“Good. Had she mentioned it in front of the Gran’ther, it would be all over the village before nightfall. If you see or hear anything else, you can report it to one of us or to Mr. Hammonds. I would like to keep this from the quiet until I can find the means to untangle it.”
Miss Sedgewick curtsied with grace and dignity. “It shall be as you have asked, Your Grace. But if the Duchess shows no better discretion than that, it will be all over the house anyway. But none shall hear of it from me.”
“Thank you, Miss Sedgewick. See if you can discourage gossip in general, and perhaps that will stem the tide of information.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I always do.”
After a little more formal chitchat, the housekeeper took her leave of them. Mr. McOwen agreed to invite Mr. Cory to dinner that evening, and Mr. McAhmladhson said that he would be sure to ask young Mr. Hammonds to attend, as well.
* * *
When his friends had taken their leave, Jonathan sat at his desk, slowly turning his pen knife over and over in his right hand. A marriage unconsummated was not considered a marriage at all in some circles. His father would have told him to do his duty whether the wench would have it or no, but Jonathan had little stomach for forcing a lady, even in the marriage bed. He’d had a boy’s romantic dreams of his wedding night and had been completely unprepared for Margery requesting her own suite and retiring there each night, behind a locked door.
With the servants’ observant eyes catching glimpses of assignations, he would have to address the situation. Perhaps he should be grateful that Margery was providing him with an excuse to dissolve their marriage. It saddened him because he had promised his father-in-law to care for the girl. How could he do that under the current circumstances?
I was prepared to love her. But she has spurned my attentions at every turn, spent my money, and now she flaunts a lover in this holding where every move we make is observed, discussed, and analyzed by servants and villagers alike. It must be addressed, but it gives me little pleasure to do so.
Meanwhile, this bitter winter just past has placed a great strain upon the estate. If I must set aside funds for getting an annulment or divorce in addition to recouping our winter losses, then our coffers shall be taxed, indeed. The trade fair begins tomorrow, and under these circumstances, it is vital that it be a success.
Chapter 8
On the first day of the trade fair, Celeste woke early. She made use of the little closet that served as a necessary, and washed up using the tepid water in the pitcher on the nightstand. She set her slop jar in the hall with the others for the menials to take down and empty later.
She hurried downstairs, gulped a cup of tea, and went out to the kitchen gardens. Gran’ther Tim was at the backdoor with a wheelbarrow of greenery and flowers for her. With the help of two of the young footmen, they carried the crates of garden stuff to the bottom of the stairs near the library.
The Duke’s study was just off the library, and since Mr. Hammonds had said that the Duke was particular about his floral arrangements, Celeste intended to do it first. The container was a large one, made of brass. It had a layer of large stones topped with gravel inside it and a few shriveling violets poked out of it. The poor things were already going to seed.
“Tha maid hadnae changed it out for a few days afore we found her, puir thing,” Gran’ther Tim observed. “Ah dinnae think she was quite right in the head, that one. Oft times His Grace would come to the garden an’ get somethin’ mair ta his likin’. Even so, ‘tis a shame. Gels don’t think, nor lads either, afore they gets into trouble. You just stick to arrangin’ flowers, Miss Singer, an’ don’ go messin’ about. You’ll be the better for it.”
“Thank you for the kind advice, Gran’ther Tim.” She accorded him the same respect she would have to the elders in the little village where she grew up. “Do you know what he likes?”
“Well, now, he likes lilies, but this early in tha spring there be’n’t any out of doors. He’s partial to heartsease, and he kindy likes ‘spargus ferns. We gots a-plenny o’ those since the ‘spargus is just about done.”
“Perfect!” Celeste ran lightly back down the stairs and selected a set of three pots of violets out of the crates and located a large bundle of asparagus ferns. She took a utility tub back up to the study and set it next to the brass container and emptied it of all the stones, gravel, and sand.
With that done, she placed enough of the rough matter back into the bottom of the container to make the tops of the little clay pots of violets to be just below the edge of the ornamented brass. She then nestled four cups that had broken handles behind the pots, put water in them, and trimmed the ends of the asparagus ferns so they would take up water and stay green. She used some bits of string to fasten the ferns together so they would stand up, creating a frame for the little purple flowers. She then filled in the top of the brass container with some of the small stones and gravel, hiding the pots and the cups. She used the prettiest of the stones on top.
Gran’ther Tim, who had busied himself with the tall urns by the front door, came back and peered at the arrangement. “Now, that be right nice.” He nodded his approval.
The two of them worked together, filling the many vases and pots in the manor house with fresh posies and greenery. There were more greens than flowers, since most of the blooms available at this season were inside the big glass buildings that the Duke called orangeries. There weren’t any orange trees, but there were many different kinds of herbs and flowers sheltered in the large buildings.
Celeste had just put the finishing touches on a small arrangement for the Duchess’s rooms when the bell signaling that Her Grace was ready to rise tinkled in the upper servants’ dining hall.
Celeste signaled the kitchen, then stood at the dumbwaiter ready to receive the Duchess’s breakfast tray.
The cook had outdone himself, Celeste thought. There was a soft-boiled egg under a cozy, and a large pot of the Duchess’s favorite tea. A plate of soft buns, a jar of cherry preserves, and a mold of butter completed the ensemble. Celeste nestled the small arrangement of pansies and forget-me-nots in the center of the tray and carried it up to the Duchess’s rooms.
The Duchess was not looking her best this morning. Her hair was wildly mussed, the strings of her night dress were loose. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red. She dabbed at it with a lace-edged handkerchief. “What took you so long?”
Celeste didn’t answer the challenge directly. Three months with the Duchess had taught her that unless she wanted a reprimand or a shrill lecture, it was best to ignore such questions. “The cook has sent up your favorite tea. Will you have butter and preserves on your soft buns? Or one of each?”
“One of each, and make it quick. I am so famished; I feel as if I have been riding all day instead of sleeping.”
Celeste forbore commenting that Her Grace looked like it, too, and merely buttered the bread. She then poured tea for the Duchess, added cream and sugar and settled the bed tray where it was comfortable for Her Grace.
With that done, Celeste began laying out fresh clothing for the Duchess. “The people for the trade fair are starting to arrive, Your Grace. Will you want a morning dress or a walking dress?”
“Walking, you ninny. I could not possibly wear a morning dress to oversee a trade fair. Nothing will be indoors. I will be trodding over stone paths and trampling through the mud all day long. This is such a dreary affair. I usually manage to miss it by going down to London before the first guests arrive.”
