Chapter Eighteen
Florence could hardly keep her eyes open by the time they arrived at the impressive Weymouth townhouse situated in one of the more fashionable squares in Mayfair.
It was shortly after sunrise, and the facade of the townhouse gleamed in the early morning light.
It was quite a grand home, and she imagined the interior would be just as impressive because Trajan’s granduncle had impeccable taste.
She felt like a duck out of water, having arrived bedraggled, covered in dust, and toting a travel pouch containing all of two muslin gowns practical for travel and one impractical silk gown suitable for afternoon tea.
What would the Weymouth staff think of their new mistress when they were better attired in their livery than she was in her wrinkled muslin?
To make matters worse, she had not thought to pack a proper pair of slippers to go with the silk gown, nor had she brought any jewelry with her. And what self-respecting duchess would travel without a lady’s maid or her jewels?
Fortunately, the silk gown she had brought along was pretty enough to wear for her wedding. It was a lovely blend of aquamarine colors with a blue silk underlining and a sea-green sarcenet overlay.
The lack of slippers was a concern, however. She would have to wear her walking boots to the church. Perhaps no one would notice.
She sighed. Of course, everyone would. People always took note of such things.
“Ready, love?” Trajan whispered as they were let into the house by Bartlett, the longtime head butler who had served under his granduncle and seemed pleased to be serving under him now.
“Your Grace,” Bartlett said with unmistakable good cheer. “A pleasure to have you home.”
“Thank you, Bartlett.” Trajan immediately introduced Florence as “his wife by sundown” and stated that she was to be given the duchess quarters adjoining his suite of rooms.
Florence tried not to cringe at the thought of what must be running through the minds of the Weymouth staff.
She was a lady traveling alone with this handsome duke and there was the necessity of a quick marriage, as though she were some doe-eyed waif he had maneuvered into a compromising position and got caught.
A glimpse in the hallway mirror as they were led past the entry hall showed her hair to be an utter disaster—pins loose, wisps dangling from behind her ears and the nape of her neck. One fat curl had simply come undone and lay flat against her cheek.
“No fuss is to be made for us. Just bring up a tub for Lady Florence and assign a maid to attend her. Where is Mrs. Blake? Have her come up to the duchess quarters and assist Lady Florence in making a list of all she needs. Oh, and we’ll need breakfast sent up for us.
Just for today. We’ll come down to the dining room tomorrow and the following days. ”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And we’ll need the house stocked with supplies for several small dinner parties that we plan to have while we are in residence.
Close friends, that’s all. No more than fifteen or twenty in an evening.
Mrs. Blake can go over the menus with Lady Florence for those.
We’ll have a grand party once we have settled in. Isn’t she lovely, Bartlett?”
“Quite so, Your Grace.”
Florence rolled her eyes and smiled at the elderly man who had a jovial look about him. “We have done this all quite haphazardly,” she said. “Forgive us if we have put the household in an uproar.”
“Not at all, m’lady. We are pleased to have you with us.”
Trajan tucked her arm in his as they started up the stairs to the duchess suite of rooms while his head butler bustled off to alert the housekeeper.
“Bartlett lives to have his mettle tested. He is up to the challenge. So is Mrs. Blake. It is frightening how organized and efficient she is, and scary how she can read one’s mind almost before one has even had the thought. ”
Florence laughed. “You seem happy to be here.”
“It isn’t that I enjoy London above the countryside—you know I do not. But I am relieved we have made it here in one piece and can now put an end to this ordeal in which you are embroiled.” He opened the door to the duchess quarters and moved aside to allow her in.
Florence drew in a breath. “This is beautiful! Your granduncle truly had an eye for elegant design. Nothing is overdone or garish. Much like Gull Hall. It is impressive without screaming wealth and power, which actually enhances the image of wealth and power.”
“Understated elegance,” he said with a nod. “That was my granduncle.”
The walls were a creamy white and trimmings were in a lighter shade, perhaps an ivory white. The curtains and counterpane were of a floral print, the colors of the seacoast to give it an airy feel.
“Want to see the ducal bedchamber?” he asked, smiling like a child given a new toy.
