Monday for Tea

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Tea with Lady Faith

Lady Faith Afton surveyed the large pile of open bags and boxes. Containers of all sorts with their contents strewn about the comfortable sitting room of the suite she’d occupied at Haverford House for the past two weeks.

“I don’t know how I will get all of this back to Reabridge.”

“I’m certain we have a spare carriage or two you may borrow,” the duchess said.

“I also don’t know how I can ever thank you for inviting me to stay while I shopped for my trousseau. Your advice on styles and colors has been invaluable.”

“ Nonsense Faith, my dear. We’ve been friends since we were in the schoolroom. I would have been greatly offended had you come to London on this blessed errand and not sought me out. Besides, we always had great fun shopping together when you lived in London.”

Faith smiled. “Those are very precious memories. It is good to see you Eleanor. You’ve always had such a steadying influence on me.”

“You’ve a steady enough hand yourself with that young niece of yours, if I understand correctly what you have told me of her.”

Faith sipped the last of her tea and set the cup aside.

“Oh, Charité is the best of nieces and quite practical. She would have come with me, but she and her husband Thom, my Isaac’s son, are working tirelessly to set up the day school they are founding for the local children.”

“They won’t be taking in boarders?” Eleanor asked.

“Not for the first year or two. Thom wants to establish a local reputation before branching out to teach other students.”

“Very wise. How are they financing the school?”

“Thom, who reached the rank of Captain under Wellington is very organized and thorough. Before making any definite plans or commitments, he spoke with the leading families in Reabridge and gained their support. The Duke of San Sebastian purchased and donated the land and buildings where the school will be located. Other prominent men of the area are contributing time, labour and funds. All was so well in order that we expect the school to open within a year.”

Eleanor nodded, thoughtfully. “That is a massive undertaking.”

“You would know, Eleanor,” Faith said, “You’ve sponsored educational projects throughout the country.”

“Especially for young women.”

“My niece will be working with Thom at the school so there will be education and training for all. Not just the boys.”

“Quite foresighted of the Captain,” Eleanor said, approvingly.

Faith’s eyes gleamed. “I doubt very much Charité would allow him to have it any other way. She is a force of nature, my niece.”

“Excellent.” The Duchess of Haverford put down her tea. “May I refill your cup, Faith?”

“No, I might burst if I try to consume more.” She bowed her head and looked at her hands, twisting the ring her fiancé had given her as a symbol of their love and pending marriage.

“Very well.” Eleanor sat back and waited. Something had been troubling Faith from the moment she arrived. However, she’d taken none of the many opportunities to unburden herself that Eleanor had created. Sometimes one simply had to wait.

“I have a confession to make, my friend.”

Eleanor sat forward, placing a hand on Faith’s arm. “Tell me.”

“It’s silly, really.”

Eleanor smiled and shook her head. “I doubt that.”

“At my age, I should not be nervous about my wedding night,” Faith insisted.

“Some nerves before marriage are normal, Faith.”

“But I am far from a blushing innocent. Heavens, I’ve been married before. Although, Afton, God rest him, was not the most tender of lovers. He did his duty. I regret to this day I was unable to conceive.” Faith sighed.

“You must not blame yourself.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head. “Not really. I know that both man and woman are needed to produce a babe, and the fault could lie with either or neither. I accept that God did not mean for me to be a mother. Yet, I can still regret that I was not.”

“Very well,” Eleanor agreed, “but surely this is not why you are suffering nerves about your coming nuptials.”

“No. Neither Isaac nor I expect or wish for the blessings received by Abraham in his old age.”

“Then why the nerves.”

“It’s just that…well…I’m old. I’m not the lovely young thing I was when Afton courted and married me.”

Eleanor restrained a laugh. “Do you imagine that Dr. Owen wishes you were other than you are. That you were young and sylph-like.”

“No, no. Isaac is the kindest and most loving of men.”

“Is he not older than you?”

“By a year or two.”

“And is he an Adonis?” Eleanor persisted.

“Nooo. I wouldn’t say that,” Faith acknowledged. “Although he is a very distinguished figure of a man.”

“Do you like his kisses.”

Faith blushed. “I’d not wed him if I didn’t.”

“Worry not, my friend. Your nerves will cease the morning after your wedding night.”

Lady Afton covered her face with her hands. When she dropped them, she was smiling. You are right. I’m dithering over nothing.”

There was a twinkle in Eleanor’s eyes “Most likely. But it is an exciting time, nonetheless. I suggest you enjoy it.”

“I promise to do so.”

“Now let us ring for the maids and begin packing. You have much to do before departing tomorrow morning.”


