Page 5 of The Scarred Duchess
Lord Eldon drained his glass and rose. “The court shall evaluate Gardiner’s filings most assiduously in the future.”
Sir Percival allowed himself a small smile before the earl loudly cleared his throat.
“This matter has captured my interest a bit...just a bit,” he said. Then, in a lower register, he added, “I would advise timeliness on your part in the future.”
“Of course, my lord.”
By August, after three years under the tutelage and care of Miss Harding, it was time for Franny Gardiner to attend seminary. Her budding beauty and growing accomplishments warred against her birth and lack of social standing. Envy and jealousy were discordant sisters but reared their ugly heads in the village. Miss Harding, well regarded among the estate servants of the county, had served as her protector against such interdictions.
Now, on a brilliant sunny morning, she joined Franny on a traipse through the fields. After a few minutes, the governess grasped her charge’s hand. “My dear girl, the time has come for us to go our separate ways. Meryton limits you. If you remain here, you shall always be the solicitor’s daughter and not be offered the same opportunities as those young ladies from the neighbouring estates. Going away to school will give you a chance to improve your standing. You already outshine every young lady around here. It is time you acquire a bit of the town bronze.”
“But I do not care about competing with others,” Franny said, near tears. “I want to stay here with my father.”
“He desires the best for you, as your mother did.”
Much as she hated it, Franny recognised it was time to leave girlhood behind. With a smile, she allowed her teasing nature to take over. “As I consider myself a rational creature, I would say you are all too ripe and ready by half to be rid of me.”
Miss Harding squeezed her hand. “What a happy future you shall have!”
March 1787
The vicar of Creech St Michael welcomed the two young but distinguished couples with a smile, then focused on the babe who gurgled happily in his mother’s arms. The christening moved forward as the group of four attended to the clergyman’s words, nodding appropriately and answering by rote when prompted. With such a well-behaved babe, the christening of Viscount Haydon, the future earl of Lambrook, moved along swiftly.
His godparents, George and Lady Anne Darcy, celebrated with the boy’s parents at Lord and Lady Lambrook’s ancestral home, Haydon Hall. When the intimate dinner ended, the men remained behind as Lady Lambrook and Lady Anne moved through the dining room doors.
Lambrook sent a footman off to get drinks. He tilted his head and gave George Darcy a measuring glance, who returned his gesture equally. Lambrook laughed. “You aresingular among my acquaintances for remaining unperturbed by my silent evaluations.”
“I am contemplating the very long but rewarding weeks of travel that await us upon our return to Pemberley,” replied his friend. “It keeps me in sedate humour, no matter how you stare at me.”
“Will you spend time at your alma mater?”
“Surely you do not see me presenting myself at yours!”
Both gentlemen chuckled. It was an ongoing thread they both pulled when left to their own company; Lambrook, a Cambridge man, accepted Oxford-educated George Darcy’s goading in good humour. As usual, their banter moved to sport.
Lambrook defended his fencing losses by naming the most formidable opponent either had ever faced. “Count your blessings that Bennet left before you donned your crest.”
“I daresay I am quite fortunate Bennet ceded the team leadership to you.”
“Humbug, my friend. No gentleman of our sphere will ever possess his skills and acumen.”
George Darcy nodded, and in a more serious voice, enquired, “What are your immediate plans, now that you have a son?”
“We plan to keep Haydon away from Taunton and the Somersets. A precaution, I daresay.”
“Your cousin would not dare attempt something so nefarious.”
“I shall remove any temptation for him to do so.”
George Darcy nodded his understanding. His friend’s family were notoriously unprincipled. “I should think the duke would focus upon the marquess.”
Lambrook scoffed. “I am afraid Somerset’s last remaining shred of decency was buried with Lady Rochdale.”
“The death of Her Grace was unfortunate.”
“In many ways. Nothing remains to dissuade him from his amoral proclivities.”
“How shall you go on, then?”
