Page 48 of The Next Mrs Bennet
J ane was in the sitting room at her aunt’s and uncle’s house working on some embroidery while her aunt sat and relaxed when the post was delivered. She was greatly excited to see one from Lizzy as it had been some weeks—before her presentation—since a letter had been received from her sister.
“Aunt Maddie, do you mind if I read my letter right away?” Jane requested.
“Why would I object Janey dear, go right ahead,” Madeline allowed.
She broke the seal of the Dukes of Hertfordshire and opened up the pages of the thick missive. Unsurprisingly there was an enclosed letter addressed to Charlotte. Jane began to read as soon as the pages were smoothed out.
11 June 1806
Hertfordshire House
My dearest Janey,
You have my heartfelt apologies if I caused you any consternation by not having written to you since right before my presentation last month. As punishment for being disrespectful to him , that man refused to allow me to send or receive letters until today.
What a petty and vindictive man I am shackled to! I was prepared for the fact he is old, repugnant, and a brute, but I never imagined his small mindedness as well.
He did not react well when after I had changed out of the hooped monstrosity I was forced to wear, I made sport of him. Would you believe the old man made as if he was about to strike me? Calm yourself, Janey, he did not, and to date has not harmed me physically.
Jane was distressed by what she had read. Thank goodness Lizzy had told her she was unharmed—at least her person was not hurt. Even though he had not hit her, the fact he threatened it, could not but make Jane even more worried for her younger sister. She continued to read.
As much as I disliked what I had to wear, there was a positive in being presented. I met and will greatly miss the company of Lady Morag McIntire, the Countess of Colbath who prepared and sponsored me. Without her visits, I am alone in my prison once more. At least when she was here for the practices, I had another lady to speak to—even though we had to be circumspect thanks to him having one of his lapdogs always near.
I was able to speak to her and her husband on the way to and back from the presentation at St. James Palace. One of the men employed by the old man rode behind the coach on a horse so he was unable to overhear us.
As much as I should have been surprised, I was not when they told me they had been forced to do my husband’s bidding for some years now as he held the fate of their estate in Scotland over their heads. It was a debt of honour; one he stole by cheating! Knowing how much my husband wanted me presented and that there were no others who would oblige him, the Earl demanded his debt markers returned to him. Unlike me, they are free of the man and never have to see him again.
This being the first communication from me since I took my curtsey, I must tell you all!
St. James Palace is decorated as ostentatiously as you would imagine. Given my rank (one I would much prefer not to have) I was the first lady presented. The Queen spoke to me, and I do not mean some perfunctory inanities.
Lady Morag informed me Her Majesty would have a few words for me, but I was wholly unprepared for the reality.
Janey, she asked me if I wanted my marriage annulled by her vicar (the Archbishop of Canterbury)! Also, she let me know if I ever needed her assistance, it would be granted. As much as I wanted to accept her offer to end my marriage to him , I cannot, so I did not.
What her sister was not telling her, Jane could not imagine. She knew how stubborn Lizzy was and she had already made it clear—more than once—one day she would share her reasons for marrying the Duke. She suspected Aunt and Uncle knew, but had been sworn to secrecy. Hence they would not share it with her without Lizzy’s permission.
At her compassion, I almost lost my composure. One or two tears escaped and would you believe the Queen used her own handkerchief to dry my cheek.
Since my return, I have only seen him at dinner and some evenings. Not seeing him at all would still be too often for me.
When you reply, please post your letter, and all subsequent ones to Falconwood. You can choose either Hertfordshire or Buckinghamshire as the estate straddles the border between said counties.
I was told we depart on the morrow. I will admit I am curious to see the estate. All I can do is hope there will be good paths for me to take my constitutionals again. How I have missed them while I have been languishing at his house.
If I enjoyed wagering I would take one on the fact I will have a shadow when I walk out. It is not that the man is worried I will run off—he is secure in his knowledge I will not—but he likes to control everything and having me watched so closely is another way he does that.
We leave Town on the morrow, Dearest. We will be at the estate by the afternoon.
Please give my warmest regards and love to our sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
Your loving sister,
Lizzy
“Jane you do not look happy,” Madeline observed as she spied the pensive look on Jane’s countenance.
