never again be allowed at a gambling table in London.

He arrived, trying to hide his nerves, at Tom Hamley’s house for a scheduled game of cards. He had left for Ireland without settling substantial money he owed to his card circle. He knew only too well the etiquette with gambling debts and that they needed to be paid immediately. Now, with having been delayed for over a month in Ireland, he could only imagine how irate and angry his card-playing comrades would be. He was shown in to Tom Hamley’s parlour and braced himself.

“Armstrong!” shouted somebody straight away, giving him a fright. “Congratulations! The best of wishes to your son and heir!”

“Yes! I offer my warmest congratulations as well,” said Tom Hamley, coming to him and shaking his hand warmly. He turned to his butler. “Get the best bottle of champagne to wet the baby’s head!”

As Charles accepted the good wishes from everybody, he was confused. Surely these men could not be so happy and forgiving over such a long-overdue debt?

“What are you going to call him?” asked Tom as he chinked his glass against Charles’.

“Pierce,” informed Charles.

“Lord Pierce Armstrong – a fine name,” acknowledged Tom, nodding approvingly.

Charles lowered his voice. “Eh – Tom, about the debts I owe. Sorry for leaving you all in the lurch for so long.”

Tom looked at him, confused. “But Hugh Fitzroy covered all your debts with everyone here.”

“Fitzroy?” Charles was mystified.

“When you didn’t show for a couple of weeks, he said you had arranged the payments with him and he paid everyone.”

Charles smiled broadly. “Of course he did! I just want to check nothing is still owed to anyone?”

“All paid up to date,” confirmed Tom. “And how is Arabella?”

As Tom spoke on, Charles tuned out as he tried to figure out why Fitzroy had done as he did. His eyes scanned the room looking for Fitzroy and spotted him in the corner, looking over at him as he spoke to some others. Charles nodded over to him and Fitzroy nodded back.

At the end of the card game, when everyone was going home, Fitzroy came up to Charles.

“My carriage is outside,” he said. “If I could offer you a lift home?”

“You really are too kind,” said Charles, looking at him cautiously as the butler helped him on with his cape.

The two men chatted inconsequentially as they left Tom’s house and walked through the swirling fog to the carriage.

“Regent’s Park,” instructed Hugh to the driver as they got in.

As the carriage made its way through the densely thick fog Charles waited for Hugh to bring up the subject of the money. But he didn’t broach it.

Finally Charles said pleasantly, “I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Ah yes. They were all getting a little concerned when you didn’t return from Ireland so I covered it for you, to save any embarrassment.”

“I can only thank you. My wife became ill and we were stranded at Armstrong House.”

“I thought it would be something like that.”

“I will immediately forward you a cheque to cover the full amount.”

“In your own time, there’s no rush,” Hugh assured him.

Charles stared at him, trying to fathom him out. Why would he do such a thing for a relative stranger, with no guarantee Charles would return to London let alone with the money?

The carriage pulled up outside Hanover Terrace and Charles got out. He turned and spoke through the window.

“If you can give me your address – for the cheque?”

“Just send it to Claridge’s.”

Charles nodded. “If you are free next Saturday, my wife and I are having a dinner party here.”

Hugh stared at him.

“Only if you’re free, of course,” added Charles.

Hugh nodded quickly and shouted, “Drive on!”

Charles watched as the carriage drove away and was swallowed up by the fog.

“Hugh Fitzroy?” Arabella studied the guest list curiously. “Isn’t that the man who sent the hamper?”

“The very one,” confirmed Charles.

They were in the drawing room during the week. Charles was reading the paper as Arabella went through the details of the forthcoming dinner party. Prudence played on the floor beside her while Pierce slept in a cot close by.

Arabella remembered the man with the staring eyes. “I didn’t realise you knew him that well?”

“He seems like a nice fellow. Filthy rich.”

“So you said before . . . hmmm,” said Arabella, studying her table plan. “I’ll put him beside Lady Hollander.”

Charles looked up, alarmed. “Not a good idea. She’s far too pernickety. And he doesn’t seem to be a great conversationalist.”

“Well, where will I put him then?”

“Beside you.”

“Me!”

“Yes, why not?”

“But why are you inviting him if he’s not a good conversationalist?” she asked. “I thought you wanted this house to be filled with witty and entertaining company. I’ve never heard of this Hugh Fitzroy socially.”