This conversation between the Duchess of Haverford and Lady Faith Afton, mentions Captain Thom Owen and Mrs.Charité Owen nee du Pessac. Thom and charite are hero and heroine of my novella, A Harvest Blessing one of the stories in the Bluestocking Belles with Friends collection Under the Harvest Moon.

About A Harvest Blessing:ter Waterloo, Captain Thom Owen is uncertain what to do with himself. Then fate casts Charité du Pessac and her aunt in his path. No gentleman would abandon a damsel as brave and kind as Miss du Pessac, but how can he help her? With no clear solution in mind, Thom escorts the ladies home to his father.

Charité ‘s aunt believes her niece and the captain are engaged, and Charité fears the captain’s father will not welcome them. She is French after all, and while the captain might not object to her nationality, others—like his father—might disapprove of a marriage between former enemies.

About Under the Harvest Moon

A Bluestocking Belles with Friends Collection

By Caroline Warfield, Jude Knight, Sherry Ewing, Cerise DeLand, Elizabeth Ellen Carter, Collette Cameron, Mary Lancaster, Alina K. Field, and Rue Allyn

As the village of Reabridge in Cheshire prepares for the first Harvest Festival following Waterloo, families are overjoyed to welcome back their loved ones from the war.

But excitement quickly turns to mystery when mere weeks before the festival, an orphaned child turns up in the town—a toddler born near Toulouse to an English mother who left clues that tie her to Reabridge.

With two prominent families feuding for generations and the central event of the Harvest Moon festival looming, tensions rise, and secrets begin to surface.

Nine award winning and bestselling authors have combined their talents to create this engaging and enchanting collection of interrelated tales. Under the Harvest Moon promises an unforgettable read for fans of Regency romance.

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/UnderHarvestMoon

About Rue Allyn:

Author of historical and contemporary romances, Rue Allyn fell in love with happily ever after the day she heard her first story. (She claims she was a precocious little brat who read at the age of two but she could hear much earlier than that.) She studied literature for far too many years before discovering that writing stories was much more fun than writing about them. One of her greatest pleasures as an author is being able to share her stories with so many other readers. Rue is happily married to her sweetheart of many, many years.

Insatiably curious, and avid reader and traveler, she loves to hear from readers about their favorite books and real-life adventures. Crazy Cat stories are especially welcome. You may contact her at Rue@RueAllyn.com. She can’t wait to hear from you.

Find Rue OnLine: WEBSITE   FB    AMAZON    GOODREADS   BOOKBUB

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Tea with a doting mother

Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire always greeted the Duchess of Kingston with warmth and courtesy. More so than if she had actually liked the woman, for Eleanor held that courtesy and kindness was a duty that one owed to oneself, however unworthy the recipient. 

Today, she was struggling to maintain her facade. “And so you see, duchess,” said the other lady, “that scoundrel has kept my poor daughter-in-law’s baby from her out of sheer spite. My son’s baby, too, as the world knows, though she was born during my daughter-in-law’s unfortunate first marriage. Heaven alone knows how he treats the dear little girl.”

“Very well, or so I understand from Cordelia Deerhaven,” Eleanor replied. “Cordelia says that John Forsythe is besotted with his daughter.”

“But duchess,” Kingston’s duchess complained, “of course, Lady Deerhaven would make that claim. But the little girl is not Forsythe’s so why should he treat her well? And how do we know that he does?”

“I am sure you do not intend to imply that Cordelia lies, duchess,” Eleanor said. Mendacious of her, for she was certain that her guest meant to imply that very thing. “She is, after all, a lady of excellent reputation.” Unlike the other duchess’s daughter-in-law, who had abandoned little Jane years ago to run off with the married lover who had got her with child before she trapped poor John Forsythe into marriage.  whom she had since married. Neither of them had shown any interest in the child until the last few weeks.

“Cordelia and her husband visit Cumbria frequently, and she has mentioned many times over the years how much Captain Forsythe loves Jane. I do not know, duchess, how often you have visited…?” That was even more of a lie. Eleanor knew perfectly well that the Kingstons had never visited; had never even written to enquire about the good health and wellbeing of the little girl who was John Forsythe’s in every way except blood.

The Duchess of Kingston stood, her mouth puckered as if she had sucked on the lemon, and her nose in the air. “I can see you have made up your mind to support that reprobate Forsythe. I see no point in prolonging this conversation. Rest assured that my husband and I will do everything we can to support our son and his wife in his efforts to bring our granddaughter back where she belongs.”

Eleanor stood, as well. “I can assure you, your grace, that even if I was not an intimate friend of the family, I and my family would still be doing everything we can to ensure that a happy little girl is not ripped away from the place where she belongs by people who have not shown any interest in her for her entire life to date. My butler will show you out.”

