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“Ella! You do not need to speak so openly!” She turns her head toward the footmen and huffs with exasperation before looking back and whispering, “There are men present, young lady.”
“Well, this man thinks you’re being ridiculous and wasting valuable time.” Father jumps in again to dampen my mother’s fire. “Ella, you look lovely. Try not to break too many hearts this evening. Libby, you need to quit trying to make molehills out of mountains.” He tries hard to keep a straight face. I, on the other hand, cannot, and we both end up in fits of laughter as we watch my poor mother try to decipher my father’s words.
“I’m glad you two think this is so amusing. I’m just trying to look out for your reputation, dear. Any mark against you could drastically reduce your chances of finding a suitable husband!” With a loud swoosh of her skirts, she spins around, nose in the air and all the hauteur she can muster and heads toward the door.
While observing her dramatic exit, I think, perhaps, Father and I shouldn’t tease her so. She means well, she truly does, and she doesn’t know differently. As the second daughter of the Duke of Brunswick, Mother’s upbringing was a life of privilege that mimicked a prison sentence—or at the very least, a strict military term. Her marriage to my father was arranged from the time they were children. When the happy day finally arrived, it turned out to be her first taste of freedom, and she devoured it. From then on, their relationship grew into a happy, respectful, loving marriage. Thankfully, my parents decided early on that I should have some say in choosing my own husband, increasing the chance for a companionable match and perhaps even love.
At this point in time, I can honestly say my mother is regretting that decision. Charles Percy, the heir presumptive to a dukedom, an earldom, two viscountcies, and who knows what other titles, has shown a great deal of interest in me, and Mother thinks this is the most wonderful thing that could ever happen. She can’t understand why I don’t share her opinion, but Lord Percy does nothing for me other than grate on my nerves with his nasally voice and make my skin crawl with his clammy hands. Thankfully, Father seems to understand completely and doesn’t push the issue.
When I peer over at him, we smile at each other and he shrugs his shoulders. “I do apologize, dear. That was very forward of me, but it was going to drag on forever if I didn’t stop it.” Placing his hand on my shoulder, he gives me a tender look. “Don’t let her constant fussing upset you. She worries about you and only wants what’s best. You know that, right?”
Our arms link together as we walk toward the open doors and our awaiting carriage. “Of course, I do, Father. I make the best of it though. She and Beatrice have become a source of entertainment for me.” I glance over at him with a sly smile. “It is great fun to see who will get into the biggest tizzy about anything from riding my horse to picking out jewelry to wear to a ball.”
His deep laugh echoes through the porte-cochere. “That’s my girl,” he boasts as he waits for me to enter the carriage, “a true Seymour, through and through.”
Mother is still pouting as I take a seat next to her. It won’t last long; Father won’t let it. He has a genuine charm about him that puts people at ease without them even knowing he has diffused their ire. I feel a great sense of pride come over me as I think about the good man that is my father. Edward Henry Seymour, Duke of Somerset, is an admiral in the Royal Navy and is currently serving as the First Lord of the Admiralty. He was initially reluctant to take a political position as the government’s senior advisor of naval affairs, director of the Admiralty, and general administrator of the Royal Navy and the Royal Marines. However, he quickly embraced the role that seems to have been made for him. The King, himself, has complimented my father on several occasions for his excellent performance and leadership.
The door closes as he takes a seat across from us, looking very distinguished in his formal uniform—the magnificent dark-blue wool jacket with wide gold embroidery on the high collar, chest, and cuffs, the fancy gold fringed epaulets on the shoulders, and various badges and medals that speak of his military accomplishments. I may be somewhat biased, but of all the military uniforms, the navy’s formal dress is the most spectacular. There is no denying the commanding presence and appeal of a properly dressed, high-ranking navy admiral.
Reaching forward with his sword-cane, a beautifully crafted accessory that was a gift from the Prime Minister, he taps my mother’s knee through the layers of her brilliant red skirt. “Libby, my love, did I happen to mention that your beauty is so dazzling this evening that I am likely to have difficulty paying attention to anyone else in the room other than you?” I can see the sparkle in his eyes, and it makes my heart swell with love for him. He adores my mother, possibly even more than she adores him.
Mother shifts her attention to him, but only briefly before looking back out the window. “Yes, Edward, I believe you’ve mentioned it several times. Although your previous compliments were not glazed with as much honey.” I cannot see her face as it is turned away, but from the endearing look on my father’s, I suspect he must find a smile.
His foot moves to slip underneath the hem of her dress, silently claiming her attention. Once their eyes meet, he offers her a charming wink and a half smile that tells her everything she needs to know. With that simple gesture, all is right in the world again. I sit quietly and observe their exchange, finding comfort in the love and trust they share, wondering if someday I will find the same in the man with whom I choose to share my life. I pray to be so fortunate.
