Soon after the ball, we received an invitation to Blythe Court for a weekend house party. Since I finally had come of age to enjoy such festivities, I looked forward to the engagement for many reasons. The affair would comprise not only our family but also other prominent individuals from society who had single sons in want of a wife. I determined to keep my options open since I found the personality of the marquess guarded and aloof. Of course, I wondered who would be my competition amongst the guests of single ladies in quest of a mate.
Regrettably, like most country estates, the men would probably be off hunting during the day, leaving the women to fend for themselves. While they killed helpless foul, foxes, and rabbits, the women of the household would drink tea, take strolls in the garden or gossip. Opportunities to mingle would occur with picnic lunches with the men, dinners, and entertainment in the evening.
Although Blythe Court was conveniently located about ninety minutes from our own residence, I had never heard of the estate. We traveled by carriage from our manor house in Hampshire to Dorset, the adjoining county. My parents were enamored with London society, and they rarely visited elsewhere. As we sat bouncing in our ride through the countryside, my curiosity piqued.
“Do you know anything in particular about the residence?” I asked my mother.
“It is an impressive estate,” my father interrupted.
He always answered questions for my mother, which I found most annoying. I often thought he had emotionally browbeaten her, as I had begun to feel about my prospects for marriage. To my surprise, my mother shot him an annoyed glance and embellished his short report.
“The duchess told me that it was built in 1346, but modifications were made in the early seventeenth century. The south lawn faces a large pond, and the estate is circled by formal gardens.” My mother grinned proudly over her knowledge of its history, which surpassed my father’s curt declaration.
“It sounds quite impressive,” I replied, snickering and using my father’s one-word description. Unfortunately, my flippant response received swift reprisal.
“I expect you, young lady, to spend the majority of your visit in the company of Lord Broadhurst,” he spewed with authority. My mother joined the discourse.
“Under no circumstances are you to wander off unchaperoned,” she warned. “At least not until he proposes, then in some circumstances you may do so with my permission.”
My stomach balled into a knot. Any prospects beyond the man they already picked were clearly out of my reach.
“You speak as if you have already married me off,” I protested. “Shall I not be afforded the opportunity to talk with more congenial gentlemen in attendance?”
“Our solicitor is drawing up the marriage contract even now,” my father brashly announced.
“What?” I wanted to lean forward, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him like a rag doll. “Why on earth would you do such a thing without speaking to me about it or asking my opinion for that matter? I have merely shared a few dances with the boorish man.”
My father’s face turned beet red, and he opened his mouth to put me in my place. Thankfully, before the ill words were flung in my direction, Mother reached out and grabbed his forearm stopping his gruff reply. In a civil tone, she spoke kindly to me, but with firm conviction.
“Control your contentious attitude and act like the lady I bred you to be,” she said. “You were told since you were a little girl that Father and I would arrange your marriage. Our wisdom in choosing you a good match should be all that you need to know.”
“But—” My mother raised her hand halting my next words.
“We will speak of it no more,” she declared. “One day you will be the Duchess of Dorset. Is that not enough for you?”
My mother’s sharp words cut me off, and I leaned back into the seat surrendering rather than fighting. I glanced to my right, and my mouth opened in astonishment. We approached the front of the estate, and the horses trotted through a stone gateway onto a long pebbled path that led to the entry. An impressive three-story manor loomed before me. Like a curious child, I counted fifteen windows across the front façade and a massive arched doorway with columns on either side.
“My goodness,” I said, gawking at the structure.
“My goodness, indeed,” Father repeated. “The duke is deeding Blythe Court to his son once he weds. This will be your home.”
I sat motionless in utter shock over my father’s revelation. Perhaps what lay ahead would not be as awful as I pictured in my mind. The most attractive man in the county and the most impressive estate imaginable would be mine. A smile pulled my cheeks upward accenting my childlike dimples.
The carriage came to a halt, and a tall footman stepped forward, opened the door, and helped us out. The entire household staff lined up outside to greet our arrival. The duke and duchess appeared with warm smiles.
“It is good of you to come,” the duke remarked. “Ah, here comes another carriage,” he said, looking past my father’s shoulder. “It will be a steady stream of guests in the next hour.”
I glanced at the doorway and saw John. He caught my eye and nodded but made no indication of pleasure upon seeing my arrival. Even in the bright sun, he appeared like a Greek god, and I cursed myself for being attracted to his appearance. He stepped forward and gave a quick bow.