***

The ton refused to support Lord and Lady Tenby and Tenby’s ducal parents in their demands to have Jane Forsythe handed over. Their legal challenge failed in the courts, for part of the settlement of the divorce Lady Tenby had demanded had been  absolution from any responsibility for or interest in her daughter. The Tenby’s therefore kidnapped the child, inadvertently taking with them Pauline Turner, who loved both the child and John Forsythe.

This story and what happened next is told in Perchance to Dream, out on September 7th.

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Tea with a marchioness

Eleanor invited her visitor to sit. “Cordelia, my dear, I am so glad you could come to visit. Have you heard any news?”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said the Marchioness of Deerhaven, “I have had a letter from Paris. They have found her!”

Eleanor felt faint with relief. Ever since Deerhaven’s little niece had been abducted, she had been worrying about the child. Yes, the woman who stole her was the child’s own natural mother, but a more self-centred female Eleanor had never met, and her second husband was no better.

“I am so glad,” she said. “Have they managed to retrieve her? When will they be home?”

The marchioness leaned forward. “Let me tell you the whole story,” she said.

Cordelia was left behind when her husband went to Paris to look for his brother and his niece. Read all about what happened in Paris in Perchance to Dream, published 7 September 2023.

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Tea with the duke

“Mama,” said the Duke of Haverford, strolling into his mother’s private parlour, “I have come to ask a favour.”

”Sit down, Anthony, and let me pour you a cup of tea,” the Duchess of Winshire replied. Since she abandoned widowhood to marry again, she did not see nearly as much of her son as when they lived in the same house. “What can I do to help you?”

Haverford accepted tea, prepared just the way he liked it, and two of the three tiny iced cakes that his mother adored. She had a standing order with Marcel Fournier, the proprietor and chef at Fournier’s Tea Rooms. Haverford thought of suggesting that his darling wife also placed such an order. They really were delicious.

Mama waited patiently until he had eaten the first cake, then raised one eyebrow in question. “It is for Lion, Mama—the Earl of Ruthford. Or, rather, for one of his exploring officers and the man’s wife.”

“Is this to do with that man who calls himself the Kingpin?” Mama asked. “Dorothea, Ruthford’s countess, was telling our ladies about it just a few days ago. Lion and his men think the villian is one of us, Anthony. Dorothea wanted to know the names of men who had suddenly came into money without a known source.”

“It is the same case, Mama. They have reason to believe that Lady Blakeley is involved in some way, and they want to set up a situation in which they can talk to her without the villain knowing. The couple I mentioned? The Kingpin is threatening their child.”

Mama was too polite to snort, but her expression said clearly that she thought the plan misguided. “I am quite prepared to believe that Margaret Blakeley is involved in villainy, but I very much doubt that she is a minion. That woman doesn’t take orders from anyone.”

“Be that as it may, the plan is to give her a titled neighbour who invites her to tea. Something quite normal and casual that neither she nor any of her friends will regard as suspicious. They need a genuine person. Someone who is in Debretts but isn’t well known in London, preferably isn’t in England ,and won’t mind if Lion’s man’s wife pretends to be her.”

“That is easy,” replied Mama. “Eloisa Ormond. My second cousin on my mother’s side. She has not been in England since we were girls. Her father married her off to the Earl of Ormond the year before I married your father, and lived in Scotland until she was widowed ten years ago. She has been travelling ever since. Her last letter was sent from a place called Bali, which is, apparently, in the East Indies.”

“Cousin Eloise,” the duke repeated. “Mama, that is perfect.”

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Tea with Margaret

Eleanor, Duchess of Winshire, invited Margaret, Countess Charmain to stay on after the meeting. Eleanor did not know Lady Charmain well, and was keen to remedy the lack. She already knew that the lady was an unusual young lady.

It was not that she had inherited an earldom in her own right. That was simply an accidental combination of the historical wording of the earldom’s founding documents and the lack of a male heir in the current generation.

Nor was it that, young as she was, she ran her estates and investments with confidence, efficiency and flair — better, in fact, than most men of her age. Eleanor took it for granted that a lady was just as capable as a gentleman with the same training and education, and that women in their early twenties were often more sensible than their male counterparts.

One point of interest was that the countess was a skilled herbalist. Two of the young people in Eleanor’s new family by marriage ran a clinic on the outskirts of a London slum, and both Ruth, her husband’s daughter, and Nate, her husband’s nephew-in-law, spoke highly of Lady Charmain’s knowledge and her empathy for those she treated.