“Maybe not – but I’ve a feeling you might in the future.” Charles looked at her smugly and sat back to read the newspaper. He looked up again. “Speaking of entertaining and witty company, any luck in getting Oscar Wilde to accept our invitation yet?”

Arabella raised her eyes and concentrated on her table plan.

chapter 32

By the time Hugh arrived on the Saturday night the other guests were already in the drawing room having sherry.

“Mr Hugh Fitzroy,” said Burchill as he showed him in.

“Hugh!” said Charles, shaking his hand and leading him into the room. “Let me introduce you to my wife. Arabella, this is Hugh Fitzroy.”

“I’m so glad you could make it tonight,” smiled Arabella, shaking his hand.

“Thanks for inviting me,” said Hugh.

Arabella was slightly unnerved by his staring eyes, which she imagined observed everything very quickly. She noticed his clothes were of the finest quality but nevertheless he immediately stood out from the others in the room. He was very ill at ease and uncomfortable as she brought him around and introduced him to everybody. He seemed relieved when she deposited him back with Charles, who quickly engaged him in conversation.

When dinner was served Arabella took Hugh’s arm and led the other guests out of the room and down the stairs to the dining room.

“You’re seated next to me, Mr Fitzroy,” she said.

She led him through the dining room and sat at the end of the table. She gestured to the chair beside her and Hugh awkwardly sat down. Charles took his seat at the top of the table.

As everyone took their places they viewed Hugh suspiciously. Arabella tried to engage Hugh in light-hearted conversation as the appetiser and then soup courses were served. She found him hopelessly out of his depth even talking about the most mundane things.

“Fitzroy?” questioned Lady Hollander from down the table. “I don’t think I’ve ever met your family socially before, have I? Are you anything to do with the Fitzroys in Halifax – they are mill-owners – wool?”

“Eh, no, I don’t think so.” Hugh shook his head.

“Perhaps distant relations?” suggested Arabella as the footmen entered and put large white bowls of lobster bisque in front of everyone.

Arabella saw Hugh look down at the array of cutlery in front of him and saw the confused horror on his face. She grimaced as he took up his dessertspoon and started eating the lobster bisque with it.

As the table chatted away about the theatre, Arabella tried to involve Hugh in the conversation, but he seemed to have nothing to contribute.

As the empty bowls were taken away Lady Hollander said, “You looked like you enjoyed that, Mr Fitzroy?”

“Yes,” said Hugh. “I like tomato soup.”

“Tomato soup!” Lady Hollander laughed like a neighing horse. “Dear man! It was lobster bisque!”

Hugh went bright red as a wave of embarrassment went around the table.

“Actually,” said Arabella sternly, “you are quite wrong, Lady Hollander. Mr Fitzroy is not fond of lobster and so I had chef prepare tomato soup for him.”

“Oh, I see,” said Lady Hollander quickly as she turned to talk to the guest beside her.

Arabella smiled at Hugh who nodded back his thanks.

As the main course of roasted beef was served, Hugh looked at the array of forks and knives, exasperated. He finally picked up the pastry fork.

Arabella caught his eye and shook her head and then discreetly pointed to the correct fork to be used. He nodded his thanks again. As the night progressed and the conversation switched from art to politics to opera, both Arabella and Hugh realised he was hopelessly struggling in the company. She tried to smooth the conversation over for him, but it was next to impossible. As Hugh spilled the gravy from the beef down his shirt, she looked down irritated at Charles who seemed oblivious to the situation as he was his normal jovial self.

“I do find gravy most tiresome,” sympathised Arabella as a footman assisted Hugh in cleaning up the mess.

At the end of the dinner, as the women were standing to go upstairs to the drawing room, Hugh took the opportunity to make his excuses and said he must leave.

“Thank you for a very enjoyable night,” he said to Arabella, almost heaving with shame.

“It was very nice to meet you. Charles speaks very highly of you,” said Arabella, glad he had elected to go early.

“Are you sure you won’t join us for a cigar and port?” said Charles, lounging back in his chair at the head of the table.

“No, I have to go,” he said and quickly left.

Arabella joined the women upstairs and watched from the balcony as Hugh’s elaborate carriage drove off. She felt relieved he was gone.

That night in their bedroom, Arabella was annoyed as she put on her face cream at her dressing table.

