Nineteen

Twineham Park

Saturday, 1st January 1820

2 o’clock in the afternoon. — Deepest apologies for the long absence, Diary! I confess I’ve been too busy and happy to write. And I fear this is to be my final entry in your pages, for my New Year’s gift from Jonathan was a new diary to replace the one I ‘thrashed’ (his word). It’s exquisite, all of marbled, gold-edged Venetian paper he purchased abroad, and lately had bound and stamped with my new moniker (C.R. for Claire Rathborne). I cannot wait to write in it!

Oh, but never think you shall be eclipsed, my cherished friend! As promised, I’ve made you a little jacket of green silk, embroidered with a lovely frieze of mistletoe and oranges. I plan to wrap you up all splendid and snug, and keep you in a place of honor on my mantle, as a happy reminder of Jonathan’s and my first Christmas together (for, of course, the previous one is to be entirely forgotten).

But before you’re put away, I’ve something of a very striking nature to confide in you! I’ve been itching to do so ever since the episode occurred, but alas, I simply have not had a moment to myself. It’s all been a whirl of celebrating, packing, unpacking, receiving visitors—and that was before my siblings came to stay!

Thankfully, my ever-gallant husband ( husband! ) has today contrived for me a couple hours of peace. After luncheon he announced himself desirous of a nice, long walk now that the snow has melted, and proposed to tour our guests all round his finest woods. Elizabeth, of course, leapt at the idea; and while he prevailed upon the others to join—even Rachael in her delicate condition—with a covert wink I was encouraged to stay behind and “rest.”

The dear, clever man! I cannot remember making mention of my wish for solitude, yet somehow, he just knew . He understands me on a level so profound, so unerring, I could almost swear he sees directly into my very sou

Half past. — Well. I may have slightly overestimated my husband’s perceptiveness.

Hmph.

It would appear Jonathan did not, in fact, look into my soul, nor did he devise an elaborate scheme to grant my secret wish, nor indeed, had he any notion of said wish’s existence. All of this was made clear to me on his bursting into my dressing room, not ten minutes after having vacated the house, with a certain gleam in his eye…

When I asked what on earth he was doing here, he responded with amazement. Regarding me as though I were the thick one, he explained that after delivering our guests into the capable hands of his gamekeeper, he’d dashed back to me so we could take advantage of the empty house to?—

La, I cannot write it without blushing! You know.

At any rate, he was taken aback to find me neither aware nor enamored of this project. And when I divulged the fact of my having quite a different project in mind, he answered blithely that we should have ample time for both, could I but spare him twenty minutes.

Naturally, I looked askance! I was sure I’d mistaken him, for it wasn’t possible to confine such activities to so short a window—was it?

He insisted it was. Though skeptical, I allowed him a chance to prove his theory...which he did, to marvelous effect! Here I sit, just twenty minutes later—eighteen, if truth be told—in a glow of marital bliss and ready to resume my work. Will wonders never cease?

And in the daytime, no less! Having already been married a whole week, why am I just now learning of this option?

I suppose lack of opportunity may well account for it. When the Greystone party broke up on the morning after our wedding, we removed to Twineham Park at once. The bulk of that day was spent in the enclosed chaise, which some might reckon as a fit venue for romance—but anybody who’s shared such a vehicle with their cat would attest otherwise. And since arriving, a constant stream of morning callers and evening engagements have kept us on the hop.

Not that I’m complaining! Setting up house has been rather a joy, for at Greystone I was expected to carry on Rachael’s ways, while here I may run things just as I please.

It is a lot of work, of course, what with everything being so much larger and grander: the house, the lovely park, and the army of staff we must hire to maintain them. Some of the old servants have returned, but many found other jobs or (rumor has it) defected to the dowager’s residence. I imagine replacing them all will take some weeks, and until then we’ll just have to muddle through.

Even so, I adore the house! It’s a Palladian mansion full of well-proportioned rooms and Chippendale furniture, and already I grow too fond of lofty ceilings and modern conveniences to ever go back to a castle. The chimneys don’t smoke! The windows go up and down! We have three water closets with the new flush toilets, and—if you can believe it!—even one of Feetham’s Patent ShowerBaths (though I do wish it weren’t so cold).