The other was that the lady had — or so gossip suggested — turned down every proposal she had received through the last two seasons. Did she intend to remain single? Or was she disappointed with the crop of husbands currently on offer. Eleanor hoped to find out. She would be happy to put Lady Charmain in the way of meeting young men with more interests than the cut of a coat or the conformation of a horse.

As it happened, Lady Charmain spoke before Eleanor could introduce the topic of her possible spouse. “Your Grace, I am glad you asked me to stay on today. I have something to ask you. I have accepted your invitation to your annual debut ball. I wonder if I might bring a gentleman as my escort?”

“Of course, my dear,” said Eleanor, wondering who it might be. Gossip linked Lady Charmain’s name with that of Lord Snowden, who was more than twice her age, and with his son, who was nothing but a cub, still wet behind the ears.

Lady Charmain blushed, which was interesting. “The fact of the matter is, that he is not in Society, Your Grace. You should know that, while his behaviour is that of a gentleman, his birth is… In fact, I do not know what his birth is, but he works, Your Grace.”

“I have no problem with that,” Eleanor said, amused. “People must eat, after all. Indeed, I have more respect for a gentleman who earns his own living than one who is idle while living on credit.”

Lady Charmain looked as if she wanted to say more. She bit her lip as she thought about it.

Eleanor was even more amused. Clearly, there was a tale to be told. “Go on, Lady Charmain. I am hard to shock, I assure you.”

“He is the book keeper in a br– in a house of ill repute,” Lady Charmain blurted, then blushed a fiery red and covered her lips with the fingertips of both hands.

A sentence guaranteed to set off alarm bells! But Lady Charmain was a grown woman, and not one of Eleanor’s family or protegees. Best to proceed cautiously. “And what is this gentleman to you, may I ask?”

“I owe him a favour,” Lady Charmain explained. “He saved my life, you see. He has asked to escort me to several Society functions, which seems a small return on so great a service.” She heaved a sigh. “Let me tell you the whole. It is, after all, what I came here to do, since I could not think it right to possibly cause a stir without warning you.”

***

This scene relates my coming release, Snowy and the Seven Doves. (Out next Thursday) Here’s the flashback to Snowy’s rescue of Margaret.

She is walking through a narrow alley in the dusk, her mind still on the patient, a badly beaten woman, whom she had visited in a tumble-down building in the stews.

Without warning, men appear out of the darkness. Her footman goes down before either of them can react, felled by a cosh to the head. She shrinks back against a wall, and they gather around her, hooting and laughing, enjoying her fear. She understands little of their thieves cant, but she is not a fool. She knows what they have in mind.

She stands over the footman’s unconscious body, jabbing at her attackers with her umbrella, vowing to inflict as much pain as possible before they take her.

Suddenly, another man is there. An incredibly handsome man, with close-cropped dark hair and the build of a Greek god. Two of her five attackers go down under his assault, out of the fight.

She fights the other three at his side until they flee. He turns to her, and she looks into his grey eyes and prepares to thank him. He speaks first.

“What the hell is a lady like you doing here? This is not Mayfair, princess. You cannot walk around the slums as if you own them.” A well-educated voice. The tones of a gentleman of her own class. An indignant reply is on the tip of her tongue, but before she can say a word, her mind disappears down a spiral of darkness.

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Tea with Margaret and Pauline

Lady Charmain looked none the worse for her awful experience, though her friend Miss Turner hovered over her as if she might collapse at any moment. Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire, was acquainted with the two of them. Lady Charmain she knew very well. Eleanor had been friends with her mother. Miss Turner was more of an unknown. She had not impressed at first meeting several years ago, but had remained with her step-brother after her mother and sister were exiled for crimes against him and his wife. From all accounts, Miss Turner had not put a foot wrong since. Eleanor believed in second chances and would give the woman the benefit of the doubt.

She knew about the other woman in the room, too, though they had not met. Miss Trent was a personal guard, hired from Moriarty Protection to defend Lady Charmain after several attacks on her betrothed. Unusual to have a woman in that role, but how clever. Miss Trent could follow Lady Charmain into places no man could or should go.

“The men have gone downstairs to interview the scoundrel who slandered Lady Charmain,” reported Sophia, wife to Winshire’s eldest son and therefore Eleanor’s daughter-in-law. “They will join us in time to share a pot of tea, Aunt Eleanor. Jamie will have coffee, of course.”

Eleanor was not going to discuss the nasty scene in the ballroom that had led to the incarceration of the man Sophia rightly called ‘the scoundrel’. She knew just the topic to introduce to lighten the mood. “How are plans for the wedding, Margaret, my dear? Have you chosen your gown? I am so looking forward to witnessing the occasion.”

