Eternally Yours: Roxton Letters Volume 1 (13 page)

Julian and Deb’s little ones are thriving. I have been to visit the big house once or twice this last month, and to hear their laughter as they race around the garden is a joy. Yes, I know I should visit more often, but Julian he does not like them chattering away in French with this silly morose creature who once was their grandmother. He wants them to grow up English children and so they are to speak that language first, and not their grandparents’ first language. I know you agree with him, so it is no use me arguing the point with you, or him.

Oh, I nearly forgot to mention that in honor of our anniversary, just three days ago Cornelia presented Scipio with a second litter of pups. Three fawn-and-white bitches and two black-and-tan dogs, all healthy. I promised one to Martin as a companion for his Delilah, who has turned nine and is looking frail. I think a pup will put the wag back in her tail, and also give Martin something, or should I say someone, to focus on other than worrying about me. To own a truth, I have been a big coward with Martin and cannot bear to face him since you went away without me.

Why? Why did you leave me like this? Why am I here in this house alone? I exist, but I am not here, am I? I eat without tasting. I drink without knowing I am thirsty. I fall asleep hoping the day it is but a dream. I hope against hope that when I lay my head upon the pillow, I will wake from this nightmare and you will be there asleep beside me, and I will tell you my silly fears, and you will take me in your arms and kiss them away. My head hurts, and my heart it aches so much it is like I am carrying a big heavy weight in my chest, and I do not care anymore if my heart it stops. I stare out the window at the lake and I think today is the day I will walk down to the jetty, and keep on walking, through the reeds and out into the middle of the water, my petticoats heavy with water with every dragging step until I am no longer able to move my legs, and the water it is up to my chin and then I will close my eyes and open my mouth and the water it will rush in—

I went away and washed my face and Michelle made me a cup of coffee, so now I am more myself. I read the last paragraph, and I am sorry. All of it is true, of course, but I ask your forgiveness for being so morbid on this of all days. I will try and not be so stupidly selfish and say such ridiculous things, because I know it upsets you and Vallentine and Estée to see me not being myself. Have I told you all how very pleased I am the three of you are together again? But of course, that too makes me sad because you are together without me!

It is as well I have my visit to the mausoleum to look forward to. I will bring Scipio with me, so you can see how well your boy is doing, and what a proud sire he is. Of course, when the puppies they are bigger I shall bring them for your inspection, and you can watch them run about and we can decide together which one Martin should have.

Happy anniversary, my darling.

T
WENTY

Her Grace the Most Noble Duchess of Roxton, Treat via Alston, Hampshire, to The Right Honorable Lady Mary Cavendish, Abbey Wood via Bisley, Gloucestershire.

Treat via Alston, Hampshire

May, 1776

Dearest Mary, your letter offering your condolences on the loss Julian and I recently suffered had me shedding a tear. You are right, of course, and we do count our blessings in having four happy, healthy children. I suppose it was doubly sad that it happened when it did, because it is my first miscarriage, and also because the news of a new baby lifted everyone’s spirits, which as you know have been very low since M’sieur le Duc’s passing two years ago.

That sad event is as if it happened yesterday, and Julian has moments where he is walking about in a fog of grief. Thank God for the children, who keep him—no, both of us—grounded and occupied, and stop us from descending into a blue melancholy such as that suffered by his mother. We are determined to be as happy as we can be, for them, and they keep us looking forward not backwards.

Little Juliana was only just born, as you remember, and not a month old when M’sieur le Duc died. Louis and Gus have no recollection of him either. Saddest of all is my Frederick, who tells me about sitting on his Grandpere’s silken knee to be read to, and to listen to his stories of the old King of France. But what is so much worse for Frederick is his Grandmere’s sorry state, which has made him a very confused little boy. She is nothing like the grandmother he remembers, and I know it troubles him, though he is only just turned six. He has an old head on his shoulders, which is a great pity for him.

