the Duchess of Haverford

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Tea with her messengers

Her grace poured coffee for the three men, and tea for herself. James and two of her sons had joined her today, and she was impatient to hear what Drew and Thomas had to say about their recent errand. They had travelled north to witness a wedding, both as Eleanor’s representative–the groom was the grandson of an old friend–and because they had become friends with the young man themselves.

She did not, of course, show her impatience, and the young men, who had excellent manners, did not keep her waiting. As soon as she had poured her tea, Drew said, “The wedding went off very well, Aunt Eleanor. The bride looked lovely, the groom was happy, and the entire village turned out to cheer.” It was a very good summary and made pleasant hearing, but Eleanor had questions.

“Tell me about Jackie’s gown,” she asked.

Jackie’s gown was a rose pink figured silk, simply but elegantly cut. It was embellished a richly embroidered silk ribbon—one row at cuffs and neckline, and three rows at her hem. Maman had wound the same ribbon through her hair, taking over from Jackie’s new maid.

The bridal flowers Jackie had chosen had prompted something of a disagreement between her and her mother. Maman thought the flowers were common. “They are vegetable flowers, Jacqueline,” she kept saying. “Why would you want to carry the flower of a vegetable?”

When Maman and Jackie had taken Papa to see the cottage where they had lived, the beans that Maman had thrown out the window had grown, and smothered one side of the house, spreading even up part of the roof. The flowers waved petals of the palest pink on long stems, and a few of the stems already sprouted rows of baby bean pods.

“They are bridal flowers,” Jackie had said. “And they go perfectly with my gown.” Not only were they lovely, but carrying them in her bouquet was a sort of poetic justice. Louella’s accusation that she—Jackie—had made up to Oscar to climb from seamstress to the rank of mistress had always been ridiculous, but had smarted a little, nonetheless.

No one she had met since the betrothal was announced had repeated the slur, at least not to Jackie’s face. Human nature being what it was, people were surely thinking it.

So, she carried the bean flowers as a symbol of her climb, and to thumb her nose at her detractors, even if they never knew it.

Only a keen gardener would know, she realized, as she looked at herself in the mirror. And even they may question it. She had been right about them complimenting her gown.

“Jacqueline, ma fifille, said Maman. “Tres belle. Tres, tres belle.” Clearly too overcome for words, she hugged Jackie instead, being careful not to crush the gown or the flowers.

Gran was next in line. “Your mother is right, dear one,” she murmured. “Very, very beautiful.”

Maman was trying to recover her usual brisk self. “Now, cherie, the carriage awaits to take us to the church, Clara and I.” She brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. “Go down to Papa after we have gone,” she instructed, her tone scolding. The arrangements had been in place for days, but if it helped Maman to scold, then Jackie would not challenge her. Not today.

“I will, Maman,” she said.

And if she rolled her eyes at Maman’s back, no one saw except Bella Whitely, who giggled, but only after Maman shut the door.

“Me own Ma be the same,” Bella confided. “More like to growl than to hug, but loves us summat fierce. You do look right purty, Miss Haricot.”

“Are you coming in the carriage with us to the church, Bella?” Jackie asked. She’d hired the eldest Whitely daughter as a favor to Pete. The girl had the makings of an excellent maid, and the housekeeper had already taken her under her wing, to teach her what was expected of a maid in a peer’s household. Jackie hoped she’d not entirely lose her habit of blurting out her thoughts in Jackie’s presence.

“Nay, Miss,” she said. “It’s nobbut a hop, skip and a jump, and it ain’t—” she caught herself and tried again. “It is not proper.” She even sounded a little like the housekeeper as she repeated what she had obviously been told. Then she, her voice, and her accent relaxed, and she added, “Not today nonewise. Just ye and yer Da, and I’ll be waitin’ for ye at the church, as will ‘’bout everyone.” She sighed her satisfaction. “And I saw ye first.”

They walked downstairs together and Papa’s reaction was as satisfying as Ma’s. “Ma petite Jacqueline,” he kept saying, with a shake of his head as if he could not reconcile the tomboy he had left behind him and the bride beside him in the carriage. “Ma petite jeune fille.”

What would Pol think? She would find out in a moment, for here they were at the gates of the church. The people standing around in the road and in the church grounds gave a cheer. Papa handed her down, and Bella was there to tidy her slight train before hurrying into the church ahead of them. She must have run through the woods like a hare!

She put her hand on her father’s arm, and the men who were waiting by the double doors flung them open. The church was filled to capacity, with the gentry in the pews and every standing place taken by somebody.

