Page 40 of The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess
“Yes, it is. It’s good we are going to my father’s house now. It appears that you need some fattening up. Your fingers are like those on a skeleton” He turned and started to walk again. This time, he did not offer her his arm. Like an advancing general, he rudely marched before her to the waiting carriage that would take them to his father’s London residence.
Behind him, Amelia shook her head. How could such a man berate her for her manners? Lord Templeton French was just about the rudest man she had ever met. Sighing, she followed him in the direction of their transport. There was not a moment when Jonathan was not a resident of her mind.
Chapter 20
Brandon House
London, England, May 1814
Brandon House was almost as impressive as Carlton House. The behemoth of a structure was located on the Strand and facing the River Thames and the beautiful parkland lining the river. Its location spoke for itself as the Dukedom of Brandon was an old peerage – the original cornerstone of the family’s London seat was laid in the sixteenth century and hence in central London. Ever since, the palatial home had been continuously refurbished and enlarged to accommodate for modern day life and the growing needs of each new generation.
It had not taken them long to get there from Hyde Park Corner. Amelia looked up from the carriage as it entered a separately gated courtyard from the main thoroughfare. It was her second time there, but she could not help feeling impressed.
The structure loomed up above them to a height of four stories. It was in the Palladian style and partially resembled a perfectly symmetrical Roman temple. It looked like Stourhead House in Wiltshire but with many more windows. Amelia remembered that it was a very bright home. Along with the present Duke of Brandon, the house or palace were the only two things that would console her if she had to marry Lord Templeton French.
For the entire duration of the way over, Lord Templeton French had not said a word. He had just sat next to Amelia and brooded. She already knew that he was obnoxious from his comportment during the adoubement, but his behavior this day bordered on the outright insulting.
It was considered the height of bad manners to leave a lady to sit in silence. An educated gentleman with breeding would engage her in conversation. He might even complement her here and there. He would entertain her with a tale of how the family’s London residence came to be. Anything really to pass the time. Lord Templeton French behaved in just the way he looked – arrogant and petulant.
Amelia’s instincts had warned her of this the very moment she had met him. Now, everything he did confirmed her initial trepidations. First, he had reprimanded her rudely in the park, and now she was accorded the silent treatment.How can my parents want me to marry such a man? They cannot wish for me to live an unhappy life for that is what Airy would give me – sadness until the day I die.
The moment I have provided him with an heir, he would spurn me, preferring to spend time with his cronies and mistresses. They would frequent the shadiest establishments in the city. I would be a laughing stock. Everybody would know that the husband of the Duchess of Brandon is the most notorious philandering blackguard in London.
God, how I miss Jonathan. He would make such a good husband. I know it. He is as stable as an oak, whereas this man sitting next to me is as slippery as an eel. Not once had it been tedious in Jonathan’s company. In hindsight, I even enjoyed arguing with him. Like the true gentleman he is, he engaged me in intelligent, and even more so, amusing conversation. How I wish I could turn back time and go back to the pristineness of Fair Weather Heaths’
“Amelia…Amelia…we are here…damn, there she goes again. The woman is an imbecile, Saunders,” muttered Lord Templeton French as he stepped out of the conveyance. He grumbled a few more insults because Amelia was lost in her own thoughts again. Lord Templeton French laid the blame for the silence in the carriage on Amelia as he continued to rant to his father’s footman who had only recently opened the door.
Amelia did not bother to hear the insults. She continued to think of the man she loved. It was all she had left. It was all that could keep her from bursting into tears. Thinking of Jonathan’s handsome face and strength gave her courage that he would do everything to get her back. He had followed her in America and now he would follow her to England. Of this Amelia was certain. All that remained was whether he would be quick enough.
“Follow me, Amelia. My father is waiting, and he is not known for his patience. Luncheon begins at one o’clock.” He twirled on his feet and quickly mounted the few steps to the building. “Hurry up, Amelia. Don’t shilly-shally.” Lord Templeton French was speaking once again. It appeared that it was the only way in which he could converse – commands to and menial treatment of those around him. Presently, poor Amelia was being harangued like a slave with verbal whiplash instructions.
None of the opulence of her surroundings left its mark on Amelia. She had been to the duke’s residence once before, but back then everything had been a blur. She had been so nervous and shocked at the prospect of being betrothed to a man she loathed that neither sight nor smell had registered in her brain.
It was the same this time. Amelia ignored everything in an attempt to blot out her imperious betrothed. She did not see the magnificent deep mahogany wood paneling on the walls or the meticulously inlaid parquetry flooring. The massive wooden double staircase leading up to the upper floors was a mere smudge to her short-term memory. For the rest, Amelia remained ignorant to the rows of portraits depicting the ancestors belonging to the Templeton French family. All of it was like a nightmare suffered by wakefulness.
The rudest and most vainglorious man was by her side. Without godly intervention to the contrary he would be with her until the day she died. She was caught up in a world in which she had no say. Others had planned out her entire destiny for her. Amelia felt like a pawn on a chessboard. Soon, she would be discarded like the figurine. When she had acted the broodmare, Lord Templeton French would chuck her to the side. And even when Amelia would think this a boon, she would die softly from within because she knew what true love was like and that it would forever elude her.
She had been given a glimpse of heaven when she had kissed Jonathan that glorious day they had promised themselves to one another. That delightful bliss had been ripped away from them as if God was playing some malicious trick. Amelia knew that Jonathan was the same as her. He had known no love before they met. For him, it must be equally as harsh.
What can I do to get to America?All the way to the main dining room, Amelia thought of ways to ask her father to let her go to Canada again. Each solution needed her sister as a conveyance. She thought that she could claim that she missed her and needed to get back.
However, that was not the only problem. What would she do when she got there? Amelia thought of writing a letter to Jonathan, telling him to make arrangements for her to be escorted to the United States. But could she escape her sister and husband at the docks? There were so many things to consider. It nearly made her faint when she was finally directed to the Duke of Brandon.
“My dear, you look as if you are about to fall.” From his seat at the head of the long table, the Duke of Brandon focused his gaze on his son. His brown eyes immediately darkened. “You, fop…help your betrothed to her seat. Like an imbecile, you stand there idly while this poor delicate thing is about to collapse!”
Lord Templeton French promptly jutted into action. His father’s deep rasping voice oozed power and authority. It reminded Amelia of Jonathan. He too had the ability to command men with just a shout.
She allowed herself to be directed to one of the dining chairs. She smiled wanly at the grizzled old duke. He looked like an old lion with his long and shaggy greyish hair. His face boasted intelligence and a life of experience to match it. But most of all, the duke looked kind. It was what Amelia remembered most about him from their first meeting.
“So, my dear girl…tell me, do you feel better?” asked the duke.
Amelia nodded. “Yes, your Grace. Thank you. I don’t know what came over me. I had a momentary dizzy spell.”
The duke smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, my dear. All will be well. The prospect of marriage, grumpy old dukes, and the ball season are enough to make any lovely young lady swoon with fatigue,” he said, chuckling.
“She’s been strange all morning, Father,” added Lord Templeton French.
“That is no way to speak of a lady, Boy. I thought I taught you better than that. It is a lady’s prerogative to act differently from time to time. Your dear mother is the very same. Take today for example. She decided to remain confined to her chambers because she feels slightly unwell. I do not know the cause of her ailment, but I did not question her.” He grabbed his son’s wrist. “You must trust your wife, and all will be well. And always be a gentleman.”