(This scene wasn’t in Snowy and the Seven Doves, out on August 10th. Instead, we follow Snowy down into the cellars. “First, they visited the Duke of Winshire, where Margaret and Pauline were scooped up by Lady Sutton and taken upstairs to visit with the duchess. Miss Trent followed behind the ladies, as silent and inconspicuous as a shadow.” After the scene in the cellars, “Snowy and the duke joined the ladies. They were discussing the wedding; apparently, the duke and duchess would be in attendance. Snowy wondered if the invitation had originated with the duchess, but since Margaret seemed happy, he said nothing. They then went for their drive in the Park. It was almost anticlimactic that nothing happened.” Not that this was the end. Indeed, 20% of the book and the worst attack of all remained to be told.)

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Tea with a worried mother

 

An excerpt post. In Revealed in Mist, Her Grace sets my heroine’s mind at ease.

Prue hesitated in the street outside her next destination. Callers needed to present their card at the gate, be escorted to the front door and delivered to the butler, then wait to be announced. On most days of the week, uninvited guests below a certain rank in society would have difficulty making it past the first obstacle, but on Thursday afternoons, the Duchess of Haverford was ‘at home’ to petitioners.

Past encounters had always been initiated by Her Grace. A scented note would arrive by footman, and Prue would obey the summons and receive the duchess’s commission. Though she was always gracious, never, by word or deed, had Her Grace indicated that she and Prue had any closer relationship than employer and agent.

The entrance and public rooms of Haverford House were designed to impress lesser mortals with the greatness of the family—and their own lesser status. Prue was ushered to a room just off the lofty entrance hall. Small by Haverford standards, this waiting area nonetheless dwarfed the people waiting to see the duchess.

Two women, one middle-aged and the other a copy some twenty years younger, nervously perched on two of the ladder-backed chairs lining one wall. Next to them, but several chairs along, a lean young man with an anxious frown pretended to read some papers, shuffling them frequently, peering over the tops of his spectacles at the door to the next room. Two men strolled slowly along the wall, examining the large paintings and conversing in low whispers. A lone woman walked back and forth before the small window, hushing the baby fretting on her shoulder.

Prue took a seat and prepared for a wait. She would not tremble. She had nothing to fear. Both Tolliver and David said so, and Aldridge, too. But how she wished the waiting was over.

It seemed a long time but was only a few minutes, before a servant hurried in and approached her.

“Miss Virtue? Her Grace will see you now.”

Prue gave the other occupants an apologetic nod and followed the servant.

The duchess received her in a pretty parlour, somehow cosy despite its grand scale. Prue curtseyed to her and the woman with her. Were all petitioners waved to a seat on an elegant sofa facing Her Grace? Addressed as ‘my dear’? Asked if they should care for a cup of tea?

“Miss Virtue takes her tea black, with a slice of lemon,” the duchess told her companion. Or was the woman her secretary?

“Miss Virtue, my companion, Miss Grant. Miss Grant, Miss Virtue has been of great service to me and to those I love. I am always at home to her.”

Was Miss Grant one of the army of relatives for whom Her Grace had found employment, or perhaps one of the dozens of noble godchildren she sponsored? The young woman did not have the look of either Aldridge or his brother, nor of their parents. Prue murmured a greeting.

“I was not expecting you, Miss Virtue, was I? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Your Grace. I just… I have some questions, Ma’am.”

“You should have sent a note, my dear. I will always take time to see you. I was happy to give a good report of you to my friend Lady Georgiana, of course.” As she spoke, the duchess took the tea cup from Miss Grant and passed it to her.

“Your Grace, I would like to speak with you alone, if I may. I beg your pardon, Miss Grant. I do not mean to be discourteous.”

The duchess stopped her own cup partway to her lips and put it carefully back into the saucer, examining Prue’s face carefully.

When she spoke, it was to Miss Grant. “Celia, my dear, will you let those waiting know that I will be delayed…” she consulted her lapel watch, “…thirty-five minutes, but I will see them all today? Perhaps you could arrange refreshments for them? Return on the half hour, please. That is all the time I can spare, Miss Virtue. If you need longer, I will ask you to wait or return another day.”

Prue shook her head. “The time will be ample, Ma’am. Thank you.”

As Miss Grant left the room, Prue was silent, collecting her thoughts. The duchess waited.

“You knew about Antonia. You have known all along.” Prue shifted uneasily. She had not intended to sound accusing.

The duchess inclined her head, her face showing nothing but calm. “Since shortly after her birth.”

