Page 3 of Her Summer Duke

“I rode over here in the hope of just that. Food would be an excellent idea. So, how are you, dear cousin?”

Margaret shook her head.

“Not very well, I am afraid.”

Phoebe’s countenance appropriately immediately changed to a frown.

“You are ill! My heavens, you should be in bed! Is there anything I can bring you? Tea perhaps?”

Margaret began to giggle.

“I am not ill. But I am unhappy. I am blue-devilled. I wanted to go out to Bathampton Down for a picnic and it is raining - torrents, no doubt, by the look of your coiffure. Why on earth did you go out in the rain?”

“Patches of torrents, but my horse and I loved the ride, it’s so refreshing early in the morning, even if it was rather damp. Come now, dress for breakfast, Maggie, then we shall discuss all that vexes you, dear cousin. Perchance Lucy can find me something to wear. For now that I am inside, I do perceive that my riding habit is giving me quite the chill. After breakfast we can sit in the parlour and discuss everything.”

“Including my love for Ensign Chester.”

Phoebe gasped.

“You are in love with Ensign Chester? Why, he’s almost a pauper, if he’s an Ensign. And you are promised to…”

“I know, is it not the most romantic thing that you have ever heard? His being poor only enamours me of him the more.”

Lucy rolled her eyes up toward the tall ceiling, but made no comment, for once behaving as a maid was expected to. Phoebe reached out and took Margaret’s hand in hers, and she spoke firmly.

“Margaret, you are being outlandish! This kind of talk is quite mad. You and our King George are equally senseless. What would your dear father have said to this?”

Lucy gasped when Phoebe mentioned King George III in such an irreverent manner. Of course, it was true that the King was unfit as a ruler and the Prince Regent was now ruling over England, but, nonetheless….

“My father. Ah, my dear father. He supposed that he was doing well by me to have me supposedly all set up for the future, with the promise of my eventual betrothal to the man who had saved my life when I was ten. Ten.”

Margaret waved her arms about expressively as she continued. She knew that Phoebe had heard her speak so before, but she could not resist going over all of it again.

“What can a young girl comprehend at ten, Phoebe? Lord Saltonbury happened upon me, when I had fallen into that river. He was merely a passer-by who felt charitably inclined and saved a child. And now I am to be married to a passer-by? A passer-by rather older than I am, at that.” She turned to look out the window at the dreary grey rain-soaked countryside. “Oh, I suppose that there are days when I believe that I do love Hugh. I mean, I have known him forever, haven’t I? He brought me sweets when I was young, and there was the pony...”

She paused to toss a ringlet away from her face. “But what is love, really, Phoebe? Perhaps he is just familiar to me, like an Uncle would be, and what I feel is a kind of distant fondness. For he certainly does not raise in me the sort of sensations which one would expect from love… and I cannot deny my love for Ensign Chester. He made my heart beat so fast, and truly stole my breath away…”

She turned to look into Phoebe’s face. “You are betrothed to Lord Montpelier - do you love him?” She didn’t wait for her cousin to answer, but continued. “Would I have ever fallen in love with Saltonbury if he had not saved me from drowning in that river? It seems completely unlikely, does it not?” Phoebe was speechless, as her cousin continued. “I shall finish dressing to go down to breakfast, Phoebe, but I dare say that I will be melancholy and not good company throughout the whole repast.”

~~~~~

Phoebe put her arm around her cousin.

“I shall be ever-so understanding of your predicament.” She patted Margaret’s shoulder as she spoke. “Now if you do not mind, I am in dire need of a change of clothes before I die of consumption before your eyes!”

Yet, Margaret’s words had not fallen on deaf ears. Phoebe pondered Margaret’s question quite heavily.

Did she love Lord Montpelier?

The question often lingered in her mind. He had asked her father for her hand when she’d had her coming out. It had been her first Season and she had been overwhelmed by the pomp of everything. Parliament had just re-opened in London and she had been attending Balls, theatre, dances, and masquerades. Her head had been dizzy with the excitement and non-stop pageantry of society.

She had been introduced at Almack’s, and scrutinised by Lady Jersey, Lady Sefton, Lady Cowper, Lady Castlereagh, as well everyone present at Almack’s Assembly Rooms. Lady Jersey had introduced her to Lord Montpelier. He was regarded as very much an eligible bachelor.

By supper at eleven that night, Lord Montpelier was quite taken by her, though she was not so by him. She had watched him, studying his manner. When he was nervous, he would put one finger into his cravat in his attempt to make more room for his neck. Yet, he had danced with her. He had danced the Sauteuse in a manner quite lively, leaping as he glided and held her close. But the one thing that she could not quite disremember - though she did try—was that his hands were thin, bony, and cold like the hands of a dead man.