“Honestly, Charles! Whatever were you thinking of inviting Hugh Fitzroy tonight? You shouldn’t have!”

“Whyever not?” he said, getting into bed.

She turned around and faced him. “The poor man was humiliated. He hadn’t a clue how to behave or act or talk. And as for his table manners – it’s lucky your mother wasn’t there to witness it – she’d have fainted on the spot! And that accent!”

“Nonsense! He was perfectly fine.”

“As ever, you are showing the social sensitivity of a bull!”

“The other chaps at cards think he’s all right.”

“The other chaps are probably too greedy swindling him out of his money to care! He’s from a different world, and it’s unfair to try and bring him into ours.”

“He’s probably richer than anyone at that table tonight.”

“And where did he make all this money?”

“Don’t know.”

“Very dubious.”

“Well, I think he’s a find.”

“Not so much a find as a lost cause! I think we should leave him off the guest list in future, for his own sake, if no other reason.”

“I think he’s an important contact, and could be very useful.”

“I don’t care how useful he is! Besides, there’s something about him that’s slightly scary. Those eyes! We don’t know anything about him, where he’s from or how he got his money. He might be all right for your card games, but not for my dining table.”

chapter 33

Burchill came into the drawing room one evening during the following week.

“A delivery for Mrs Armstrong,” he said, handing over a beautifully wrapped box from Asprey of Bond Street.

“Have you got me a surprise?” Arabella called to Charles who was smoking out on the balcony.

He came in as Burchill left. “Certainly not. It’s not your birthday, is it?”

She raised her eyes to heaven. “No – do you even know when my birthday is?”

“December?”

She shook her head in resigned despair as she untied the ribbons on the box. “June, for the record. Harrison always remembered my birthday. In fact, he used to shower me with gifts whether it was my birthday or not.”

He grinned at her. “Perhaps this is from him then!”

Arabella gave him a dirty look and opened the velvet box inside the wrapping. She stared in amazement at the beautiful diamond earrings inside.

“Whoever could have –?” She quickly took the card and read it. “They are from Hugh Fitzroy! Thanking me for the Saturday dinner party.”

“Now that is what I call a thank-you!” said Charles, taking the earrings and examining them closely.

“But why should he feel the need to send these? I can’t possibly accept them. I’ll have them returned to him immediately.”

Charles looked at her in horror. “You most certainly will not! If you won’t accept them, then I will on your behalf! I wonder how much I’d get if I sold these on?”

“You’re so cheap, Charles!” she snapped at him.

“Well, I can afford to be cheap when I’ve got such rich and generous friends as Hugh Fitzroy.”

Arabella was walking through Regent’s Park on a sunny morning with Isabelle by her side pushing Pierce in the perambulator as Prudence tottered along beside them. They met Lady Hollander coming in their direction with a young female companion.

“Good morning,” said Lady Hollander.

“How do you do, Lady Hollander,” said Arabella.

“My, Prudence is getting big, isn’t she?” observed Lady Hollander and then she peered into the pram. “It’s as everyone says – what a really beautiful baby he is!”

“Thank you,” said Arabella gratefully, but also a little concerned. Pierce seemed to always grab all the attention and poor Prudence never seemed to get a look in.

No matter how many pretty dresses and ribbons she put on Prudence, it didn’t seem to attract any positive comments. She was worried that Prudence would become jealous of her little brother.

Lady Hollander took her head out of the pram. “Thank you for a really wonderful night last Saturday. Much enjoyed by us all.”

“It was lovely to have you,” smiled Arabella.

Isabelle and Lady Hollander’s companion took the two children over to the boating lake to see the swans.

“What an extraordinary chap that Mr Fitzroy is – wherever did you find him?” said Lady Hollander.

“He’s an acquaintance of Charles; I’m not sure how they met,” said Arabella, not wishing to divulge her husband’s card-playing obsession to the conservative Lady Hollander.

“I have to tell you,” said Lady Hollander as the two women strolled along the pathway, “that a Harrods hamper was delivered to me on Monday. When I read the note it was from Mr Fitzroy thanking me for being such, and I quote, ‘wonderful company’ at your dinner party.”

“Really?” Arabella was taken aback.

“Yes, and I hardly spoke two words to him the whole night, so I was quite flabbergasted.”

“He’s a very generous man,” said Arabella, wondering why on earth Fitzroy would send gifts to the other guests.