Prue did not know how to ask the questions that crowded her mind, but the duchess had exhausted her noble patience, which was, after all, on a schedule. “What is it you wish to know, Miss Virtue? Why I said nothing?” Her voice softened, and her eyes were compassionate. “I read your sister’s letter, and thought to write back and offer you and the child a place with me. I did not think a home filled with such… such judgement could be happy for either of you. But family is best, if it can be contrived. And there was Aldridge. I was unsure how things had been left between you. He seemed to feel a genuine fondness; I thought he might… He has more charm than is helpful in such situations, and I did not want my granddaughter raised… Well. That is not to the point now.”

She took a deep breath. So she was not as calm as she seemed, either. “I sent someone I trust to check whether you needed my intervention, and found you had left the letter writer to live with another sister. A more hospitable environment, my agent thought.”

Prue knew who the duchess’s trusted messenger was. “Tolliver.”

Her Grace nodded. “Yes. Thomas and I have an equal commitment to protecting and championing those to whom the Grenfords owe a duty.”

“You and I have met since, Your Grace.”

“Your secrets are yours to keep or share, Miss Virtue. I have often wished to ask after your daughter, but I did not wish to intrude. My son’s carelessness changed your life in ways for which I can never compensate. The Grenfords have responsibilities here, but no rights.”

Prue felt suddenly dizzy as her tension drained away.

“I was afraid,” she admitted. “I knew about the three girls: the young ladies you are raising. I thought you might… I feared you would take Antonia. Aldridge told me you would not, and so did David and Tolliver.”

The duchess leaned forward to pat Prue’s hand. “Oh, my dear. I am so sorry you were worried. Matilda, Jessica, and Frances had no one else, and at the time we found them I did not understand that a quieter life in a less prominent household would have served them better. Frances was the last I took into my own home, and that was nearly ten years ago. Now Thomas and I do better by those we find. But there, done is done, and the girls and I love one another dearly.”

She had kept Prue’s hand in hers, and she now gave it a comforting squeeze. “I can assure you, Miss Virtue, I have never taken a child from a mother, or from relatives who cared. The future those little girls faced,” she shuddered at the thought, “was unutterably grim.”

She sat back, and picked up her abandoned cup to take a sip. “You say Aldridge reassured you. He knows about his daughter, then?”

“He has met her, Your Grace. He saved us from a dastardly villain. It was quite heroic.” Prue found herself telling the duchess about the attack in Tidbury End. “I would like to talk to the Dowager Lady Selby, but she has not been at home,” she finished. “Surely she would be concerned at the plight of her grandchildren?”

Her Grace wrinkled her nose and frowned, her lip curling. “Not from what I know of her, my dear. But have young Wakefield escort you to my ball on Thursday. I shall arrange for you to have a private interview with Lady Selby.”

A discreet knock at the door warned the duchess their time was nearly up. The Duchess of Haverford stood and walked Prue to the door, and Prue found herself enfolded in a tight embrace. “I shall continue to rely upon you for your professional services from time to time, my dear, and will be pleased to say a good word if ever it can help you. You will let me know if there is anything else I can do,” she commanded. “Should the opportunity arise, I would dearly love to meet your daughter, entirely at your discretion.” She turned her head away, but not before Prue had seen the glistening eyes.

Prue curtseyed. “My association with you has always been to my benefit, Your Grace; I am certain such acquaintance with the House of Haverford can only be to Antonia’s advantage.”

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Tea with Mrs Clifford

The innkeeper could not be more apologetic. There had been a misunderstanding. He had not been expecting Her Grace until the next day. The letter requiring a private parlour to be set aside for her comfort for an hour in the afternoon specifically said Thursday. He was terribly sorry.

Eleanor listened as her major domo conceded that they were a day early, but demanded the private parlour anyway.

“But I cannot turn out the lady currently using it,” the innkeeper protested. “She is elderly, and not too well.”

The major domo was of the view that his great lady’s convenience superseded the needs of anyone else, so it was time for Eleanor to intervene.

“If your guest would be kind enough to share the parlour for an hour, I shall do very well,” she said. “And if not, you might perhaps have a bedchamber I could use?”

The innkeeper looked even more worried, and no wonder. Eleanor’s impetuous decision to bring her plans forward a day had landed her in this town on the day some sporting event was about to take place. Her major domo was not prepared to discuss the nature of the match, so Eleanor assumed it was boxing or something equally unfit for the gentle sensibilities of ladies.

Fortunately for the poor innkeeper’s peace of mind, the lady in the parlour proved willling to share, and Eleanor spent a pleasant hour with her feet up, a nice hot cup of tea, some delightful ginger biscuits, and the company of Mrs Clifford, the original occupant of the parlour.