“Lady Seddon, it is a pleasure to see you again.” He turned his attention to my father and mother exchanging pleasantries and afterward offered his arm to escort me indoors. Both of our parents grinned in self-assurance of their success. When I touched him, it resurrected my previous impression of wariness over a potential union of our hearts.
We stepped through the doorway, and the entrance hall astonished my senses. Giant pilasters rose to a high ceiling, and medieval tapestries adorned the walls. John halted in the middle of the foyer, and I closely surveyed the impressive interior.
“Mr. Rhodes, our head butler, will show you to your rooms,” the duchess announced. “The footman will bring your luggage. It will afford you the opportunity to relax before our evening festivities.”
John released my arm.
“I hope that you find your accommodations to your liking,” he said. “I have requested that your room overlook the gardens and pond.”
His voice sounded strained, and I concluded he found no pleasure in what had been arranged for either of us. My heart, full of disappointment, withdrew into the shadows of my soul for protection. Spending time with him during the weekend felt more like a burden than a delight.
“Thank you,” I responded. “I am sure that I shall be comfortable.”
Mother nodded at me to follow her up the staircase, which I did without glancing back at my intended. A moment later, I found myself far too curious to see whether his eyes followed my departure, so I peeked over my shoulder. He had disappeared.
* * * *
Dressed in one of my finest evening gowns, I sat at an enormous table filled with guests that arrived for the weekend. The dining room was located to the east of the entrance hall, a library to the south, and two impressive drawing rooms to the north.
A quick perusal of the table afforded me the opportunity to examine any other single men in attendance. I soon learned that only two other gentlemen from prominent families arrived, but neither appealed to me. Understandably that would be my reaction since I had been ruined by the fetching male sitting to my left. He accidently brushed his hand against mine as he picked up his fork.
“Excuse me,” he said.
A flicker of kindness sparkled in his eyes, and I immediately snatched it as a keepsake in hopes of what lay ahead.
“Of course,” I replied, making sure that I returned a demure and well-mannered response. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught my mother’s occasional glances. Father engrossed himself in a manly discussion with the duke while my mother chatted intermittently with the duchess.
“Are you acquainted with everyone at the table?” I asked John, curious about the attendees at the weekend house party.
“Yes, I am acquainted with them all,” he replied. “Shall I discreetly give you names between sips of my soup?”
My eyes sparkled at the thought of irreverent gossip between courses. “If you do not mind.” He wasted no time in pointing out the guests.
“At the far end of the table sits Sir Riley of Yorkshire and his wife, Lady Elizabeth.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You will discover that her laugh sounds like a snorting pig.”
I had never choked on a spoonful of soup, but it would have been easy to do so after his irreverent disclosure. As he recited names, I found it impossible to keep my eyes off his face.
“Lady Seddon,” he said. “Pay attention, for I will be testing your memory later.”
Embarrassed, I ceased my gawking but discerned that he merely meant to jest rather than scold. As he spoke, I noted other females who apparently could not keep their eyes off John.
“Who is the young lady with the auburn hair and purple gown?” She occasionally glanced over at the two of us.
“That is my cousin Charlene,” he replied. He paused and slightly lowered his voice. “She has her eyes set on Reginald Brighton, a mere accounting clerk in Dorchester. It is the family scandal, you see, and I fear she will elope and cause a stir.”
I felt relieved she was not my competition but amused at her audacity to seek love rather than duty.
“I dare say she is a courageous young woman, but no doubt she will be a poor one if she marries beneath her position,” I said. “Although, I do not blame her for pursuing love.” The way I vocalized my thoughts, they sounded snobbish. I immediately regretted my statement.
“Not only poor,” John interjected, “but dead to the family. My uncle will not allow her to set foot in their home again if she disobeys his wishes.”
“Do you think it fair?” I asked, eyeing him curiously to obtain his opinion.
“Fair has nothing to do with it,” he said. “Whatever opinion I hold on the matter will be my own.”
The tone of his curt reply told me that he did not wish to share his thoughts, which I found unkind. I envisioned the steel sword pointed in my direction, so I dropped the subject entirely.
The footman served the next course, and I turned my attention toward my dinner plate to contemplate what lay ahead for the weekend. Since my father revealed that the marriage contract had been handed over to the solicitor to draft, I wondered if I should expect a proposal during the activities. Curious regarding the schedule, I began prodding him for information.