“I mean to say,” Lady Hollander gave a little laugh, “I didn’t say much to him, because I didn’t feel we would have anything in common, and I don’t mean to be cruel, but common is the word I would use to describe him. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from the working class who wasn’t a domestic servant or some such before.”

“Maybe it’s time you broadened your horizons a little in that case,” said Arabella, not bothering to hide the note of sarcasm in her voice.

“I would, however, like to send a note to the man to thank him for the hamper – perhaps you could get his address from Charles for me?”

“Just send it care of Claridge’s, Lady Hollander. I’m sure they’ll deliver it safely to him.”

“Claridge’s?” Lady Hollander was even more curious.

“Yes, he lives in a suite of rooms there, I believe.”

“What – permanently? Well, that would cost a pretty penny! Where on earth did a man like that come into such money?”

“Charles tells me Mr Fitzroy is successful on the stock market,” said Arabella, becoming tired of Lady Hollander’s new-found obsession with Fitzroy.

“It’s so extraordinary! I mean we’re just getting used to the middle classes having all this affluence, and now it’s finding its way to the working classes as well!”

Over the following days, Arabella checked with all their friends who had attended their dinner party the previous Saturday, and all confirmed they had received a Harrods hamper from Fitzroy.

Charles had no intention of following Arabella’s advice and avoiding Hugh Fitzroy in the future. Who cared if he slurped his lobster bisque and mistook it for tomato soup? He felt he had the measure of Fitzroy. Rich, shrewd but desperate for acceptance in polite society. He could be Hugh’s ticket into polite society, and in exchange Hugh could be his meal ticket.

The two men were having lunch at Claridge’s.

“Arabella loved the diamond earrings you sent to her – she said to say thank you,” said Charles.

Hugh’s face lit up in delight. “Did she really?”

“Loved them, I tell you.”

“She’s a very beautiful and nice lady – you’re a lucky man.”

“Yes – she’s all those things. You’ll have to come to dinner again.”

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you . . .”

“Embarrass me? But how?”

Hugh said nothing as he scraped his plate with his knife and licked it.

Charles pulled a face. “You won’t be embarrassing me. But you might embarrass yourself with table manners like that.”

Charles looked around the restaurant and clicked his fingers. The head waiter came over.

“Now I want you to bring all your cutlery out and place it in front of Mr Fitzroy and tell him which course each is meant for,” said Charles to the astonished waiter.

Hugh sat back, mortified and angry.

“Oh come on, Hugh!” said Charles, standing up and smirking. “If you don’t ask, you’ll never learn. Anyway, better dash – have to get to my club.”

chapter 34

Charles opened doors for Hugh and didn’t mind doing it. Through him, Hugh was invited to many events. He took it very slowly at first but then he nominated Hugh to be a member of his club.

The other members looked on curiously at the outsider who seemed awkward and ill at ease and who nobody had ever heard of. But when Charles went to pay his own annual subscription fee to the club, he found it had already been taken care of by Mr Fitzroy. In fact, when Charles went to pay for anything he found it had already been paid for by a grateful Mr Fitzroy.

“You really need to do something about that accent,” Charles recommended one day to Hugh.

Hugh went bright red with embarrassment.

“I know you try to disguise it, but you don’t do it very well, and people laugh at you behind your back because of it,” said Charles. “My mother knows this woman who gives the best elocution lessons. I’ll set it up for you.”

The next time Hugh was invited to Hanover Terrace for dinner, Arabella found him more relaxed and self-assured than before.

As she sat next to him at the dinner table she was preparing herself again for a spectacle of discomfort. She was surprised and relieved to see he suddenly had mastered cutlery etiquette.

“How are your children, Mrs Armstrong?” asked Hugh.

“Very well, thank you, Mr Fitzroy. Thank you for the rocking horse you sent to them, they were very pleased with it.” Arabella wasn’t as pleased as the children to receive it. “You’re getting a reputation of being the most generous man in London.”

He smiled.

After dinner, Hugh did not rush off like last time but stayed with the men downstairs for port and cigars as the women went up to the drawing room. Later, after the men joined the women Hugh came over to talk to Arabella.

“I have a friend who runs a fashion shop in Bond Street. Any time you want a dress, let me know, and I can organise it for you,” he told Arabella.

She managed to smile. “Thank you, Mr Fitzroy, but –”

“Hugh,” he insisted.