Eleanor knew who Mrs Clifford was, of course, but did not embarrass the lady by mentioning it. And she was a lady, by her behaviour. Indeed, as mistress to the recently deceased Marquess of Raithby, she had been more faithful to the gentleman over thirty or more years than the marquess’s wife. Kinder to his children, too.

Eleanor said none of that, but simply talked about the purpose of her trip. “My foster daughter’s confinement is fast approaching, and I completed the last of the obligations that kept me in London, so I wished to wait not a moment more. I must beg your pardon for intruding on your peace. It is entirely my fault for leaving early.”

Mrs Clifford raised a hand in demurral. “It is my pleasure to have your company, Your Grace.” She paused, then confided, “I am also travelling to see a beloved relative. My sister’s child. She lives in the village where I spent my childhood, and I wish to see it and her one more time before…” She trailed off, but Eleanor could finish the sentence in her own mind. It was clear that Mrs Clifford was very ill.

“Do you have far to go?” Eleanor asked, and discovered that the other lady was going all the way to the Wirral Peninsula in Cheshire.

“I am travelling a day and resting a day,” she assured Eleanor. “I shall see Rosabel one more time, and I shall be happy.”

Eleanor’s maid popped her head around the corner of the door to let Eleanor know the carriage was ready. Eleanor stood, and could not resist saying, “I hope the rest of your journey goes well, Mrs Clifford. And may I express my sincere condolences on your loss? Raithby was a great man.”

Mrs Clifford’s raised her eyebrows but smiled. “He was, Your Grace. He was.”

Mrs Clifford is a secondary character–and a scandal–in Grasp the Thorn, published tomorrow.

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Tea with a Fox

Every third Monday when she was at Haverford House, the Duchess of Haverford was at home to her unmarried godsons and their friends. Not all of them at once, of course. Sometimes only one or two felt the need to make the trek from London out to Chelsea to pay their respects to their godmother. Sometimes as many as a score all arrived in twos or threes over the two hours that she presided over the teapot.

Today, a merry group of officers on leave from Portugal had decided to visit her before returning to Portugal and their regiments. The summer campaign would begin in June. To hear them talk about the battles to come, one would think they headed off to a picnic or a fox hunt. How many of them would return whole? How many would not return at all? The long war with France had chewed up so many of the young men she knew; had swallowed some and spat the others out broken and forever changed.

She smiled and chatted, even laughed at their tales and their jokes. Eleanor was very skilled at keeping her sorrow hidden behind a pleasant visage and polite conversation.

One of the merriest officers in the group was a guest of two of the others. Major James Foxton, a handsome fellow with a full head of red hair, full of stories and sharp-witted remarks. Fox, his friends called him. Eleanor knew his great aunt, Patricia Strathford-Bowles–counted her as a friend, though Lady Patricia had been a woman in her late thirties when Eleanor was a young wife, struggling to keep her sense of self in a near intolerable marriage.

They had never spoken of it, she and Patricia. But Eleanor always went home from a meeting with her friend with the strength to endure for another day. Those years were long past. She had moved beyond endurance to finding her own power. Perhaps she could exercise it on behalf of her friend’s great nephew? Yet there was something about him that made her uneasy–an unkind bite to his words, a sneer in his stories. She needed to know the young man better in order to see her way. She also knew, from Patricia’s letters, that he was a disappointment to his mother and his elder brother, who was now viscount in their father’s place. Yet Patricia had never said why.

“Major Foxton,” she said. “Come and sit by me, please, and let me pour you another tea while you tell me about yourself.”

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Tea with an interviewer

(I wrote this for Caroline Warfield’s blog back in 2015. I thought it was time to dig it out again. Enjoy!)

Eleanor Grenford, Duchess of Haverford, seldom consents to an interview. Though she lives, perforce, in the public eye—as wife to one of the most powerful men in England and mother to two of England’s most notable rakes—she carefully guards her private life.

She agreed to answer our questions only after being assured that this interviewer is from the future and from real life, not the fictional world she inhabits.

Born Eleanor Creydon, eldest daughter of the Earl of Farnmouth, she is related by birth or marriage to most of the noble houses of England and many in the wider United Kingdom and Europe. She married the Duke of Haverford before she attained the 18th anniversary of her nativity, and has since become one of the ton’s leading hostesses.

She has a supporting (but important) role in many of Jude’s books.

  1. What are you most proud of about your life?

“My two sons,” says the duchess, without hesitation. “Aldridge—the Marquis of Aldridge, my elder son and Haverford’s heir—is responsible and caring. And Jonathan, too. They are, I cannot deny, a little careless. But they are not heartless, dear. I’ve always thought that being heartless is the defining feature of a true rake.