Entering the ballroom, my first thought is that someone needs to open the French doors. It is stifling, the air stagnant from a crowd that is far larger than I anticipated and overheated by the number of candles used to illuminate this vast space. Beyond the lack of fresh, cool air, this ballroom is a stunning feature in an already palatial estate. The high ceilings are elaborately embellished with moldings so ornate, they are works of art themselves. In between the gilded frames that span the entirety of its length are lovely painted scenes of cherubs floating playfully in the clouds. I pause for a moment to enjoy the artistry and wonder at the subject’s mischievous intentions. In spectacular contrast, the walls are covered in a rich burgundy wallpaper with small geometric designs of metallic gold. There are layers upon layers of gold swagged drapery that accent the floor-to-ceiling windows from top to bottom and pool onto the floor in an intentional excess that shows off our host’s ability to afford it.
My favorite touches, however, are the massive potted palm trees that fan out proudly at every column and stand guard at each entrance, making the grand room more inviting and less intimidating. The bright green fronds contrast perfectly with the warm burgundy of the walls as they cast curious shadows around them.
Opening my fan, I try to cool myself before a sheen of perspiration has a chance to form across my face. If this room becomes any more crowded, it will be unbearable. I begin my search for a servant, seeking a refreshment to quench my sudden thirst, when my cousin, Mary, sneaks up from behind and grabs my shoulders, squealing as she spins me around. “Ella! You’re here! Thank the Lord for small miracles. I thought I would have to endure this all by myself.” I can tell by the beaming smile on her face that she is truly happy to see me.
“Mary! What are you doing here? I didn’t think you were coming tonight. Oh, this is a wonderful change of plans!” These events just aren’t the same without her.
“Mother changed her mind, as usual, and decided we should delay our visit to the country for another week or so.” She rolls her eyes and releases a huff. “I can honestly say that I cannot wait to be married, living my own life, and no longer forced to follow my mother around with the hope that she will stick with a plan from one day to the next.”
“Well, perhaps tonight is your lucky night. Surely there is a handsome young officer here that is lined up to be the next duke or marquess or some important title,” I say encouragingly as we hook arms and continue to search for a refreshment.
“Listen to you with that fanciful notion. Look around, Ella. I think I am more likely to find myself matched to a stodgy old curmudgeon with a round belly and ear lobes that hang to his shoulders.”
I cover my face with my fan as a giggle escapes. “Oh Mary, you are too cynical. You’ll find your match, and it won’t be to the frightening character you just described.”
“So you say. I fear my mother is growing impatient and in discussions with my father to sell me off to the highest bidder. And I assure you, her standards are far different than mine.”
“That’s interesting considering the size of your dowry. How does the bidding work in that scenario? Your future husband is the one who receives the gain.”
“Yes, well, don’t confuse things, Ella. It’s all about title with my parents, especially Mother. If he has status and a name, they are more than happy to fill his coffers.” She squeezes my arm tighter. “It’s really a terrible thing. Do you have any idea what has come to call recently?” she asks with a mock shiver up her spine.
“You act as if monkeys and mules have come to ask for your hand in marriage.”
It’s her turn to laugh as she throws her head back, unabashed. “I shall start matching my callers to creatures just for fun, and perhaps to keep them all separated. Lord Pennington is most assuredly the monkey.” She pauses, tapping her chin as she thinks of the next comparison. “The mule is either the Earl of Falsworth and Lord Paget, the Marquess of something-or-other. Oh, Ella, it’s truly terrifying. I cannot imagine being married to any of the men that have showed interest. I wish I did not have a dowry at all. We both know that is all they are interested in. Well, that and providing them with a son.” Bringing her hand up to her chest, the angst escapes in something between a groan and a cry. “I simply will not be able to dothatwith a monkey or a mule.”
Before I have a chance to distract her with something more positive, her head pops up, her face lit with mischief. “A stallion! That’s what I need, a thoroughbred stallion. Tall, shiny, muscular, and handsome. I’ll be the mare, and he’ll be the stud.”
Taking my fan, I snap it closed so I can hit her on the shoulder. “Mary!” I try not to draw any more attention than she already has. “You cannot talk so freely here. Someone may have heard you,” I whisper sternly. “If your mother heard you, she’d send you straight to the convent.”
“I can’t become a duchess or marchioness if I’m a nun. Trust me when I tell you, her mission is clear. You’ve never seen such determination. That lunatic Napoleon doesn’t hold a candle to my mother when it comes to the will to succeed!”
I can’t help the burst of laughter that has me turning my back to the crowd to hide my face. Mary’s laughter starts to mingle with mine as she continues, “Oh dear, I’ve just had a vision of my mother, stern-faced and determined. Wearing that ridiculous hat—” She can barely talk now, and I’ve got tears coming out of my eyes. “that Napoleon wears.”