Every soul in the neighborhood must be either in the church or outside. But all of them faded from her mind as she looked down the aisle, where Pol waited for her, with his heart in his eyes.

The excerpt is from Jackie’s Climb. I hope to have preorder details soon.

 

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Tea with Belinda Westcott

The Duchess of Haverford’s waiting salon might intimidate any young lady. Bel Westcott was terrified. After the fiasco at the duchess’s venetian breakfast two years ago caused by food prepared by her own hands, she had good reason.

“Calm down, Bel. She is both wise and kind. She knows it wasn’t your fault.” Bel’s best friend Merrilyn Finchwater, ever loyal, had been there when half the ton was sickened by food prepared in Bel’s kitchen.

Bel had her doubts.

Just then, the rather stern young woman who was Her Grace’s current secretary returned. “She will see you now.” It didn’t help that she cast Bel a sympathetic glance.

Regal and dignified, in subdued silk and simple pearls, the duchess yet radiated warmth and welcome from her high-backed chair. A fine porcelain tea set, bright white with delicate lavender flowers sat on the table at her side.

“Come sit with me ladies. It is good of you to join me.”

Bel murmured thanks. Her Grace requested their preferences and made certain to satisfy the polite requirements of tea service.

“I’ve quite looked forward to speaking with you for some time, Miss Westcott. What is it that troubles you?” the duchess said.

Bel’s head jerked up from her absorption in her own slippers to gaze directly at the duchess. “I— The venetian breakfast so humiliated me. All those people ill, and your fete ruined. I can barely face you.”

“My dear! That was two years ago. And I have reason to believe it was not your fault,” Her Grace said.

“Quite right, Your Grace. Bel would never,” Merrilyn said. “Her cousin—””

“Yes, yes, Lady Finchwater, I know. The not so Honorable Cecil Hartwell had his grubby hands all over it. My son Aldridge assured me that was the case and that the miscreant was dealt with,” the duchess said.

Bel stiffened her spine. “But I bear the stigma even now.”

Her Grace studied Bel carefully. “So you do. And that ridiculous nickname follows you. Westcott Menace. What nonsense. It has recently risen again among the gossips.”

“Untruths are spreading again, Your Grace,” Merrilyninterjected. “Lady Arncastle attended the house party at Hartwell Hall and has piled story on story.”

Both women looked to Bel. She nodded firmly. “Most of the stories Lady Arncastle spreads are untrue.”

“Most.” The duchess’s eyes twinkled. “But not all?”

Heat crept up Bel’s neck and burned her cheeks. “There was one thing. I…”

“Poisoned Lady Sophie Gilray?” The duchess asked, brow raised imperiously.

“Never!” Bel exclaimed. “That is, I may have tainted the cocoa but it wasn’t meant for my cousin Sophie. And John, well I was mistaken in him, and I thought—”

“You thought to get your own back for what happened two years ago.” The duchess completed the thought.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duchess leaned forward and whispered “Good for you,” startling Bel right out of her attack of remorse. She sat back. “And I have reason to suspect things turned out well in the end.”

Merrily beamed and nudged Bel. “They certainly did. Tell her, Bel.”

Bel did better. She reached in her reticule and pulled out a card printed in formal letters, and invitation. She handed it to the duchess.

“Marriage to John Conlyn, Earl of Ridgemont! Oh well done, my dear. You may be certain I will attend.

Bel smiled then, confidently. Things truly had turned out well in the end.

Snowed by the Wallflower

By Caroline Warfield

Belinda Westcott doesn’t want to injure the Earl of Ridgemont. She merely wants to humiliate him. After all, one good prank deserves a payback. How could she anticipate that it would go so terribly wrong, or that he would turn out to be nothing like she expected?

Skilled in both chemistry and cooking, Belinda happily hides in her aunt’s kitchen rather than risk embarrassment at the ongoing house party. The unexpected appearance of the earl and a skating party present the perfect opportunity to embarrass him in front of some snooty society miss. Unfortunately, his partner is Belinda’s own cousin, and even worse, the cousin drinks the hot chocolate—laced with emetics—meant for the earl.

As plain Major John Conlyn, John had sunk into a morose of dissipation when first released from the army. Neither his actions nor his companions make him proud. The death of a beloved cousin shocked him back to sense. It also made him an earl and the heir to his grandfather, a duke. He’s been ordered to find a wife and settle down. He wouldn’t mind, but now he’s surrounded by flighty debutantes and their grasping mothers. The one woman who interests him avoids him. She acts as if she despises him. Is it possible he did something when out of control that he ought to apologize for, something he can’t recall?

https://books2read.com/snowedbywallflower

What happened at the Duchess of Haverford’s venetian breakfast? Be sure to read Jude Knight’s The Blossoming of the Wallflower to find out.