“Thank you – Hugh – but that’s completely unnecessary,” she said coolly.

“There would be no charge,” he informed her.

“Thank you, but no. If you excuse me, I need to see to my other guests.” She nodded and moved to the balcony where the others were gathered.

Hugh stared after her, feeling angry that he had been rejected.

Charles came over and filled his glass of port. “Enjoying the evening?”

“Eh, yes.” Hugh was staring at Arabella as she laughed over some anecdote told by one of the guests.

“Good. My sister, the Duchess of Battington and her husband are having a garden party next month. They’ve invited you along.”

Hugh looked at Charles, delighted.

“A garden party!” Arabella raised her voice in alarm after all the guests had gone home and she was alone with Charles in the drawing room. “What on earth would Hugh Fitzroy be doing at a garden party?”

“Doing what everyone else is doing, I imagine – enjoying himself?”

“Oh come on, Charles, you’re putting Gwyneth and His Grace in an awkward position bringing Fitzroy. There will be members of the royal family there.”

“But he’s come on in leaps and bounds, I’m sure you’ll agree?”

“You can’t polish coal, Charles.”

“You are being a snob – you’ll be turning into my mother next.”

“It’s not that . . .”

“What is it then?”

“I don’t trust him.”

“On what grounds?”

“He’s using you. He thinks he can get anything he wants with his money.”

“Sounds good to me!” Charles said flippantly.

“I’m being serious, Charles. You might think you’re coming off well in this arrangement you have, but I doubt it. You’re introducing him to everyone and getting him into society. He’s clever. He’s not the likes of David Chester and those others you and your friends played for fools.”

“I never played anyone for a fool.”

“You play anybody for a fool you think you can! And you think you’re playing Fitzroy for a fool, but he’s playing you!”

Arabella tried to avoid Hugh Fitzroy at the Battingtons’ garden party. She felt he was taken aback at first by the calibre of guests there. But Charles introduced him around and he happily got acquainted. She wondered how many of these people would be receiving Harrods hampers first thing on Monday, courtesy of him. And even though the others were sniggering and talking about him behind his back, they were really only interested in his money.

chapter 35

The seasons came and went in Armstrong House and, though Emily and James were the only children left there, life went on much as it always had.

The house ran like clockwork. Margaret would meet the housekeeper in the morning and issue the orders for the day. If there were guests coming to lunch or dinner, she would discuss the menu with the cook. She would meet the butler and his staff and go through the order of the day. Lawrence and James would be tied up with the running of the estate.

And this really left Emily with little or nothing to do. Her education now completed, Margaret felt there was no more to teach her. Now with Daphne left to live in Dublin and already pregnant with her second child, Emily began to feel somewhat isolated and not sure what she could do with the rest of her life. Margaret had almost given up on her and didn’t nag her about going to London to be a debutante any more. She attended all the social events at Armstrong House, but she began to dread them. The guests viewed her as a curiosity. The unmarried daughter who didn’t seem to want to get on with her own life as a young woman would want to.

There was a dinner party at Armstrong House and she overheard two guests talking about her in the drawing room.

“She must be such a disappointment for poor Lady Margaret.”

“Especially after such triumphs as Gwyneth and Daphne.”

“Why doesn’t she want to get married?”

“Who knows? It’s quite tragic. She has turned into quite a beauty. It’s a waste.”

“Well, she only has a couple of years left to be a debutante and then it’s all behind her. Opportunity lost.”

Occasionally, she would go to a hunt ball in one of the neighbouring gentry’s houses. But it was the same old faces, which bored her.

Emily longed for the visits from her siblings. When either Gwyneth or Daphne visited she enjoyed the company and they could catch up on the gossip. Of course, she loved it when Charles came back on one of his sporadic visits. She particularly liked it when he came back without Arabella and the children and she could have him all to herself.

She remembered Charles’ words to her: she could end up a spinster minding Mama and Papa into their old age. She didn’t want to get married but she dreaded this other destiny for herself.

One night in February she observed herself in the mirror in her bedroom. Maybe she didn’t have her sisters’ easy charm, but she was as beautiful as her sisters, she thought. She envied Harrison in New York, being able to escape everything. She thought of all their siblings living their lives to the full. She thought of what the two guests at the dinner party had said – another couple of years and it would all be behind her. She wanted to live life while she still could. She wanted to experience life while she had an opportunity.