“Shall I expect the barking of hounds in the early morning hours to wake me up?” The hunt usually started at dawn with howling dogs and eager horses. Men in their tweed jackets, with dangling shotguns over their arms, would eagerly mount their saddled steeds and speed off into the countryside.
“I expect you will,” he answered. “Most of the men come to enjoy a good fox hunt over the weekend.”
“Poor fox,” I sadly replied. “Frightened, chased, and outnumbered by yapping canines to be shot dead.”
“I take it you do not approve.” John sounded displeased about my comment. “Do you mean to tell me that a beautiful lady like yourself does not own a fox fur?”
“Well, if you put it that way, I insist you hunt to your heart’s desire. I shall not give up my winter coat with its fox collar that I find most comforting and warm.” By now, he must think me a hypocrite.
“Spoken like a genuine lady of class.” He appeared amused over my selfish pursuits.
Our dinner dissolved into superficial conversation, which offered me little else to learn about his character. I conversed with others sitting nearby, making the most of my attempt to present myself as a lady with manners and dignity.
As the meal ended, the women at the table rose in unison and departed for tea. The men stayed behind for cigars and drinks. I did not give John any parting words or glance as I left. His guarded demeanor exhausted me, and I doubted that we would have a worthwhile personal conversation the entire weekend.
We entered the large sitting room down the hall, strikingly adorned in Elizabethan décor. There were twelve women in the group. John’s mother, the duchess, quickly came to my side inviting me to sit with her on the settee. My mother followed closely behind, and I noticed that Charlene lingered nearby. The family members appeared intent on learning more about me, which I found to be natural under the circumstances.
Though I conversed briefly with the duchess at the ball, we did not have the opportunity for an in-depth conversation about any particular subject. We had exchanged only a few words before other ladies caught her attention. After she had drifted away to speak with them, Charlene sat down next to me.
“I am Charlene Broadhurst,” she announced without smiling.
“John mentioned you were his cousin,” I replied. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Are you enjoying your stay thus far?”
“For the most part, yes,” I replied. “Hopefully, the weekend will become more stimulating.”
“Oh, I am sure it will. Give the men another hour, and they will fill the room to play a silly game of charades.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and then watch the interaction between Sir Riley and Lady Whittemore,” she said in a low tone. “They are having an affair.”
The tidbit of scandalous chatter perked my ears. Even though I knew it was not good behavior to partake in the sin of gossip, I enjoyed juicy secrets.
“Oh, dear,” I replied. “Does everyone know?”
Charlene coyly grinned. “Of course they do. Why do you think we have weekend parties? It is to mingle so unhappily married couples can partake in a tryst here and there. As long as it is discreetly done, no one really minds.”
The smile on my face faded. Would that also be my future—a husband committing adultery? I glanced at my mother who appeared engrossed in shameful chatter and suddenly wondered whether my father strayed from their marriage bed. If he had, did she know? My pleasant evening turned sour at the thought, and Charlene apparently realized its effects.
“I apologize, Lady Seddon, for speaking of such indelicate matters. It is thoughtless of me in light of your relationship with John.”
“What relationship?” I curtly responded. “He has barely paid an ounce of attention to me since we met.”
“It is difficult for John to do so,” Charlene replied.
“Why?” I scowled.
“I dare not say anything further,” her voice quavered. “Already, I have said far too much.”
To my surprise, she rose to her feet and wandered over to another group of ladies, leaving me behind to consider her words. As I glanced around the room, which would one day be my home, I decided that I did not care for the atmosphere. The lovely décor somehow turned disagreeable in my eyes. Mother wandered over and sat next to me.
“Mingle dear,” she encouraged me with a pat on my arm. “Do not sit here like a wallflower.”
I wanted to ask her about Father but decided that it was not the time or place to do so. Remaining ignorant about such dreadful and hurtful things would be safer than dealing with the disappointment of my father straying to another’s bed.
“Yes, of course,” I said, rising to my feet. I joined John’s mother again and a group of other ladies. The usual superficial chitchat ensued.
The door opened and the men arrived smelling of cigars and brandy. All the ladies perked up like wilted flowers watered by their presence. The atmosphere erupted with animated men and women who wanted to play games. I glanced at John, who wandered over to my side. His arrival suggested duty and not want, but I restrained my disenchantment.
“Will you join in a game of charades?” I asked. He nodded his head affirmatively and expressed a weak grin but said nothing in return. I knew he already played a game with me from the moment we first met. Something about John Broadhurst was not all that it appeared to be. His steel sword, pointed in my direction, guarded a well-kept secret.