“They take responsibility for their by-blows, which is so important in a gentleman, do you not agree? And neither of them has ever turned a mistress off without providing for her, or at least not since they were very young.

“Sadly, the example set by His Grace their father was not positive in this respect. I flatter myself that I have been of some influence in helping them to understand that they have a duty to be kind to those less fortunate and less powerful than themselves.”

  1. What are you most ashamed of in your life?

The duchess does not answer immediately. She seems to be turning over several possibilities. “I neglected him, you know. I neglected Aldridge. When he was born, I left him to his servants. I thought that was normal, and Haverford… he was very angry when I suggested I should stay at the castle instead of going to London for the season.

“Why; even his name… Haverford insisted everyone call him by his title. But I could have called him ‘Anthony’ in private, could I not?

“Dear Aldridge had no-one but his staff. I was seldom at Margate, and when I was… His Grace thought it my duty to spend my time with him. I saw Aldridge once a day, brought to me clean and quiet of an evening before his bedtime.

“I had no idea what I had done until Jonathan was born. He timed his birth for the end of the season, and His Grace left for his usual round of house parties, so I could do as I wished. I wished to be in the nursery with my sons.

“After that, I found ways to bring them to London with me, and to spend time with them at play as often as several times a week! Even so, I did not dare go against the duke’s orders, and I call my son by his title to this day. Everyone does. Poor dear boy.”

  1. What impression do you make on people when they first meet you?

“People don’t see me, my dear. They see the Duchess of Haverford. I cannot blame them, of course. I am at pains to project the image of ‘duchess’. I have cultivated it my entire adult life. Why! If people truly saw me, they would be very surprised, I think.”

  1. Do you think you have turned out the way your parents expected?

“My parents expected me to marry well and to present my husband with heirs. Had I married beneath their expectations, I daresay I would never have seen them again. I cannot say, dear, that such an outcome would have been entirely a bad thing.”

  1. What is the worst thing that has happened in your life? What did you learn from it?

“I could say losing James, or I could say marrying Haverford, but it is all of a piece. I cannot tell you where the one ends and the other starts. I gave my heart to James, but he was a second son. My father gave my hand to Haverford.

“And by ‘hand’ I mean the rest of me, dear. Imagine a sheltered seventeen-year-old, innocent but for a stolen kiss with the man she hoped to wed. And instead of that man, I spent my wedding night in the hands of a hardened roué with no patience… He is two decades my senior, dear. Thirteen years older than James.

“I believe my sons are known for their skills. (I speak of bed sports, dear, and do not blush for it, for at our age we should scorn to be coy, and this article will be published, you have assured me, some two hundred years in my future.) If Haverford has such skills, and the rumour is not just flattery aimed at money to be made from his patronage, he did not feel inclined to waste it on a mere wife.”

  1. How do you feel about your life right now? What, if anything, would you like to change?

“I am fortunate. I live in luxury. I have my sons (or, at least, I have Aldridge close by and regular letters from Jonathan, who is on the Tour, dear). I have the little girls, too—Haverford’s by-blows, but I love them dearly. I can give them an education, respectability, a little dowry… I do these things, too, for my poorer godchildren, and I love nothing better than to present one of my goddaughters for her Season.

“I enjoy entertaining—balls, musical evenings, garden parties and picnics in London, and house parties at our other estates. My entertainments are famous. I have promised to be honest with you, so I will say ‘not without reason’.” The duchess laughs, her eyes for a moment showing glints of the self-deprecating humour that is part of her elder son’s attraction.

“And, dear, I have come to an accommodation with Haverford. He leaves me to live my own life, while he carries on with his. Between you and me, my dear, my life is pleasanter without him in it.”

  1. What have you always wanted to do but have not done? Why?

“I have always wondered what my life might have been like had I defied my father and eloped with James. He came to me, you know, after the duel; after his own father exiled him. I turned him away. And then, six months later we heard he was dead. I didn’t care what happened to me after that, so I gave in to my father’s demands and married Haverford.

“It wasn’t true, as it turned out. He arrived back in London not long ago, with a great band of wild children. I could have been their mother, had I been brave enough to go with him.

“But there. Had I married James, I would not have Aldridge and Jonathan. Perhaps all is as it should be.

“You asked what I have always wanted to do? I want to see James again; to talk to him, just the two of us. Haverford… he and James do not speak. We Grenfords do not acknowledge the Winderfields and they do not acknowledge us. If people are inviting James or his offspring to their social gathering, they do not invite us. If us, then not him. We do not meet.

“But Society is surprisingly small. One day… one day…”