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That thought was interrupted when Thorne entered the room.
“Remarkable! You are actually in the parlour, rather than the music room! I will mark this day down as one to remember.”
“I do spend time in this room, frequently, my dear brother – just not at the times when you do, it seems. Perhaps it is your presence which is remarkable?”
Thorne laughed, dropping into the chair nearest her, and reaching across to scoop up two of the lemon cakes from her tea tray.
“Well, if that is so, you should appreciate my generosity in being here.”
Iris pulled a cushion from behind her, and flung it at him. He plucked it from the air, tucked it behind him with ostentatious adjusting for comfort, and grinned at her again. She glared at him.
“You really are impossible!”
He gave her a seated half bow, and went back to savouring the lemon cakes. She opened her book again, and set about actively ignoring him.
Moments later, the parlour door opened again, and they both looked up to see their father.
“Do either of you have clothing suitable for deep mourning?”
Startled, Iris shook her head.
“Last time we needed mourning was some time ago – nothing from then will still fit me – why – who has died?”
“You’d best order some then – deep mourning, ordinary mourning and half mourning – it seems likely that the King will not live much longer.”
For once, Thorne was silent, gaping at their father almost as much as Iris was. The King had not been well for many years, it was true, but somehow, this was still shocking news.
“Ah… I see. I had best visit the modiste tomorrow then – hopefully, the weather will clear by then!”
“And I will see my tailor, although I am better placed than Iris, for I have a selection of simple black attire, which can have mourning bands added to it.”
The Duke nodded.
“I will keep you informed as things progress – and obviously, this may well change which days I have to be in the House of Lords – there is due process to follow on such a momentous occasion for the Country. Your mother is considering her own wardrobe now. But, beyond the tailor and modiste, do not discuss this anywhere yet – best not to presume upon God’s timing.”
>>>
The messenger rapped on the door of Greenleigh Park in the late evening, when the light had long since faded to night, and the sleet had become a steady light fall of snow. Leon was just coming down the stairs, his hands aching a little in the cold, for he had played for hours, until Maggie had finally drifted into sleep.
The dozing footman startled into alertness, and hurried to open the door, revealing a half frozen man in the livery of the staff of the House of Lords.
“Come inside man, so that we can shut the door!”
The messenger complied, and the footman closed out the storm with alacrity.
“My Lord…”
The messenger fumbled in the bag he carried, his hands numbed by the cold, then produced a sealed document. Leon took it, then turned to the footman.
“See this man to the kitchens, and make sure that he is warmed and given a decent meal. And ask Mrs Hartford to have a guest room made up for him, and a fire set in its grate – this is no night to be out in the weather.”
The messenger bowed, obviously grateful, and was led away, leaving Leon standing there, holding the sealed message. What could be of so much import that a message would be sent, now, when he had planned to be in London within the week anyway, for the next sitting of the Lords?
He turned, and went to his study, where he poured himself a sizeable brandy before settling into the armchair before the fire. Only once the brandy warmed him from the inside, did he break the seal on that ominously official paper. The words inside were formal, yet, for a communication relating to the House of Lords and the monarchy, minimal, stark – yet of a nature which, in an instant, changed the world.
The King was dead, today, the 29th of January 1820. The Prince Regent had acceded to the throne. A coronation would follow in due course.
And he, as all the other Lords, was summoned to London, to the proceedings within the House which would set in motion the formal transition from one King to the next, whilst maintaining order in the Kingdom.
