Page 36 of The Derbyshire Dance (Kendall House #3)

Chapter twenty-five

Loneliness

Dear Uncle Nigel,

It is good to hear that Grimsbald is becoming profitable again. How marvellous that you were able to lease the eastern acres to mining investors under such good terms.

I own that I cannot think of Grimsbald with much affection.

My childhood years there were not filled with happiness.

I am certain that my haughty temperament did little to endear me to the servants there, for though I remember Mrs. Grenville and Mr. Randall by name, I remember little else than the demands I often made of them.

I daresay I knew no better than to copy my mother and father in my arrogance of demeanour and thoughtlessness towards the servants.

Fortunately, I still have time to remedy that in my new role as mistress of Audeley House, and I have Gyles to imitate in the care he shows for those of all stations in life.

Mrs. Garrick has agreed to become our housekeeper at Audeley House.

She sends her love to Archie and hopes that he has scorched no more of your linens.

She also begs that you tell him to stop sending home part of his earnings, for she intends to have grandchildren someday and would rather that he save his money for a wife.

You asked for news of our Upper Cross neighbours.

Jack Ferris was wed to Lucy Morrison recently, but we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of the couple since the event.

They have taken a wedding trip somewhere—something Gyles and I laughed about since we travelled so extensively before we were married that neither of us has any inclination to leave the house for the next year or ten.

The Brownlees prevailed upon Lucy’s niece Belinda to stay with them as a houseguest so she would not be left at Morrison House, a single lady on her own.

She is a strange creature. I do not think she cares a whit for bonnets, embroidery, theatre, or art.

You know what a frivolous creature I am, so you can imagine how we get on.

I have gone walking with her twice to attempt to be companionable, but I have seen the vicar walking with her a half dozen times or more.

Perhaps they are well-matched, for he dislikes all things cosmopolitan—which is to say, all things that I was raised to adore.

Gyles works sun-up to sun-down in his rose garden, save the hours he spends with me, and I must own that the prospect of the Audeley House garden in the summer, when every variety is in bloom, is one of the finest sights that England has to offer.

I have begun to try my hand at watercolour paintings of the different varieties to help him catalogue and record them.

He is writing a book, you see, on the proper care and cultivation of roses.

If he ever manages to finish it, it will be the most thorough manual for rosarians ever published.

I am happy that my paintings can help contribute to it in some small way.

Your affectionate niece,

Louis a

N igel frowned and raked a hand through his dark hair. He slapped the folded letter against the desk. Blast! He had hoped that Bel would send that officious clergyman about his business. But it sounded like Horace Townsend was still sniffing about like an overly eager sheepdog.

Was she lonely now that her aunt had married? And would that loneliness drive her to do something desperate? She had made no promises of waiting for him until he could reform his life and set his affairs in order. She owed him nothing. She could marry if she chose.

Nigel wondered if there was something he could do, either to dispel her loneliness or to open her eyes to Townsend’s unsuitableness. Pulling out a sheet of paper, he scrawled a quick letter to his London solicitor.

Childers,

I have two errands for you to undertake.

First, there was a ship that went down seven years ago on the western coast of Africa.

The Belladore was its name. Were there any survivors?

If so, who are they and where are they now?

Perhaps the newspapers would have this information, or perhaps you can locate the owner of the ship.

Second, in a somewhat opposite conundrum, I have the name of a navy man, and I would like you to locate his ship.

Townsend was the fellow’s surname, but I do not know his first name.

I believe he was an officer and that his ship saw adverse military action, causing his death, some thirty years ago.

Can you find record of a Townsend deceased in naval action?

Or alternatively, can you find record of a naval pension paid to a Mrs. Townsend for the past thirty years?

I have implicit faith in your abilities. Write as soon as you apprehend the information on either count.

Warrenton

Franking the letter himself, Nigel gave it to Mr. Randall to send with the next post.

Within a week, a reply came from Childers. The second piece of information he was still working to ascertain, but the first piece of information sent a shock of surprise through Nigel that had him gripping his desk and pouring a glass of brandy.

“Billings!” called Nigel, once the glass of liquid courage was empty. He leaned his head out of the study, hoping that the steward was somewhere nearby.

“Do you need something, your grace?” asked the steward, coming out of his own much smaller office next door.

“I need to go to London.” Nigel took a deep breath. “Tell me, what do you think my townhouse is worth?”

Mr. Billings grunted and crossed his arms. “I have not seen it myself, and there is no recent valuation of it included with the deed that you have here in your files.”