“Read this and you tell me,” Jane thrust the letter forward into Aunt Maddie’s hands.
As she read, the ire she felt towards His Grace rose significantly. If he had been nearby, Madeline would have been the one doing the striking.
Thankfully the despicable man had not physically beaten Lizzy. Madeline was sure had he done so, her Edward would have rushed to his home and tried to gain entry to revisit the favour upon the Duke’s head ten times over. As well deserved as it would have been, she selfishly much preferred her husband alive and well.
“Lizzy will be well, she has to be,” Madeline stated as she handed the letter back to her niece. “The letter to Charlotte will go in the post on the morrow.”
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Elizabeth had been told the coach ride to Falconwood would be about four hours, roughly the same length of time had they been travelling to Meryton. On the whole, she did not object to riding in a carriage. At least that had been true when the company was better, much better than the objectionable man sitting opposite her on the forward facing bench.
Even though it was the norm to allow the lady to face forward, the old man had used the excuse of his becoming sick if he faced the rear.
She cared not, as long as she did not have to sit next to him. Just the day before her monthly disposition had come, which was both a blessing and a curse. The former because she would have almost a week without his sweaty, smelly, corpulent presence in her bedchamber, while the latter meant she was not with child and would have to suffer his coming to her some nights once her indisposition was over.
A prayer of thanks was offered for the fact her husband had fallen asleep soon after the coach passed the outskirts of London. His loud snoring was far preferable to having to converse with him.
At the almost two hour mark, they reached the same inn that had been used in the past travelling between Town and Meryton. It was about halfway between the two. Hertfordshire was just waking up when he noticed his wife had exited the conveyance and was entering the inn with her maid—who had been travelling in a following carriage—and Wickham as an escort.
While Elizabeth went to the necessary her maid stood outside the door and Wickham was standing at the end of the hallway.
“This way, Your Grace,” Wickham stated once the Duchess exited the privy. “His Grace has a private parlour so you may enjoy some food and drink.”
Knowing it would be cutting off her nose to spite her face to refuse as she needed some tea and perhaps something to eat, Elizabeth nodded and allowed her husband’s guard dog to lead her to the designated room.
The landlord, who felt the compliment of a duke and duchess patronising his establishment keenly, was falling over himself to make sure the noble personages’ needs were met.
There was an enormous platter, piled high with sandwiches on the table—far more than ten, never mind, two people could hope to eat. Some had been made with mutton and others with cheese. Elizabeth asked for a cup of tea and helped herself to a cheese sandwich.
“I trust you are comfortable, my dear,” the Duke drawled.
“Adequately,” Elizabeth averred succinctly.
Seeing his wife was not in the mood to converse, Hertfordshire concentrated on his second mug of ale and the half dozen sandwiches he had placed on his plate.
Elizabeth sat silently as the man consumed sandwich after sandwich and then washed it all down with his third mug of ale. She knew not how he could eat so much after the enormous breakfast he had eaten.
Contrary to her wont of taking a tray in her chambers, she had been commanded to join her husband in the breakfast parlour that morning due to their impending travels. Watching him eat then reminded Elizabeth of the prize pig at Mr. Bennet’s estate devouring everything it could find. Like the man sitting opposite her, it too could eat no matter how much food it had eaten before.
When the Duke had his fill, there were still many sandwiches on the platter. “Rather than allow the remaining sandwiches and the rest of the drinks to go to waste, can we not provide it to our servants who are accompanying us to your estate?” Elizabeth suggested.
“Do what you will with them, I care not,” Hertfordshire responded dismissively.
“Mr. Wickham, please take for yourself, allow Jennings some, and then offer the rest to those of our servants who would like to eat and drink,” Elizabeth instructed.
In the time he had worked for the Duke, not once had the man bothered about anyone’s needs but his own. Wickham was amazed that this slip of a duchess had. He was sure she must hate him for being used to watch her by her husband, but yet, she still took his needs, and those of others into account.
The man did pay well, but that was all. Not for the first time it struck Wickham how easily he would be discarded, or disposed of, when the Duke decided he was no longer of use.