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Tea with the donors

This is a piece of description from The Blossoming of the Wallflower. The Venetian Breakfast is a significant event in the past for Caroline Warfield’s character, Belinda Westcott. Her Wallflower story is coming out in December.

I’ve made it an event in my story, too, and what will happen next will focus my hero’s mind on romance.

***

He returned upstairs to his valet, who was on his mettle, since Uncle Jacob and Dar were going to the Duchess of Haverford’s Venetian breakfast, and the valet had never before prepared his employer for an event with such an august hostess. Dar shared the valet’s excitement, not for the same reason. Miss Parkham-Smith was also invited.

But would she attend after her upsetting morning? He wanted to rush next door and check, but then he would be late for the breakfast, and what if she was going after all? She would be, he was sure. Miss Parkham-Smith was no wilting violet. 

It was a benefit event, with the price of the tickets going to help one of the duchess’s many charities, but Dar had been told to take a full bill-fold, for there would be raffles and contest to separate the guests from more of their money in order to support the cause.

Miss Parkham-Smith would not miss the opportunity to help others, he was sure.

Haverford House was outside of London up river, a twenty-minute carriage ride from Mayfair if the roads were quiet and in good repair. The second was true, but the first—half of polite London seemed to be on the road that afternoon. It was a good forty minutes before they turned into the great courtyard formed by the main house and its wings, but Miss Parkham-Smith’s carriage had been within sight for most of the journey, so Dar was able to be patient.

Indeed, the ladies were descending from their carriage when Dar and Uncle Jacob arrived, and by mutual consent, they hurried to offer their arms, Dar to Miss Parkham-Smith and Uncle Jacob to Mrs. Olsen.

Several footmen hurried from Miss Parkham-Smith’s carriage down the steps to the mansion’s basement, carrying large baskets. 

“Many of us have contributed to the meal,” Miss Parkham-Smith explained. “My cook has made several bowls of salmagundy. They are packed in ice in the baskets, together with jugs of salad dressing.”

They were ushered up the steps to the grand entrance and then straight through the spectacular entry hall, with its domed ceiling five storeys above, its sweeping staircases, and more priceless artwork than Dar had ever seen collected in one place before.

They went with a stream of other guests down one side of the staircase and through double doors into another more homely hall, this one with ceilings no more than sixteen feet high and sized not much larger than half the ground floor of Dar’s townhouse. 

A bank of french doors stood open to a terrace, and beyond that was a magnificently manicured garden that stretched down to the river.

Dar remembered reading that the Duke of Haverford had a pied a terre in London for nights when Parliament sat late or he lingered with his latest mistress, but that the duchess and her son, the Marquess of Aldridge, were prone to using the river, timing their travel to take advantage of the tides to sweep down to London or up river to their magnificent home.

They were both there to welcome guests, standing at the top of steps down into the garden. On the lawn at the base of the steps, several marquees made a bright splash, and men and gaily clad women strolled to and fro in the cheerful sunlight or under the shade of the trees that lined a walk down to the river.

Miss Packham-Smith sighed with pleasure. “What a beautiful garden!”

They were close enough for the duchess to hear her, and she beamed. The Marquess of Aldridge also looked pleased. “My mother redesigned the gardens when she married my father,” he said. The duchess explained, “They were in the formal French style, and much neglected, so that many of the plants were overgrown and others had died.”

“You have done a wonderful job,” Miss Parkham-Smith said. “Everything I can see from here is in perfect balance and harmony.”

“You must explore them all,” the duchess insisted. “I am so glad you have come, Miss Packham-Smith. I trust you and your companions enjoy yourself.”

Uncle Jacob said that his old legs would not carry him to every corner of the garden, and Mrs. Olsen felt that there could be no objection to Miss Parkham-Smith walking unchaperoned with Dar, given that it was in the middle of the afternoon and there were so many people. “Lord Finchwater and I will sit on that bench in the shade,” she proposed, “and gossip about all the people.”

Uncle Jacob said that was a perfect recipe for his enjoyment of the afternoon and they left Dar and Miss Parkham-Smith to their explorations.

She was entrancing in her enthusiasm, Dar decided. In fact, she was altogether entrancing. The garden was laid out in rooms, with hedges, shrubs, stone walls, pergolas and other features used to divide one small garden area from another. They walked all the way down one meandering path to the wall between the garden and the river, along the wall past the river gate, up the central path, which was equally rambling, and back to the lawn. 