Best of all, instead of a dingy old storeroom, I’m to have a new workshop with good light and a safe that doesn’t require a handful of keys and the memory of an elephant. Hurrah!

Our neighbors are another bright spot, for I’ve enjoyed meeting them all. They seem a lively and attentive set, no less effusive in their welcome of me than in their hopes for my new regime. On visiting, few have hesitated to broach the subject of the previous duchess’s unsociable habits, nor hint at their satisfaction in finding me her reverse. And none left without securing our attendance at their forthcoming dinner party, dance, or card game.

Of course, this left us bound to return the hospitality, and we did so last night, gathering nearly twenty couples between our neighbors and guests for a New Year’s Eve ball. I delivered the invitations in person, along with anxious warnings and advance apologies for the present deficiency of our household.

But despite dire predictions, my ball was a triumph—in no small part due to my very clever (and totally unwitting) strategy of lowering everybody’s expectations! For it allowed everybody to find our style of entertaining rather better than anticipated, and by that token, discover me to be a capital hostess and charming addition to the neighborhood. I am an instant success!

But alas, nearly four pages I’ve filled and not a word of it to the purpose! I’ve yet even to mention the striking episode which prompted this writing. Horsefeathers, what a jumble I am at present!

I blame my husband and his infernal interruptions. Even now he calls out to me from the bedroom! But I shall not answer him. Tempted though I may be, I shall brook no further distractions.

3 o’clock. — Very well, that was the final distraction.

And I cannot be faulted for giving in, I’ll have you know! Jonathan has learned how to order me about in that gravelly way he has, and if it weren’t for his being the very soul of compassion, I should be properly afraid of his wielding such power. (Also if I didn’t enjoy it so much.)

At any rate, I am now back at my writing desk and determined not to move until I have finished. Jonathan and his tricks be hanged!

The story begins with Christmas dinner—with the plum pudding, to be exact. Our old family recipe calls for little silver charms to be baked into the pudding, which are said to confer special blessings upon whoever should discover them. And this year’s distribution of charms was auspicious indeed! It went as follows:

Found by me: the ship, conferring safe harbor

Found by Jonathan: the wishbone, conferring good luck

Found by Lady Caroline: the ring, conferring a forthcoming marriage

Found by Elizabeth: the coin, conferring a fortune in the offing

Found by Mr. Nathaniel Chase: the thimble, conferring a life of blessedness

Now, to understand the pertinence of all the charms will require some further explanation.

The first two we may dispense with in rapid fashion, for obviously, I’ve at last found (1) safe harbor in the arms of my beloved. Meanwhile, Jonathan has had the great (2) good luck to win his bride after such a series of misfortunes and misunderstandings kept us apart.

Huzzah for love!

Now on to the next. Sometime following the final gift’s unwrapping, a little cache of unopened parcels was discovered—all addressed to Lady Caroline! It was at that point we realized she had never returned to the drawing room, and nor had her champion, Captain Talbot. After Rachael volunteered to go up and knock on the Opal Room’s door, she returned not with a heartened Caroline, but with a note hastily scrawled in her hand. When it was read aloud, we all got a shock: Caroline and Captain Talbot had eloped! (3) A forthcoming marriage!

Nobody looked more shocked than Elizabeth, and after Noah galloped off to alert the would-be-bride’s father, I contrived to see Elizabeth alone and offer consolation. Though the captain is a rogue who everyone knows to be drowning in debt—and though in truth I am thrilled he was stolen from under Elizabeth’s nose—still I felt she deserved compassion for suffering such a disappointment.

But as it turns out, Elizabeth wasn’t disappointed—for it was she who did the disappointing!

When she’d spent Christmas Eve acting withdrawn and preoccupied (which I had noticed, and now feel guilty for having been too wrapped up in my own affairs to address) it was because she’d been contemplating an elopement of her own!

During their ramble that day at the Bignor Villa, Captain Talbot had opened his heart to her, and, citing his modest means as an obstacle to obtaining her brother’s blessing, begged her to run away with him. Believing herself sincerely attached, and with Mary Harris whispering in her ear what a wonderful adventure it should be for Elizabeth (rather, in my estimation, what an entertaining scandal it should be for Mary), my sister needed the better part of a day to make up her mind. But in the end good sense prevailed, and she realized the captain’s charms were not worth the gamble of losing her family’s good opinion, to say nothing of her reputation and all her fortune into the bargain!

