Page 6 of The Duke Not Taken

The house is so large Lady Iddesleigh required two afternoons to acquaint me with its exhausting entirety. “It’s very large,” she needlessly pointed out, and more than once. I don’t mean to be unkind, but the lady tends to repeat herself. Then she said it was not particularly functional for a large family.

I said I didn’t see why not, that there was a wing for everyone who wanted one. And then Blythe said—oh, I am to call her Blythe and her husband Beck, as they insist they be treated like family—Blythe said they were building a new wing for their little brood. I laughed, which I guess I should not have done, as she did look at me curiously. I explained that her brood was not little, but quite large, and I’d never heard of anyone having so many daughters. I daresay she looked offended. I didn’t think I’d said anything wrong, but I begged her pardon, and pointed out that I only meant to say that five children was quite a lot. She said she thought it was the perfect amount. I suppose five children is the perfect amount if one intends to mount one’s own army and overthrow the queen, but I can see no reason for it otherwise.

Really, Jussie, the daughters are the most interesting thing about Iddesleigh. They range in age from eight to two. Mathilda, who the girls call Tilly, is the oldest. She is quite skeptical of anything her parents say, and she is a bit of a tyrant to her sisters. She rules them much as Mama rules you and me, always telling us what to do. I beg you not to read that sentence to her when she insists you read the entire letter to her.

Maren is next, at seven years, and the quietest of them. Her father said he hoped that meant she was studious, but as her sisters never allowed her to speak, he wasn’t confident that was the case. Maisie is six, but she claims to be seven, much to the consternation of Mathilda, who simply cannot abide such a demonstrable falsehood. Margaret, who the girls sometimes called Peg-leg Meg—in spite of having two perfectly functioning legs—is four, and the last, little Birdie, only two.

“Birdie?” I said to Beck. “Not Miranda or Mariah?”

He said the letterMbecame tiresome, so they’d advanced to another letter of the alphabet.Bwas the popular choice, and if they have more children, there are manyBnames from which to choose. Lord, Jussie,morechildren? I think they are quite mad!

Oh, and I nearly forgot Alice, a small white dog who follows the girls everywhere they go. But Alice is clearly a male dog, and do you know, I expected the explanation would be so ridiculous that I couldn’t bring myself to ask why he was given a female name.

The girls enjoy my things, and they love to try on my jewelry and accoutrements. Their questions and theories of royal life are very entertaining. I allow them to think whatever they like, for the truth is there is not much to admire about the life of the spare heir.

I find their father to be entertaining in his own way, but I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot with his wife. I honestly don’t know why, as I’ve endeavored to help in any way I possibly can. It’s hardly my fault that a melee occurs each morning when the time comes for the oldest daughters to go to school and the youngest two to go to the nursery. It is so loud and screechy that one morning, I offered to walk the oldest ones to school just to put an end to it. Lord and Lady Iddesleigh are terribly disorganized.

Lila came from London last weekend to tell me about this gentleman and that one. She asked meagainwhat I should like in a husband. She is quite excited about the prospect of so many gentlemen desiring to make my acquaintance.

But then she asked if she might offer a piece of advice. Naturally, I was all ears as to what advice she could offer me and begged her to continue. She said that I should not offer my opinion to the Iddesleigh family unless it was specifically requested. I tell you, Jussie, I laughed. I’d done no such thing! And I begged her to please enlighten me as to what I’d done. She said that some parents didn’t like to be instructed on how to raise their children. She said she suspected that I, being a royal princess, whose opinion on any number of things is highly sought, probably thought it was sought in that way, too. I asked what the devil she was talking about and she said that I should not have suggested a proper bedtime. Why not, I ask you? Really, if those girls were to bed a decent hour, the mornings would be bearable. It is notmyfault the Iddesleighs are late to everything—to breakfast, to supper, to church. I explained to Lila I meant merely to help them along.

Lila agreed that of course I was helping, but that sometimes I seemed a littleofishus.Oficious. I don’t know the word she used, but I think she meant entirely too forward? Whatever the meaning, it was not complimentary.

She said that it was quite natural for a royal princess to want to help where she sees a need, but in this, perhaps I ought to turn my attention elsewhere. I asked Lila where I ought to turn my attention, as there is absolutely nothing to occupy me.

Well, never mind, I have solved my own problem. I have taken it upon myself to walk the girls to school each day. It’s lovely scenery, and I have discovered I very much enjoy walking.

You won’t believe what happened just two days past. I saw the Grim Reaper again! I would not have seen him had I not taken it upon myself to walk the girls to school. And if I hadn’t seen him, I would not have returned to the school where, as it happens, I found an occupation quite all on my own away from Iddesleigh. But I must save that news for a later date—I hear Blythe calling for me. I hope it is a caller! I should adore a caller. Ayoung caller. I’ll write soon.

Yours, A

CHAPTER FOUR

THEWEATHERHADbeen lovely since Amelia’s arrival at Iddesleigh, but this morning the thick clouds and a fine mist hung over the path to the school. She and the girls donned their bonnets and short coats.

“Are you certain, Your Royal Highness?” Blythe asked, peering out the front door. “I’ll have Garrett bring round a carriage.”

“Don’t be silly. By the time they have the team hitched, we’ll be at the school.”

“But I’d not like you to catch cold.”

It would take more than a fine mist to give her a cold. “I’ll be fine!” she insisted. “I like the walk. We all do, don’t we?” she asked the girls.

“Yes!” Maisie shouted, and she punctuated that by flying out the open door, running straight for the first puddle she saw.

“Maisie!” her mother shouted, but it was too late. Her daughter had smashed into the puddle with both feet and splashed her coat.

“You see? We’ll be fine,” Amelia said confidently.

Blythe did not look convinced. But it was no use, because Mathilda and Maren had already gone out, oblivious to the damp, too.

Amelia followed them, gathering up the girls to walk down the lane.

By the time they crowded into the tiny foyer of the school, Mathilda pointed out that Maisie’s hem was ruined. “Mama will be cross.”

“No she won’t,” Maisie said.

“Yes she will.”

---