The next evening she came into the drawing room where Margaret and Lawrence were chatting.

“I’ve been thinking – I would like to go to London as a debutante when the next season starts,” she announced.

“What?” shrieked Margaret, nearly falling off her chair.

“A debutante – next season,” Emily verified.

“Hallelujah!” Margaret jumped up and embraced her daughter. “I’d nearly given up hope!”

“Are you sure?” said Lawrence.

“I’m sure!” said Emily.

Margaret started rushing around. “Excellent! We must invest in a new wardrobe of clothes for you. And jewellery. I’ll notify all my friends in London that we are available to go to all their breakfasts, lunches, dinners and balls. And that you are – at last – on the market. And start organising the schedule. Now you’re related to the Duke of Battington, they’ll be queuing up for you!” Margaret clasped her hands together in delight.

Emily nodded happily. She would go to London and be a debutante and go to all the parties and functions and spend time with Charles and at last be able to see life. And at the end of the season, she didn’t have to marry anybody.

The doctor examined Margaret who was feverish and confined to bed.

“I’m afraid it’s a case of pneumonia,” he said.

“Pneumonia!” Margaret was horrified. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone out on that walk at Easter.”

“How bad is it?” asked Lawrence, full of concern.

“Well, she will need plenty of rest to recuperate. The fires must be kept at full blast at all times. Plenty more blankets.”

“But, doctor, I’m going to London with my daughter soon to present her at court.”

“The court will have to wait, Lady Armstrong, your health will not. I’ll come by tomorrow to see how you are progressing.”

The doctor packed up his case and, with a bow, left.

Lawrence reached out and took her hand. “You look very poorly, darling.”

“But what about Emily doing the season in London? If she doesn’t go this year, she might never go. I simply have to go!” She struggled to sit up.

Lawrence gently pushed her back against the pillows.

“It’s out of the question, Margaret, you’re just too weak.”

“But . . .”

“Emily can still go to London. Gwyneth can be her patroness. Gwyneth is so connected and respected Emily couldn’t have a better patroness to introduce and show her off, except yourself of course. And then there’s Charles and Arabella – they can look after her and present her as well.”

“Arabella!” Margaret managed to squawk. “I will not entrust the care of my daughter to that woman. Goodness knows what would happen if Emily was left to her considering how she conducted herself as a single woman!”

“Relax, darling – Gwyneth will be a magnificent guide for Emily. I’m just saying Charles is at hand to ride through the parks with her and for other outdoor events.”

“Well,” Margaret sighed. “What choice do I have?”

Arabella and Gwyneth were walking through Regent’s Park together as the nannies walked the children ahead.

“Mama is very poorly by all accounts,” said Gwyneth. “It’s strange to think of her ill when she’s usually so strong. But Emily will be coming to London to be presented anyway. I’ve already made the application to Buckingham Palace for her.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” said Arabella.

“Well, applying for her to be presented is the easy part. It’s the endless rounds of events I’ll have to accompany her to that is concerning me.” Gwyneth gave a weary sigh.

“Oh – why?” Arabella had never known Gwyneth not to take any social occasion in her stride before.

Gwyneth turned and smiled at Arabella. “I’m with child.”

“Oh, but that’s wonderful news!” She hugged Gwyneth.

“Of course it is. But I found my last pregnancy so difficult, and I’m finding this one the same. In fact His Grace and I were going to go and spend the summer months at Battington Hall and just rest and not attend the season at all this year. But now with Mama being unable to travel, I’ve no option.”

“But, Gwyneth, you must put your health first.” Arabella was full of concern.

“But what can I do?” Gwyneth asked.

“You must rely on me and Charles – we’ll look after Emily. I’ll bring her to the parties, and Charles will ride with her through the parks.”

Gwyneth looked concerned. “I’d thought of that. But . . .”

“But what?”

Gwyneth looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Arabella, but you know Mama’s opinion of you.”

Arabella nodded. “Lady Margaret is a stubborn woman, and I realise I’ll never change her opinion of me. But I’ll not sit back and let you risk your health and your baby by doing too much. What Margaret doesn’t know won’t harm her. You will be Emily’s official patroness, but I’ll do all the work. By the end of the summer Emily will have made a brilliant match, and Margaret will be none the wiser.”

Gwyneth linked Arabella’s arm. “I hate deception, but . . . yes, thank you, Arabella. His Grace has so many friends eager to meet Emily, it should be an easy job all round.”