There was still a great deal to explore, but the first of the raffles had just been announced, and Dar and Merrilyn—somewhere in the last hour they had moved to first-name terms—joined the queue to sign up for an enormous basket of fruit that they would have to give away if they won it, for no one could eat so much before it began to spoil.

By the time they were done, footmen were beginning to circulate with trays of drink, and tables of food had been set out in the marquees.

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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 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 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…”

by

Tea with Jude

Her Grace the Duchess of Haverford appears in my dream. Or do I appear in hers? Do fictional characters dream? However it is, I am on the terrace on the sheltered side of Haverford Castle, and Eleanor is pouring me a cup of tea.

Calling my duchess by her first name is a privilege afforded to me, commoner though I am, because I am her author.

“I know how you love Marcel’s cakes,” she tells me, putting two of them on a plate. “I had a box of them delivered to help us celebrate your latest book. Short stories, is it not?”

“Yes,” I agree. I take a sip of my tea, which is just the way I like it. “Chasing the Tale: Volume II. Ten short stories and novelettes, just long enough to enjoy before bed or with a cup of coffee or tea at any time of the day. I brought you a copy.” It appears in my hand as I speak, which is confirmation that I am dreaming, for it is a print copy, and print copies only came available to order, when the book went live, which should have happened a few minutes ago.

“Next month,” I say, “I have a story in Belles & Beaux, a Bluestocking Belles collection. Your husband appears in it.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Haverford?”

Oh. So this is prior to 1815, which is when Haverford died. “Your next husband, I tell her.” It’s a bit of a spoiler alert, but I won’t tell her anything more.

“You are not planning to inflict another husband on me, I hope,” she scolded. “Was the first one not enough?”

Perhaps a little bit more. “The second one is more in the way of a reward,” I assure her. To prevent her from asking any more, I take a bite from one of Marcel Fournier’s lovely little cakes. One of the benefits of meeting my characters inside my fictional world is that I’m not allergic to anything. It is delicious.

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Tea with a worried mother

This excerpt is from Revealed in Mist.

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 by…” 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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Monday for Tea

Another excerpt post, this one from A Baron for Becky

When Aldridge sought her out the following afternoon, the Duchess of Haverford was resting from her exertions over the ball, by planning the next entertainment. She had her companion, her secretary, and three of the servants on the hop: writing guest lists, hunting out a fabric from the attic and a china pattern from the depths of the scullery that she was certain would go together in a Frost Fair theme; searching through her invitations to pick a date that would not clash with entertainments she wished to attend; leafing through the menus of previous parties to decide on food “that will not disgrace us, dear Aldridge, for one would not wish to do things in a harum-scarum fashion.”

“May I have a moment, Mama?” Aldridge asked. “It can wait if you wish.”

“Not at all, Aldridge. My dears, you all have jobs to do. I will be with my son. Aldridge, darling, shall we take a walk in the picture gallery? Very chilly, today, I am sure, but I will wrap up warm and the exercise will be good for us, do you not think? Ah, thank you, my dear.” She stepped back into the cloak Aldridge took from the waiting maid, and let him settle it on her shoulders.

“Now, my dear, tell me how Mama can help.”

Aldridge waited, though, until they were alone in the picture gallery, a great hall of a place thirty feet wide, twenty tall, and a hundred and twenty long. With the doors at each end shut, they could speak in private.

“Mama, Overton has asked me to look after his wife and daughters, if he dies before the girls are grown and married.”

Her Grace nodded. “And you have agreed, of course, dear? I will present the girls, in any case. Or your wife, if you have done your duty by then.”

Aldridge ignored his mother’s increasingly less subtle insistence. He would marry when he must and not before.

“Of course I have agreed, Mama. But I am wondering if something more might be done.”

The Duchess tapped her index finger against slightly pursed lips, her eyes distant.

“Something more might always be done. Have you an idea of what?”

Aldridge watched her closely. “It is not unknown for a daughter to inherit a barony.”

His mother blinked slowly as she considered the idea. Her answer was slow and contemplative.

“Only the old ones, dear, and if there is no son. But Overton is a relatively new peerage. The Restoration, I believe? And if his Letters Patent allowed female inheritance, he would have said.”

“Letters Patent can be changed, Mama. They did it for the first Marlborough.”

“Over a century ago, Aldridge, and I have never heard of it being done again.”

She fell silent, her eyes unfocused in thought. “But it does seem a pity our little Belle cannot be a baroness.”