The house at Torquay was everything Winsome had imagined. Itsat just above the town on a hill and overlooked the harbor. She and Manderbey speedily settled into their preferred routine—rising early in the morning for breakfast on the veranda overlooking the sea, long walks along the wharf, stops at Manderbey’s favored tavern where they happily shocked the men inside by commandeering the cozy, leisurely dinners, and long evenings alone with the sea breeze blowing through their bedchamber.
Eventually, though, they could not avoid rejoining the wider world. Word was sent to both the duke and the dowager that the couple had reached Torquay.
Mrs. Right and the staff would return to the Dales to spend their time however they liked. The duke would escort the dowager and Valor to Torquay before continuing on to his friend’s estate for trout fishing.
The dowager found traveling with the duke not as amusing as she might have imagined. His Grace mostly slept and she was left with Lady Valor and that girl’s dog as her company. This might not have been the worst thing to happen, but Lady Valor had some kind of diabolical determination to talk about how old the dowager was and what she ought to do about it at every turn.
The dowager was informed that she was drawn to Lady Valor because she was old, though in fact she was not drawn to her at all. She was continually counseled on aspects of her old age, much of it seeming to come from the girl’s local vicar and centering on the benefits of a lace fichu and avoiding rich dishes and strong drink. If the little miss imagined the dowager would give up her wine, she was very much mistaken.
In between these diatribes, Lady Valor darkly hinted about something she’d seen on Manderbey’s person, though she would never spell out what it was. The closest the dowager got to any sort of explanation was “I can still see it in my mind like it was yesterday.” Her rude little dog punctuated these wide-ranging pronouncements witheruptions of the gaseous variety, some of them so overpowering that they managed to wake the duke from his slumbers.
At least the evenings at the various inns where they stopped were more entertaining. Every day was Captain Cook Day and the duke had composed a poem about it. The dowager could not say how amusing the innkeepers found it upon discovering the duke had made the whole thing up, but it did pass the time.
After endless days of prattling advice from the youngest Nicolet, the dowager was delighted to see Torquay. She hurried into her cottage and slammed the door.
Her peace was not to last though, as Lady Valor marched over every morning to take her out for a constitutional in the garden, holding her arm as if she were in danger of falling over. In the evenings, she would return again and walk the dowager over to the main house for dinner and heavily sigh if her plate contained things that were not recommended. The dowager was left in the uncomfortable situation of feeling as if she’d somehow acquired a governess.
This went on for several months until the duke blessedly returned and took his youngest daughter home with him. The dowager spent several days recovering from the experience.
Once she did recover, the dowager might have imagined that she would hold great sway over her grandson’s wife, but that was not to be. Winsome was a firm believer in the idea that one must begin as one means to go on and she reined in the dowager’s ideas. The new marchioness was the most stubborn of the Nicolets and she was steadfast in her protection of her new family. She understood that someday there would be children, and she must be the setter of tone and the arbiter of habits, not the dowager.
There were some initial skirmishes out of view of Manderbey, but Winsome was easily able to stand up to them. She was also in agreement with her husband. The dowager could behave or return home. The last time the dowager had claimed that if they tried to sendher away she would throw herself on the ground and say she was being starved and ignored, Winsome had said, “Well, I do not know who would believe you if you did, but try it out if you like. Also, if you insist on keeping up with all these complaints, I will take up the guitar and play it at all hours.”
This did give the dowager pause, as she very well knew she had no intention of throwing herself on the ground, the servants would not for a moment believe she was starved and ignored, and she had a real aversion to the guitar.
Through Winsome’s steadfastness and well-placed threats, peace was established, as even the most crotchety dowager does not continue to wage a war that cannot be won.
In any case, it was discovered that the dowager was much more agreeable when she respected the might of her opponent. Over time, she and Winsome became great friends and fell into the habit of taking their tea together in the afternoons and reading terrible novels together.
The dowager, being nothing if not determined, hung on to life long enough to see a great-grandchild on the ground. In two years’ time, Winsome would bring into the world a jolly little boy and his great-grandmother spent the last of her days being entertained by his wide-ranging moods and small accomplishments.
For now, all the Nicolets carried on with the lives they had established. Due to Valor not yet being old enough to be introduced to society, the duke was given a long-needed reprieve from his endless effort to launch his slew of daughters out of his house. He and his youngest, along with the intrepid Mrs. Right, retreated to the Dales to wait out the seasons.
In four years’ time, they would descend upon London once more. Nobody involved in it could deny there was a lingering trepidation over the idea of Valor’s turn, least of all Valor herself.
The End.