“Of course.” What she cared about most was knowing the interior door between their bedchambers would never be closed to each other.
Her mouth gaped open again as she surveyed this distinctly masculine room decorated in darker colors, with polished wood wainscoting that went around the entire room.
Mrs. Blake, a thin woman in her early forties who could best be described as a whirlwind, bustled into the duchess quarters and then poked her head into the duke’s chamber. “Your Grace, I am here.”
“Excellent.” Trajan introduced Florence to the woman, who also had a kindly smile for her.
“The bath for Lady Florence will be brought up shortly, as will your breakfasts. Shall I set it out in m’lady’s chamber or yours, Your Grace?”
“We’ll dine in Lady Florence’s chamber.”
“Very good, Your Grace. Polly will be along to attend to m’lady’s bath and grooming.
I have taken the liberty of laying out a robe and some other useful items, since I noticed you were traveling very light.
M’lady, do you wish to wait until after you have eaten and bathed to review the menus for the week? ”
“Yes, I think the menus and list of supplies for any dinner parties we might have ought to wait until we have finished the two urgent matters of the day,” Florence said, turning to Trajan to remind him of their wedding and seeking an audience with the princess.
“All right, business first. Parties later.”
The breakfast cart arrived. Florence’s new maid, Polly, set everything out for them on the small table in her chamber, and then left them to their privacy.
Florence and Trajan did not linger long over the meal, even though they were both famished. He was about to leave her to attend to his own grooming when her bath was wheeled in and footmen began filling it with buckets of warm water.
Then Mrs. Blake bustled in to deliver slippers, scented oils to go along with the scented soaps she had brought in a few minutes earlier, a fresh supply of hairpins, and a hairbrush. “M’lady, I noticed you are also lacking proper footwear for your finer gowns.”
Florence sighed. “Yes, I did not think to pack even one pair.”
“I thought that might be the situation and took the liberty of tracing your boots to record their size. I sent one of the maids to the local shoemaker to obtain suitable slippers for you, a pair in white and a pair in black I thought might be most practical. She ought to be back shortly. The size may not fit exactly, but we can stuff cloth in them if they are too big or stretch them if they are too small.”
“Do you think he will have those available for the mere asking?” Florence asked with much surprise.
Mrs. Blake smiled. “I know he does, for he had an order from Lady Westcomb for those exact slippers, and her feet are about your size. He’ll give them to us, though.”
“He will?” Florence glanced at Trajan to see if he approved of such duplicity.
He cast her a smile and winked.
Mrs. Blake continued. “I have standing orders from His Grace to overpay if we need something done fast. Is this not so, Your Grace? These were his granduncle’s instructions and have never been rescinded by His Grace.”
“It is a most practical arrangement,” Trajan said. “Do not frown at me, Florence. You cannot wear scuffed boots to your own wedding.”
Florence admitted he was right, and was not remorseful for their housekeeper’s bit of subterfuge, because she really needed proper slippers.
In truth, she could have made do for their wedding because it would take place only with a minimum of witnesses. But she could not show up looking lesser when visiting the Princess of Wales.
“Lady Westcomb will not need hers for another week, and the shoemaker can do up another two pairs for her by then,” Mrs. Blake added.
Problem of her footwear solved.
If only the rest were so easily resolved.
As it turned out, the matter of their wedding went just as smoothly.
Both of them were fed, washed, and elegantly attired—she with her new slippers—by the time they took the Weymouth barouche for their short ride to the residence of the Duke of Durham and his wife, Fiona. As it turned out, they were home and delighted to learn of the wedding plans.
“I knew there was something between the two of you from the moment you were introduced last year,” Durham said, slapping Trajan on the back.
Florence gasped. “Oh, do be careful with him.”
She quickly explained what had been going on, but omitted specific mention of Lady Simmons. It was sufficient to relate that a certain lady’s intimate letters had been reclaimed at the princess’s urging.
Durham and Fiona listened attentively.
“Ramsdale and Bromleigh are both in Town,” Durham said.
“Unfortunately, their wives remained at their country estates. They have both been growling bears and insufferably ill-tempered because they miss their better halves so much. This is exactly the distraction they need. Let’s gather them and then head to church.
