‘If you please, Your Grace, an express from The Duke.’
Thea’s chest squeezed a little. Since the incident in George’s study two months ago she had endeavoured to be in the same county as him as little as possible. Currently he was away on a hunting party, and she hoped this was a note saying it would be extended. She still smarted from the incident, and the fact that despite all she went through, she still had no idea why her husband was so intent on ingratiating himself with Knatchbull. She hoped more than anything that he wasn’t’ in financial trouble. Thanking Sanders, she slipped a finger inside the Hartford seal adhered to the parchment.
As it was, George would be back within the week, bringing Knatchbull, Monty Fairclough and his brother-in-law with him for a weekend gathering akin to that at Upper Plumbthorne.Thea was not looking forward to hosting, even though it would be good to see Cecily and Harriet. This letter could be anything from reminding her of the menu George desired, to the exotic fruit he wanted ordered or another madcap idea for their entertainment. She had wanted to invite Doctor Travers, but George had refused, and she was now too scared to argue at all.
But now, as her eyes travelled over the hastily made marks on the parchment, it became clear that this was not another account of George’s increasing demands. He had received word that the king and queen – currently on a tour of the home counties – would visit Hawkdean on the fourteenth and fifteenth of September. That was less than a week from now, realised Thea with a start. Usually, families were given notice of a year or more for a royal delegation. How would they prepare? They would need to completely overhaul two of the suites and provide accommodation for any court and servants who travelled with the monarch and his wife. She had met both royals before at the king’s drawing rooms of course, and she found Queen Charlotte interesting company, but hosting them was entirely different. And why on earth were they coming?
Should they cancel the weekend party completely, she wondered? The royals would have been gone for one day before their guests arrived and surely that was too close. But George hadn’t said anything in his letter, and so she must assume that that wasn’t his wish. There was nothing for it but to plan for both events consecutively.
‘Your Grace?’ The words filtered into her head, and she looked up to see Frankie regarding her with concern, filthy fingers grasping two handfuls ofHepaticafrom the other side of the bed. ‘I was just asking if everything was alright.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Thea, her mind still racing. ‘The king and queen are coming.’
Frankie stared at her. ‘When?’
‘Next week,’ said Thea. And saying it aloud made her insides feel the panic that was written on Frankie’s face.
‘Please allow me to assure you that it is all in hand,’ Thea said as calmly as she could as George raced around the house four days later. As it happened, it didn’t seem that he had any further understanding than Thea as to why the household was about to be subjected to a royal delegation. He had left the shooting party as quickly as he could and raced back to Hawkdean. Thea wished he hadn’t. For one, once the initial shock had worn off, she, Martha, Mrs Phibbs and Mrs Jenkins had set to preparing for the visit. The second footman was now in London fetching new bed hangings, rugs and specialist ingredients for the chef. The painter was in touching up the mouldings and the entire north wing had been scrubbed top to bottom by a household staff who looked increasingly ragged. Short of building a whole new suite they were as ready as could be.
‘What about the staff?’ he barked as he strode into the green dressing room and peered under the eiderdown. ‘We must drill them in how to address royalty.’
‘Fletcher is seeing to their training,’ she said from the doorway, still reticent to be alone in a room with him, her heart racing with the stress.
‘You left it to a servant?’ he shot back, only glancing at her briefly but with undisguised malice. She pursed her lips and noted that apparently any pretence of affability between them had now evaporated.
‘Mr Fletcher is the trusted head of your household and quite capable,’ she said, trying to keep her voice free of any inflection which would rile George’s temper.
‘You do realise that this is higher stakes than your silly little dinner parties, don’t you?’ He ran his finger over a carved wooden shield on the window frame and checked it for dust. Thea decided not to remind him that the dinner party had been his idea.
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ she said.
He looked up and stared at her as if to check that she wasn’t being insolent. ‘You better understand,’ he said, turning back to peer behind the curtains. ‘Your family may not have been important enough to warrant a royal visit but mine are, and I know how demanding they can be. Lord knows why we have had so little notice, it’s usually a year or more. If you have been corresponding with the palace without my permission I shall be furious.’ He gave her a look of pure rage.
She took a couple of breaths while she swallowed a response. ‘Of course not,’ she said, swallowing the shame she felt. ‘I believe that everything is in hand, but if you see anything I have missed do inform me and I will ensure it is seen to.’
He strode over towards her and her breath hitched with a fear that surprised her. He stood inches from her in the doorway, and she fought the panic that rose in her chest. Finally, the intensity of his presence became too much, and she stepped back. He laughed at her discomfort. ‘You’re right – you will,’ he said, not even trying to keep the contempt from his voice.
As he turned on his heel and strode away a gasping breath re-entered her body, making her shudder. She needed to breathe to her stomach, but the corset wouldn’t let her, so she inhaled quickly into her chest. It made her lightheaded and she leaned on the doorframe. Suddenly a hand grasped her arm and she whirled around, terror causing her to pull her arms around herself.
‘It’s just me,’ said Martha gently. The relief was palpable, but she still seemed frozen to the spot. ‘I’m sorry,’ Martha took herhand away. ‘I shouldn’t have come up on you like that, but you’re safe.’ Thea nodded as her pulse thudded in her ears, but it started to slow. She unwrapped her arms from her body and reached out for Martha’s hands.
‘I hadn’t expected it to affect me so…,’ said Thea. ‘Now he’s back, it’s here again.’
‘I won’t leave you alone with him,’ said Martha firmly.
‘We can try,’ said Thea, leaning back against the door frame and swallowing against her thick throat. ‘But as he likes to remind me, he can do whatever he likes, whenever he likes.’
‘He will have to learn that he can’t,’ said Martha, keeping her voice low. ‘One way or another.’
Thea saw the fury in her eyes and suspected that there was something that Martha wasn’t saying, but she had neither the sense nor attention to analyse it now. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Martha and drew her in, pressing their cheeks together.
‘What would I do without you?’ she muttered, and Martha clearly felt the same as she gathered Thea up and held her close.
Thea fielded George’s demands and tantrums over the days leading up to the visit. Was the stilton blue enough, were the rooms the right aspect for September sun, was the water closet stocked with enough fresh rags, were the musicians sufficiently practiced at the king’s favourite country dance tunes. She had never seen him so agitated, and he swung between attempted but fractious sobriety and flailing drunkenness. Thea never found herself alone with him again, whether it was Martha standing by, Mrs Phibbs making the tea or Mrs Jenkins finding a curtain to straighten. She was more grateful than she could express.
‘What are they doing here?’ he snapped on the morning of the visit. Thea turned towards the direction of his gesture, to find their children emerging into the grand staircase hall, the intended reception space for their Royal Highnesses.
‘I have had them come down for a final practice,’ explained Thea in a gentle tone she had found the least likely to agitate him. Edward collided with her legs, and she bent to hug him as Mr Fenwick accompanied a toddling Abigail across the shiny marble floor. ‘Samantha’s curtsy is now quite accomplished.’ Edward released her and took a couple of tentative steps towards his father, always hopeful of a little recognition.
