Chapter Seven
Aurelia settled in happily at Brantingham House.
She took supper with the duke and his siblings, and helped the ladies arrange Christmas hampers and charity boxes for their tenants and staff.
They went shopping as a group in some of the most fashionable districts of London, and then took tea in a smart restaurant.
She’d been harsh toward His Grace that first afternoon, but they were soon friends once again.
He had not meant to be unkind when he’d told her that she was free of him.
He did not look upon their betrothal—false though it was—as any great boon.
Yet for her, becoming the Duchess of Brantingham would’ve been a fine start in life.
The chance of a home, family, and position in the world.
Aurelia had nursed an affection for him over the last five years and had been determined to learn everything necessary to take her place by his side.
She had worked hard to learn French, German, and some Italian to discuss music and art with him.
She’d studied Latin and Greek in order to appreciate the ancient literature he’d been exposed to at Eton and Oxford.
She’d excelled at history, geography, and mathematics, and even tried her hand at sports because His Grace was a strong, stout-hearted Yorkshireman.
Now, she wanted the life she’d expected.
Returning home to Cheltenham with her tail between her legs would be a step down indeed.
Aurelia wasn’t certain she’d be satisfied with anyone less than the Duke of Brantingham.
She adored his house and her bedroom overlooking the park.
She’d grown to love his sisters especially, and imagined her future would be very dull without the Ladies Margery and Fanetta Charlton.
The girls gravitated toward her bedchamber, converging on the feminine space to laugh and chat with her. Lady Margery—who insisted on being called ‘Margie’—perched upon Aurelia’s bed with her copy of ‘Belgravia’ featuring the final installment of Thomas Hardy’s ‘Return of the Native’.
Lady Fanetta—or ‘Fannie’ to her intimates—snooped through Aurelia’s wardrobe, delighting in the silks, velvets, and brocades that she’d brought with her as something of an unofficial trousseau.
“It’s everything I own,” Aurelia explained, lest they think her a walking fashion plate. “I wanted to make a good showing when I met His Grace.”
Fascinated, Fannie draped her arms with iridescent silk. “But if you had married Selly sight unseen, you would’ve denied yourself a Season,” she said. “A debutante Season, at least. You’d miss out on all the fun.”
Margie frowned as she flipped a page. “You’re only upset that you didn’t have your come-out, Fannie, but you’ll get your turn this year.” To Aurelia, she explained, “Fannie missed her debut because of Mama’s death.”
“I am sorry,” Aurelia said. “I imagine the Duchess’s passing must have affected you all.”
“None so much as Selly,” said the eldest sister. “He had to carry on exactly as before, never faltering for the sake of the family and the estate. Truthfully, I wish he would marry you, if only to have someone to share in the burden of the dukedom.”
She looked up, shocked. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for His Grace to marry me. I do see that now. Besides, feeling burdened is no reason to marry anybody. He deserves his choice. He deserves love.”
Both Charlton sisters smiled at that. They were fond of their brother and fiercely loyal to him. It was a nice sentiment to have their support, even if the Duke of Brantingham could never marry a girl with no known family, no lineage, no past.
There lay the crux of the matter—Aurelia had been promised to a man beyond her reach.
She sought to change the conversation, asking Lady Margery about her plans for the upcoming social Season.
“I look forward to seeing my friends and having fun,” said Margie, placing the magazine on the bedside table. “But I am a dedicated spinster. I don’t want to marry. I’d rather go to university.”
It wasn’t a shocking dream. Aurelia had attended Ladies College at Cheltenham, and many of her classmates yearned for the day when they might go on to the University of London, for example, which had recently opened to women.
“What would you study?” she asked.
“The art of not getting married, to start.” Margie grinned mischievously. “Perry and Selly view a gentleman’s education as a stepping stone to adulthood, yet I long to learn things despite my sex. I must challenge myself beyond choosing furniture and organizing dinner menus.”
Lady Fanetta closed the wardrobe doors and seated herself at Aurelia’s dressing table.
She rummaged through the jars of scent and pots of facial creams that were currently en vogue among smart, young women.
Aurelia was not so prim that she didn’t enjoy a blush of rouge upon her cheeks or a dusting of powder over the freckles dotting her nose.
“I wish to do all of those things,” said Fannie. “Is it unrealistic to be both a clever woman and an efficient wife?”
“Not at all,” Aurelia answered. “I believe that nothing is out of reach for a modern girl. It’s the menfolk who must strive to meet the mark.”
The trio erupted into laughter, for her words were truly daring, yet lots of ladies felt the same way back home in Cheltenham, and doubtless more shared their opinions here in London.
“Do you still hope to marry our brother, Miss Goldsworthy?” Lady Fanetta asked her reflection in the cheval glass.
“Fannie! Never mind her,” said Lady Margery. “She forgets herself sometimes.”
“It’s alright. I’m not offended. I had hoped to marry him, but I understand now why I cannot. Your brother has been kind to me during this muddle of ours.”
“Oh, yes,” the girls agreed. “Selly is very kind.”
They sang his praises while Aurelia donned her cloak and pinned a bonnet atop her head. She was as eager as the others to see the switching on of the electric lamps and hoped to look pretty for her outing with His Grace.
In time, the Charlton sisters disappeared in search of their own bonnets and cloaks. Aurelia walked the length of the gaslit corridor, her mind reeling from the doings of the day. She nearly bumped into the Duke as he exited a room.
“Oh!” She dodged him. “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
His big body took up a lot of space in the passage, yet somehow they managed not to crash into one another.
“That was a near miss,” he said, “but thankfully no harm done.”
He pulled the bedroom door closed behind him, looking boyish and guilty.
She suspected that he’d been caught doing something naughty. “What’s in there?”
“It’s the duchess’ bedchamber. I keep it much the same as my mother left it.”
Aurelia felt her cheeks redden. What right had she to criticize where a man went or what he did in his home? “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry.”
The Duke of Brantingham wore a heavy greatcoat trimmed in astrakhan and carried a tall hat in the crook of his arm. He looked very smartly turned out for their trip to the Victoria Embankment.
“I was honestly looking through some of Mama’s papers whilst I waited for you to dress,” His Grace explained. “I was hoping to find any mention of you, or to uncover any plans for our betrothal.”
Her pulse quickened with anticipation. “And?”
“If it truly was my mother’s wish—if her hands were anywhere in this scheme at all—I’m afraid we shall never know.
I was present at the reading of her will.
My solicitors and I sorted through all of her affairs.
There was nothing out of the ordinary then, and I find nothing out of the ordinary now. ”
Aurelia suspected as much. “Which leaves only the worst-case scenario.”
“What is that?”
“For good or ill,” she said, “someone was trying to throw us together.”
He had suffered a significant loss in the death of his mother, and Aurelia hated to imagine that her circumstances added to his troubles in any way. She only ever wished to help the duke.
He bore the weight of his substantial responsibilities with strength and dignity, though she knew that he did not have time to poke about in his mother’s papers when real, pressing ducal matters required his attention.
He was kind to spare a thought for her and to give her a moment of his time.
“That scheme got you to London, didn’t it?” he said. “There are worse ways to spend Christmas.”
She flashed him a smile. “Yes, of course. You’ve all been very welcoming.”
“At any rate, you look lovely.” His eyes, softened by the glow of gas lamps overhead, studied her from the hems of her woolen skirts to the brim of her bonnet. She had worn her claret-colored carriage ensemble for the jaunt, and clearly, he approved. “Are you ready to go?”
The Duke of Brantingham offered his arm to her, and Aurelia placed her gloved hand upon his sleeve. “Ready as I shall ever be, Your Grace. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”