No prelate is going to say no to four dukes demanding a marriage license and an immediate wedding thereafter.
Besides, you’ll need some powerful friends to back you up if Frampton thinks to cause you trouble. ”
“Or the princess decides to alter the terms of your arrangement,” Fiona said, frowning. “We won’t let her get away with it.”
Florence laughed at the look of stubborn resolve on Fiona’s face. Did she not often have that same look when arguing?
She thanked them both and was pleased they were going to witness their wedding, but was adamant about their not interfering with respect to the princess. “It is bad enough Trajan might face her wrath. I’ll not have anyone else hurt in this matter.”
Within the hour, Trajan had obtained the license from a most obsequious parish prelate who, indeed, could not do enough for these four Silver Dukes, and agreed to conduct the wedding ceremony immediately thereafter.
Florence felt so emotional while standing before the altar alongside Trajan during the brief ceremony.
She never thought she would marry, much less for love. Or marry anyone as handsome, thoughtful, and kind.
If she had a thousand hearts, she would give them all to this man who stood beside her. As it was, she had only the one heart to give him, and she did so fully and completely.
She was sorry her dear friend, Jocelyn, Duchess of Camborne, was not here with her, for her husband was also one of these legendary Silver Dukes, and Florence had hoped they might be in Town. But Camborne’s estates were in Scotland, and she did not think they would often make the long trip south.
However, it was so very nice to have Fiona beside her. She had experienced her own heartaches and found happiness with Durham. Florence and Trajan had been there to see that lovely moment last summer. It was right that Fiona and Durham should now be here for their moment.
A wealth of recollections flooded Florence as she stood at the altar, the years of anguish and frustration in trying to figure out why her family did not love her, all her attempts to win them over. But they thought her worthless no matter how hard she had tried to please them.
Trajan insisted she was not to blame and seemed to think there was something more behind her family’s behavior.
She dreaded finding out the truth.
But she was also coming to believe the fault was never with her.
Then what was the cause?
She could endure the truth because Trajan was beside her. He loved her and would stand beside her because he loved her.
What a miracle this was. He thought she was someone remarkable and special.
Tears streamed down Florence’s face as she said, “I do.”
Trajan’s smile was beaming as he repeated his vows.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the prelate said.
Trajan let out a highly inappropriate whoop that was met with a frown from this man of the cloth, but Trajan did not seem to care. He lifted Florence up in his arms and twirled her in front of the altar. “Your stitches!” she cried.
He laughed. “Let every one of them burst. I have a wife who will tend me if I bleed.”
“Put me down, you wonderful fool! I do not want you bleeding to death on our wedding day.” But she wiped her tears and smiled with radiant happiness, for this marked the start of a happy, new life.
They shared a kiss once he set her down, and then their friends rushed forward to offer their congratulations.
Ramsdale, Bromleigh, and Durham all signed as witnesses, lest there be any questions raised about the hasty marriage.
Florence was floating on air, never happier…until she noticed several royal guardsmen darkening the church’s entry.
As though acting on warrior instinct, the Silver Dukes immediately surrounded her, Trajan—or Weymouth, as she had better get used to referring to him—standing in front of her.
A squawking Fiona was shoved protectively behind all of them, although Florence thought her friend was as fierce as any warrior and was glad to have her on her side, even if it was to take up the rear.
Nor was Florence the sort to back down from any confrontation.
In truth, she wanted to be at the forefront. If there were to be a fight, she did not want Trajan or any of their friends involved or hurt.
One of the guardsmen stepped forward. “Your Graces,” he said, addressing her and Trajan. “Her Royal Highness requests that Her Grace attend her immediately.”
Trajan had sent off their request for an audience just before they left to collect their friends for their wedding ceremony. That the Princess of Wales should respond so urgently meant something was wrong.
But what?
Florence had tucked the packet of letters in the secret pocket of this gown she was wearing. Perhaps she ought to have listened to Trajan when he suggested locking them in his safe at home. But she had insisted on keeping them with her at all times.
Had she made a grave tactical mistake?