For even love-addled Elizabeth couldn’t help seeing what the captain was. To be attempting an elopement—let alone two of them!—the poor fool had to be in truly dire straits. Such a desperate step bespeaks a crisis of the sort one can only hope to escape by securing some impressionable lady’s dowry. Had he got his hands on Elizabeth’s money, most of it would have gone straight to his creditors, with any leavings soon to follow. My poor sister would have been destitute.

But—thank heaven!—that shan’t come to pass. Elizabeth and her future are safe. From the very brink of ruin, she is now restored to every prospect of—prepare yourself for a thunderbolt— (4) a fortune in the offing!

Do you see? The fortune Elizabeth has obtained is her own, rescued from the clutches of a swindler!

Is that not tied with a bow?

I do feel for Lady Caroline, however. Though her father led a party out in pursuit of the fugitives, they managed to evade capture and are in all probability married by now. One can only hope that her fortune—which, as the sole heiress of her father’s estate, is sure to be enormous—combined with her domineering streak, will be enough to either fund or quash her husband’s follies. If anyone could take him on, I’m convinced it is Caroline!

Of the fifth and final prophecy—a blessed life for my cousin Mr. Chase—I’ll admit I stood in doubt. Especially given what happened the morning after my wedding.

We were all at breakfast, after which the guests were to depart, when Mr. Evans stormed into the dining parlor. In a manner permitting no argument, he bid Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Chase to come with him, and that was that! They left the castle, and we’ve heard nothing from the pair since.

Only after the remaining houseguests took their leave did we learn more. Noah had the tale from his valet and conveyed it to Elizabeth, Jonathan, and me as we were gathered to make our own farewells. It seems while the footmen transported our Honorable cousins’ baggage downstairs, one of Mrs. Chase’s cases sprung open—and what do you think fell out?

Why, nothing but a cache of our best silver! Can you imagine?

That would have made an end of the matter—and all association with the Lakefield branch of the family—if not for servants’ gossip. At least, I assume it’s the castle servants who circulated the news, since my siblings and husband all vow they spoke to no one.

At any rate, word of the thwarted crime seems to have spread like wildfire, for when Noah arrived here yesterday, he brought with him a very embarrassed letter from our cousin the viscount! Dispensing quickly with felicitations on Lady Claire’s brilliant match, his lordship dwelt far longer on apologies for his son and daughter-in-law’s disgrace. He laments this younger son has always sought his fortune through schemes and speculations, rather than a profession, and begs us not to paint the whole family with the scoundrel’s brush, for all his other children are infinitely Nathaniel’s superior.

Lastly, below the signature, the viscount had added a hopeful postscript: due to the very public shame of this latest indiscretion, Nathaniel had at last been prevailed on to take orders. The proud father now sat in happy expectation of seeing his wayward son installed as vicar of a respectable country church by midsummer.

(5) A life of blessedness, indeed!

For pity’s sake, do I hear Jonathan calling me again? Does the man never tire?

Half past three. — Hmph. It wasn’t Jonathan after all, but only Kippers mewing at the door. After letting him in I peeped into the bedroom—and found Jonathan fast asleep!

Though I ought to leave him be, he looks so adorably tousled ( the hair! ) that I can’t resist curling up next to him until the others return. I shan’t wake him, of course—though he is a light sleeper. Oh, piffle. Well, I’ll do my best, but should some accidental jostling occur…

I’m sure I can make it up to him somehow.

Before I bid you farewell, my treasured friend (who I mean to revisit often, by frequent perusals of your joy-filled pages), I have just one more incident to share.

This morning brought yet another caller to our door: the Dowager Duchess of Rathborne. No one else was yet abroad, so I received her alone in the saloon. She paid her respects to the bride, inquired after her son, and accepted a dish of tea. I in turn asked after Rousseau, who is evidently laid up with a cold, and extended my sympathies. After exactly a quarter of an hour—the proper length for an introductory visit—she took her leave.

All in all, a promising start.

Euphorically ever after,

Claire