Nigel sighed. Sometimes, he wished his steward had more of an imagination. “Give me your best estimate, Billings.”

“Impossible, your grace.”

“Humour me.”

“Ten thousand pounds,” said Mr. Billings, throwing up his hands.

“Perfect,” said Nigel, although he suspected that was far too large an estimate for a townhouse of medium size.

“Tomorrow, I’ll take the carriage to London.

I’ll be back for the early harvest but stay diligent on ensuring that the tenants pay their dues by working at the home farm.

” By custom and right, those who had cottages on the estate were obliged to work a set number of days at the home farm during each season.

But, as this had never been enforced, it had been an uphill battle forcing a lazy pack of tenants to do their fair share of work.

But Nigel was determined that his own crops would succeed this year as well as theirs.

He would make Grimsbald profitable if he had to spend his whole strength doing it.

It was strange for Bel to no longer live in the home where she had been raised. The newly married Mr. and Mrs. Ferris had taken their wedding trip to Scotland, and at Aunt Lucy’s insistence, Bel agreed to stay with the Brownlees for propriety’s sake.

She had known the Brownlees almost since her birth.

Harold had married Madge when Bel was just four years old, and Bel had dined at Mullhill Manor countless times since she had left the schoolroom.

But still, to stay in someone's home as a guest was more of a revelation of their character than to eat an occasional dinner at their table.

Bel discovered that Madge Brownlee would try on all her gowns at least three times a week and spent a large part of each day observing herself in a mirror.

She would inform Cook she was on a reducing diet for meals but then request biscuits and other sweets at regular intervals throughout the day.

She would make grand plans of travels she wanted to undertake and places she intended to see but then be too indolent to walk outdoors more than one day in seven.

Harold was an even more neglectful husband than Bel had previously suspected.

He would dine elsewhere in the neighbourhood without notice to Cook or Mrs. Brownlee, and he spent far more mornings with his steward than he did with his wife.

It was not the sort of marriage her parents had enjoyed—although from Nigel Lymington’s stories, it seemed that his parents had been little different than the Brownlees.

She wondered whether Harold and Madge had begun with affection that had withered over the years or whether they had rubbed along like this from the very beginning.

Although he had little time for his wife, Harold always greeted Bel with a jovial smile. And he always managed to be present on afternoons when the vicar came to take tea with them. “It's fine weather,” he would urge. “You young people must take a walk together.”

In this manner, Bel found herself thrown together with Mr. Townsend far more than was her liking.

Now that she was out of blacks, the vicar felt free to renew his addresses.

And indeed, Mr. Brownlee would have driven him to do so if he had not been so inclined.

Bel almost wondered if the insistent landowner had made the persistent courtship a condition for the vicar to retain his living.

During their walks, the vicar’s manner continued to vary between enthusiasm for parish duties and censure for the frivolity of those he could not understand.

Bel, depending on her mood, could not always resist teasing the vicar and drawing his criticism, but it was never so much that he ceased conversing with her .

Periodically, Bel would stop by the Morrison farm to make sure that all was well with field and fold.

Tam, despite being a man of few words, had taken charge of the farming operations, so much so that Bel was not even sure her direction was needed for a successful harvest. Had she always been this non-essential?

Had her frenetic activity simply been a way of assuaging her loneliness and longing for Charlie’s return?

Whenever she stopped in at the house, she asked Jenny for news of Archie, and in a roundabout way, for news of his employer. “Have you had another letter from him?” asked Bel circumspectly. “Is he still in Lincolnshire?”

“Aye, miss, and finding it quite easy to keep up with work boots and buckskins, for ’parently, his grace hasn't put on evening wear since he retired to his estate. Archie says he's almost forgotten how to tie a fancy cravat, but he’s been tying them on himself in his free time, he says. Needs to stay in practice in case his grace goes to London.”

“Does his grace anticipate returning to London soon?” asked Bel. If so, the attractions of the metropolis had just increased fivefold. She wondered if Lucy and Jack would return to London for a visit and if they would invite her to go with them.

“Well, he'd hardly tell Archie that, would he, Miss? I s'pose if he does it will be decided in an hour. The duke's a bit of a here-and-thereian, ain’t he?”

“Do you think so?” replied Bel lightly. She hoped not.

The solid three months he had already spent in Lincolnshire proved that he had the inclination to remedy his estate.

If he had the staying power to last out the year, perhaps he could affect some real change.

She took a deep breath. She could only hope that in all the work of becoming solvent and balancing his ledgers, he would not forget about the lady he had left behind in Derbyshire.