“That settles that then. And it’ll be our secret.”

They continued to walk. “I saw in Tatler an article about Charles’ friend Hugh Fitzroy. He’s sponsoring a charity gala.”

“Yes, he’s always sponsoring something,” said Arabella. Usually Charles, she thought cynically.

“I believe he’s a regular visitor at your house?”

“Oh yes,” Arabella nodded resignedly. “Speaking of patrons, Mr Fitzroy found his very own patron in Charles to present him to society.”

chapter 36

It was evening time and Hugh was in the drawing room with Charles as Charles refilled his crystal glass with red wine.

“I meant to say – thank you for covering my loss last week at Tom Hamley’s card game,” said Charles, sitting down opposite him.

“My pleasure – as always,” said Hugh.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’ve been on such a losing streak with the cards. And I was doing so well last year.”

“Your luck will change soon,” comforted Hugh.

“Hopefully. I could do with a winning streak . . . I’m not leaving you any way short with those losses you’ve covered for me?”

Hugh burst out laughing. “No, not at all. It would need to be a lot more than that to leave me short of cash.”

Charles smiled and sat back and studied Hugh. “How much are you actually worth? Where did your money come from?”

“The stock exchange. I’ve told you before.”

“I know that’s what everyone says. But you didn’t just arrive in and start making money on the stock exchange. You must have had considerable money before,” said Charles.

“What makes you say that?”

“Let’s face it, Hugh, a man like you from your background, whatever your background is, wouldn’t even know how to find the stock exchange, let alone know how to invest in it.”

Hugh hid how Charles’ derogatory words insulted him. He suddenly stood up and downed his drink.

“What’s wrong?” asked Charles.

“You want to see where I made my money – then come and I’ll show you.” He turned and abruptly walked out of the room.

Charles stood up and followed him.

Charles looked out the window of Hugh’s carriage. Gradually the great Regency and Victorian buildings were being left behind, and the carriage was making its way through narrower streets.

“Where is this?” asked Charles, concerned as he saw they were travelling through streets that were becoming dilapidated and dimly lit.

Hugh’s eyes were staring at Charles. “Welcome to darkest London,” he said.

Charles looked out the window with increasing concern as he realised he must be in the East End. They passed by bars that were full to overflowing with music blaring out of them, and through streets that seemed full of rowdy drunken people.

The carriage stopped and Charles stared out at the sight before him. He spotted a young woman leering at him.

She came sauntering over. “Looking for some company, Mister?”

She looked into the carriage and saw Hugh and suddenly her face became scared and she backed off and disappeared into the crowd.

“What are we doing here?” demanded Charles, feeling unsafe.

“Answering your questions,” said Hugh as he opened up the door and stepped out. “Come on.” He beckoned to Charles.

The two men walked down through the narrow streets. Charles could only stare at the people who caroused and fought as they passed.

“You introduced me to your world, and now I’m introducing you to mine,” said Hugh.

A beggar came up to them and Hugh pushed him aside as they continued on their journey.

“Your world?” asked Charles.

“I was born and raised in a tenement like that.” He pointed to a rundown building.

“And how did you escape?”

“I fought my way out. I did everything I had to do. I made money any way I could. You wouldn’t understand that, coming from your background. You wouldn’t understand what desperation feels like.”

They turned a corner and started walking down some dark quiet alleys.

“Should we really be getting so far off the beaten track?” suggested Charles as the street gaslights disappeared.

“We’re safe,” said Hugh.

Suddenly three men came rushing out to them. One of them went to hit Hugh then stopped suddenly, apparently recognising him, and shouted at the others. They rushed back into the darkness.

The incident didn’t seem to bother Hugh who just continued on his way.

Charles saw they were approaching the docks. Feeling decidedly frightened at this stage, he said, “Arabella is going to wonder where I’ve got to. I should be getting back.”

“We’re nearly there,” Hugh assured him as they reached some big warehouses. Hugh walked up to one of the giant warehouses and taking out a key he opened a door and they stepped in. Hugh turned on the gaslight inside and the warehouse lit up.

Charles walked around. The warehouse was filled with boxes stacked high.

“What is this?” said Charles.

“Opium,” said Hugh.

“Opium!” said Charles, going over and inspecting it. “But this is illegal.”

