Rose headed for the door, glancing over her shoulder. “Aunt Sophie? Whatever for?”
The two women disappeared through the servants’ door, leaving the room oddly silent. After a moment Robert cleared his throat. “Her name is Eloise. Lady Eloise Surrey.”
Michael’s eyebrows arched. “The Earl of Pentney’s daughter?”
Robert nodded.
“You are in love with her?”
Another nod. “Although, like you, I’m not sure I have anything to offer. But if I could turn this estate in Kent into something profitable... honorable... it might convince her father, who currently despises me.”
“As does half the city at this moment.”
“Always the encourager.”
“So how do you think I can help?”
As Robert talked, Michael found himself more engaged than he had in a long time, and an odd feeling started to grow in the back of his mind, something he had not felt in almost four years.
Hope.
Chapter Six
Thursday, 4 August 1825
Beckcott Hall, London
Half-past ten in the morning
Clara sealed thelast of three notes and handed them to the waiting Radcliff, then leaned back as the maid gave a quick curtsy and rushed out of the bedchamber. Radcliff seemed to rush everywhere, and Clara would have ordinarily cautioned her about showing more decorum in the house, but today she appreciated the maid’s sense of urgency.
Two of her letters would go downstairs to the box in the kitchen, where all usual outgoing mail awaited the messenger who gathered them twice a day. The third would go with Radcliff when she went to pick up the cleaned and dried day gown left behind at Ashton House. A message to be privately delivered, if possible. A risk, but what happened after that would tell Clara a great deal about how she would proceed next.
She had taken an early breakfast tray in her room, knowing her mother would do the same, and Clara had no stomach this morning to face her father. She did send a message down, asking if she could meet with him later that day. Then she had settled at her escritoire and penned the first two notes quickly—one to the Duchess of Aldermaston, offering her apologies for the misunderstanding that had happened at the ball, and an anonymous one to her favorite scandal sheet, offering her explanation of the event. Clara often wrote to a scandal sheet or two after such an event, as she knew many other ladies did, as seeing their versions of the tiny dramas that happened in the corners of ballrooms around the city gave them a rather vicarious thrill. The scandal sheets thrived on these accounts, and even if sent anonymously, everyone seemed to know who was who.
A polite game within a polite society, although sometimes the results could be disastrous. Clara knew too well if only Hadleyton’s version was known, Lord Michael would pay the consequences, as might she. The full story needed to be told. Conflicting stories always added to the drama and the spread of theon ditabout any event.
The final note took more care and focus. She was about to step over a line in initiating contact with an unmarried gentleman, and if it did not go as she hoped, the costs for her could also be somewhat unfortunate. She included his formal address, then began carefully.
Lord Michael,
I hope you will forgive this rather forward breech of propriety, but I felt the question you asked me last night should not go unanswered.
Yes, I truly hunt with a falcon. I realize this is unusual behavior for a lady, thus your doubts about my statement about Maid Marian on Monday. But it is not unusual for me. As my mother frequently points out, my behavior varies from the “usual” for a lady far too much for her comfort.
Mr. Sutland, our gamekeeper, comes from a family long employed by the earls of Beckcott, and his father is one of our grooms at Beckcott Abbey. His mother, however, descended from a family of falconers, and is to this day recognized as one of the best in all of England. I frequented her mews as a child, and she introduced me to the sport. She also helped me capture and train my own peregrine several years ago. Named, of course, for the lovely maiden of the Robin Hood legends. I hunt with her as often as I can, much to the chagrin of both Mr. Sutland and Radcliff, who my parents insist accompany me as a chaperone into the fields. A ludicrous proposition, as Mr. Sutland is beyond reproach, and it makes Radcliff most unhappy. But I can be rather stubborn about going out with Maid Marian in a regular fashion. She needs the exercise, and it relieves me of my mother’s rather excruciating oversight.
I also want to thank you for your kindness in coming to my aid on Monday, as well as with the rather despicable Mr. Hadleyton. He has seen me as his nemesis for some time, I’m afraid, and thinks it a proper goal to humiliate me whenever possible. That he experienced a bit of his own at your hands gave me a great deal of joy, despite the embarrassment of it. Please be assured that my mortification was due to Mr. Hadleyton’s actions and not your own.
If you have other inquiries you would like to express to me, please know that I receive callers—at least for now—at two in the afternoon most days. If no one calls by three, occasionally Radcliff and I will take a short sojourn in the park. In such a crowded arena, my mother trusts that not even I can create too much chaos. I try not to see this sentiment as a challenge, but it becomes more difficult the longer we are in the City.
Finally, I would appreciate a return of the favor—an answer to a question of my own. According to rumor, you have been back at Ashton House since April. How is it we are only now seeing you at Society events?
Until both our curiosities are sated, I remain,
Yours truly,
Lady Clara Durham