While His Grace went to the necessary, Wickham collected two footmen who, after he offered Her Grace’s maid some, took the remaining food and drink to share among the servants waiting with the coaches outside. When he saw the shocked looks of the grateful, and hungry men, Wickham gave credit where credit was due naming the Duchess as their benefactor.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
From the inn, rather than follow the road to the northwest which would have led to Meryton, the conveyances turned onto a road heading southwest.
This time Elizabeth feigned sleep to escape having to converse with her husband. If he suspected her of not truly being asleep, Hertfordshire did not attempt to rouse his wife as they rode on.
About an hour later, they were traversing a market town. Elizabeth sat up and looked out of the window.
“This is the market town of Chesham in Buckinghamshire. It is the closest town in this county to Falconwood,” Hertfordshire explained without being prompted. He was proud of his primary estate and liked to talk about it and the area. He required no response from his wife. “We travel this way because although my estate sits both in this shire and Hertfordshire, the main entrance is in Buckinghamshire, three miles from where we sit now.”
“Thank you,” was all Elizabeth said in response.
As they rolled on towards the estate, Elizabeth could make out some hills in the distance, she guessed to the east, between them and London, but the land in the area was relatively flat, much like that around Longbourn where her beloved Oakham Mount stood out as the only eminence for miles around.
Eventually, the lead coach passed the large stone gate posts, each with a tall wrought iron gate attached. The gates were opened as far as they could be and the gatekeeper was present, next to his gatehouse, hat in hand, and bowing deeply as the Duke’s equipage passed him by.
The drive was relatively level and someone had planted trees alongside it on both sides at some point creating an avenue. About a mile from the gates, much to her delight—although she kept her features schooled not wanting him to see her take pleasure in anything of his—Elizabeth saw a rather large, wooded area on the one side of the drive.
‘ If I am allowed to ramble, I would like to explore the forest, ’ Elizabeth told herself silently.
Almost two more miles were traversed before the mansion came into view. Never had Elizabeth seen a house half as big. Never mind Longbourn, it was five to six times larger than Netherfield Park’s manor house if it was anything.
It was at least five storeys high from what she could see with large wings on the left and right of the front part of the structure. When she explored the area, she intended to find out if the wings extended to the rear as well, or only towards the front.
The coach followed the circular drive in front of the house—there was a large fountain with water spurting from the mouths of five cherubs in the centre of the circle—and came to a halt under an enormous portico.
On either side of the drive were formal gardens. They seemed vast. Elizabeth could see at least three gazebos, a topiary, and what seemed like an extensive rose garden. She was sure there was much more to see as the gardens disappeared from view behind the wings on either side of the house.
She was sure she would see the rest soon enough, besides, she much preferred untamed nature to a garden designed by the awkward tastes of man.
Lined up in front of the house were four neat rows of servants behind two men and a woman, who Elizabeth assumed were the senior staff.
As much as she did not want to be helped down from the carriage by the man who repulsed her, Elizabeth knew in front of the staff and servants, she would have to maintain a facade of serenity. Thankfully, living her life with Jane had taught her how to apply that particular mask.
After handing her out, the Duke turned to those standing to welcome them home. “I present Her Grace, Lady Elizabeth Chamberlain, the Duchess of Hertfordshire and Marchioness of Hertford Heights,” the Duke intoned.
A cheer rose from the assembled staff and servants. To Elizabeth’s mind, it was not spontaneous, but what they thought the Duke wanted to hear.
Rather than lower himself to make the introductions, Hertfordshire nodded to Wickham who introduced Her Grace to Mr. and Mrs. Greaves, the butler and housekeeper, and to Mr. Hampstead, the steward.
“Your warm welcome of my husband and me is most appreciated,” Elizabeth told the assembled servants while her husband had begun to walk into the house. “Please pardon me if it takes me time, but I will endeavour to learn all of your names.”
Having been inured to the treatment from His Grace, there was a look of scepticism among the servants.
Elizabeth nodded to the housekeeper and butler who dismissed the servants. She took a deep breath and made her way into her new gaol. Yes, it was far larger than the house in London, but it was her prison nonetheless.