I still have moments where I am truly amazed at the enormous influence my father-in-law had on all who came within his orbit, not least his family. You know this as well as anyone, Mary, having grown up with him since your birth. Indeed, your loving recollection of him teaching you to play at backgammon when you were twelve years old, and had lost your own father in traumatic circumstances, brought tears to my eyes. You wrote about him with such affection that had I not been privileged to know him as my father-in-law for the few short years that I did, I would hardly think it possible you were writing about the same nobleman who had a very different public face to the one he showed his family.

While I was never completely comfortable in his company at any time, I was able to relax a little when all the family was gathered, for I could see in their manner and conversation that they loved him unconditionally. His family was everything to him. He adored them, and they adored him.

What I find fascinating is that for all intents and purposes, my father-in-law was the embodiment of the arrogant nobleman. Disdainful of those beneath him whom he deemed inferior of character, he always carried an air of expectation that when he spoke, all should listen, and that his word was law. He did this with his family too, and there were times when he could make me shiver with dread, particularly when he directed his gaze and had that way of looking right through you, as if your words, indeed your very presence, were of no interest to him. Thankfully, I was never on the receiving end of such a look. He was very economical with his words, as if speaking more than was necessary was an effort he did not need to exert. Of course, such silences were always filled by Maman-Duchess, and he was most happy when she did so.

Thank you for extending your kind invitation for Maman-Duchess to visit you, but the truth is, she is not fit company for anyone, and is best left to her inconsolable grief at the Dower House. Julian visits her when he can, but admits to me that he wonders why he does so, because she hardly sees him and barely says two words.

Please keep all this to yourself, dear Mary, for Julian would not thank me for breaking his confidence, but I need to confide in someone in the family or I would surely go mad myself! So, please, I beg of you, lock my letters away, and one day, when I ask it of you, burn them all.

What I am about to tell you, I have told no other.

Julian has called in a physician who specializes in broken minds, to assess and treat his mother. He thinks we should have engaged his services much earlier than this, when her strange habits were first reported. Mary, please, you must say nothing of this. But believe me when I tell you that Maman-Duchess has taken to conversing with the carved marble likeness atop M’sieur le Duc’s tomb. She visits the mausoleum daily, taking flowers and books, and sits there all day, talking to the old Duke as if he were still alive and he answering her chatter.

I have not seen this alarming behavior for myself, nor has Julian, but it has been reported by various sources, so it must be true. What first alerted Julian to the possibility his mother refused to believe her husband was truly dead, is that she never refers to M’sieur le Duc, or as she sometimes calls him, Monseigneur, in the past tense. She speaks as if he is still very much alive. Indeed she does the same when referring to Lord and Lady Vallentine. I hardly know what to say in reply, and when she makes a remark about telling M’sieur le Duc about this and that when she returns home, it takes all my self-control to remain insensible.

It breaks my heart and alarms me, because it has pushed Julian to this breaking point of calling in a medical professional. I only hope he is able to help her before it is too late and she needs to be shut away for good. That unthinkable action has never been raised between Julian and me, so again, please, this must remain between the two of us.

Of course, our other worry now is Henri-Antoine, who is utterly neglected by his grieving mother so that it might as well be as if he has lost both his parents, not just his father. It astounds me to think here is a mother who monitored her son’s every waking moment from birth to the age of twelve, consumed with worry about the seizures he suffered as a result of the falling sickness, and the instant M’sieur le Duc dies, it is as if her interest in her youngest son also died that day. For she has not asked after him, been near him, sent for Dr. Bailey to ask after his health, or even asked Julian or me how he fares. For all she cares—and I am being very cruel here, but I am angry—he could have died from one of these seizures and such a tragedy would not register with her.

How can she be so unfeeling within the blink of an eye? What must that poor boy be thinking, to have lost his father and his mother, who doted upon him every single day of his life? Of course, the burden for his care now falls to Julian. Not that he, or we, see it as a burden, we love Harry (as we prefer to call him) as much as we love our own children, but I do worry about the state of his young mind. Thank God his seizures have not been so severe of late, or as frequent, and thank God he has Jack!