“I know – don’t worry, it doesn’t belong to me. I don’t trade in opium, at least not any more. I own the warehouses, and most of the property around here. I rent it out. If the police ever discover what’s been shipped through, I’m clean as a whistle – nothing to do with me.”

“But you are making money from the drug trade then?”

“I prefer to see myself as a casual observer of the drug trade.”

Charles was amazed. “And this is where all your money came from?”

“In the beginning, yes. And then I got advisors who invested in the stock exchange and it went on from there. But money can’t buy me what you were born with. Respectability, acceptance, being part of society.”

“Well, you’re sure giving it a damned good try!”

“Only with your patronage. Without you pushing me, those people wouldn’t entertain me. But I want their acceptance. And I’ll get it.”

As Charles looked at Hugh he was unnerved by the mad determination in his eyes. Did Hugh not realise those people would never really accept him?

“Come on,” said Hugh roughly as he turned off the lights and started leading him through the maze of streets that led from the docks. They went down a long cobbled street with all the doors firmly closed. Hugh went up to one and knocked loudly with his cane. A minute later a window in the door opened and shut quickly. A moment later the door opened and Hugh walked in, followed by Charles.

Charles was immediately struck by the strong odours circulating.

“Good evening, Mr Fitzroy, how are you tonight?” asked a young Chinese woman who took their cloaks.

“Good,” said Hugh, following her down a corridor.

Charles was amazed by the inside of the building. Outside it looked like any other rundown tenement in the area. But inside was done up like the finest hotel with purple velvet drapes, and thick pile carpets. They were brought into a gigantic room in the centre of the building which was again decorated sumptuously. To Charles’ alarm there were people stretched out on velvet chaises-longues everywhere while they smoked through long pipes.

“An opium den! You’ve brought me to an opium den!” he said, shocked.

“Of course. Why not?” said Hugh, going to an empty chaise-longue and stretching out on it. He snapped his fingers and straight away two women came over and set him up with an opium pipe.

Hugh gestured to Charles to take a sofa across from him. Charles sat down on the sofa and observed all around him.

There were both men and women smoking. What amazed him was the customers weren’t the same as the people out on the streets – instead they seemed affluent and well dressed. He remembered people talking about slumming. The rich going down to the East End to enjoy the drugs and free-for-all lifestyle there that contrasted so much to their own society’s late Victorian rigidness.

A Chinese woman came over and began to set him up with an opium pipe.

He started carefully to inhale as he observed all around him. A man got up from his couch and went up the stairs holding hands with a young woman. What kind of a place had he been brought to?

“Do you own shares in this business as well?” asked Charles.

“I own all the property on this street,” said Hugh.

The woman who had given him the opium pipe indicated Charles should lie out on the sofa and Charles stretched back as she undid his shirt.

“What made you trust me to bring me here?” asked Charles. “Why do you think I won’t tell everybody what you’re involved in?”

“Because I do trust you,” said Hugh. “Besides, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve come here with me – you’ve become part of this world now.”

Hugh looked on as another man went up the stairs with a young woman.

“Being here for a couple of hours doesn’t make me a part of this world,” said Charles.

Hugh looked over at him and smiled broadly. “Besides, you couldn’t possibly betray my secrets.”

Charles was curious. “And why not?”

“Because you owe me far too much money.” Hugh sat back and closed his eyes as the woman massaged his temples.

Charles felt a shiver go down his back as he heard these words. Hugh thought that he was in his power.

Charles suddenly stood up and pushed the opium pipe aside.

“I have to go,” he said.

“But I’ve just started to enjoy myself,” said Hugh. “Sit down and relax.”

“No, I really must go right now.”

“But you don’t know the way back.”

“I’ll find it,” said Charles as he headed for the door.

“If you can find my driver get him to take you home . . . if you can find him,” said Hugh and he started to laugh – a hollow laugh that echoed in Charles’ ears as he hurried from the building.

Charles seemed to take hours negotiating the maze of streets trying to find where the carriage was parked. The streets looked all the same and he was constantly accosted by beggars and prostitutes and jostled by people he suspected were thieves. Finally he found the carriage parked on a street corner.

“Take me back to Regent’s Park – quickly as you can,” Charles said to the driver, then added, “Mr Fitzroy has given his permission.”

Charles sat back in the comfort of the carriage, the images of all the things he’d seen swirling through his mind.