Good dependable Jack, who watches over Harry and loves him as a brother. Still, Julian frets as to the future, but it quiets his heart to know the boys are enjoying their time at Eton, despite Bailey being just one step behind. Though I think the brothers have struck up some agreement where the future of the good doctor is concerned, as Harry and Jack went off to school in a much better frame of mind, and with a conspiratorial nod to the Duke they possibly hoped I did not catch! I mean to find out what precisely is going on there, when I have a moment to spare.

You will think seriously about my offer for you and Teddy to come stay with us for a month when it pleases you, won’t you? I know I don’t paint a very rosy picture of life here at Treat, but it is much better to be here than to read about it in one of my depressing missives.

I am fully sensible that it is now a year since Gerald’s passing, and so you must be out of your mourning, or nearly so. With the estate in the capable hands of its steward, and Julian well pleased with Mr. Bryce’s capabilities in that quarter, you can afford to leave Abbey Wood and visit us. Surely Mr. Bryce will give his permission for Teddy to visit her cousins. As for Teddy, she must sorely be in need of company and new surroundings, as much as her mamma. So please, do give our offer serious consideration, and apply to Mr. Bryce at once. He cannot be so hard-hearted as to deny you, which, if he denies Teddy leaving Abbey Wood, is denying you, for I know you will not leave without her!

The children keep us focused on what is important, and they do lift our spirits so that we can go whole days without reference to the past, and your coming to stay would only increase this happy time. It would be particularly beneficial for Teddy to be around her young cousins, and I am sure she would love to mother Juliana, who is quite the princess, in every respect.

I hear the children returned to the garden after being down at the lake sailing their toy boats, and I will sign off so this letter can be sealed and sent with the Duke’s post this afternoon. If I have more to write, it will come in the next post, a sennight after you receive this.

I expect to read of your date of arrival in your next post.

All our love,

Deborah

T
WENTY
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ONE

Mr. Christopher Bryce, c/- Abbey Wood via Bisley, Gloucestershire, to His Grace The Most Noble Duke of Roxton, Treat via Alston, Hampshire.

c/- Abbey Wood via Bisley, Gloucestershire

August, 1776

My Lord Duke,

I trust this letter finds you and your family in excellent health.

As I am not one for unimportant conversation, and I have no wish to use up ink in wasting your valuable time, I shall come to the point.

You will find enclosed the usual report, entrusted as it always is to your secretary Mr. Audley, for delivery to Your Grace. I trust you will find everything in it satisfactory, as Mr. Audley did himself when he settled himself in to peruse the account books and correspondence therein to do with this estate.

I have no objection to reporting matters to Your Grace, for that was one of the terms of Sir Gerald’s will. We are both bound as co-executors of that document, and I more so as steward of the estate until Sir John reaches his majority, and also as guardian of my cousin’s only child, Theodora. What I continue to object to in the strongest terms is the need for Mr. Audley to come in person all the way into Gloucestershire to view the books on your behalf, when this onerous task could easily be conducted and certified by an appointed intermediary who resides in Circencester or Bath.

It is not for me to wonder how Your Grace is able to carry out daily tasks on your estate without the benefit of Mr. Audley’s expertise for seven days out of every quarter.

But what I do wonder is that you must consider my abilities so deficient that you must needs send your secretary, in effect, to look over my shoulder. Or is there perhaps some other underlying purpose as to why Mr. Audley acts as your eyes and ears, which you do not wish to disclose to me? For that, Your Grace, is the only conclusion I can draw after tolerating a year of your secretary’s quarterly visits.

You state that matters have not changed since Sir Gerald was alive. That Mr. Audley made regular visits to Abbey Wood on your behalf, and for similar reasons. I concede that when my cousin was alive, he allowed his wants to far exceed his income, and the estate was heavily mortgaged. Thus Sir Gerald was forced to acquiesce to your demands to have his affairs overseen, or run the very real risk of having Your Grace call in the substantial loans you made him to keep the estate a viable concern. Since my cousin’s untimely death and my subsequent stewardship, there has been a marked improvement in the estate, so much so that a third of the debt is already paid. So, I ask you again, Duke, why the need for Mr. Audley to continue with his visits? They are not needed and they are certainly not wanted.