Chapter 5 An Invitation
“AGreek temple?” Richard Merrington said in astonished tones. “Great heavens!”
“Roman,” Simon said diffidently. “It is in the Roman style.”
The gentlemen had gathered in the duke’s study to examine Simon’s first drawings of his proposed orangery.
“I suppose it will be filled with statuary and all manner of marble decorations,” Merrington said.
“That is the general idea, and some suitable murals on the inner walls. A hypocaust for heating.”
The duke laughed. “This is very different from your efforts, Richard,” he said, leaning over the table where Simon’s drawings were laid out. “I like it, and the setting is interesting, with the lake around it. It will look charming from the front of the house.”
“That is the idea,” Simon said.
“It will cost the earth,” Merrington muttered.
“What does that matter, for Rowena?” the duke said, his brows lowering ominously. “It will be a suitable celebration of the birth of the heir. Have you any costings, Payne?”
“Not yet, Duke.”
Merrington gave a ‘Pft!’ of disgust, and walked out of the room.
“He is on edge at the moment because of Mrs Richard’s imminent confinement,” James Hammond said in conciliatory tones.
“That is no excuse,” the duke said. “If you ask me, he is jealous of a man of real talent showing him how it should be done. These are proper architectural drawings, not those piffling sketches of his. And I never met a more penny-pinching man. When I am gone and he inherits all this, he will doubtless turn off half the servants and live on mutton dripping and stale bread. I cannot abide such parsimonious ways.”
Simon said nothing, leaving it to Hammond to remonstrate gently with the duke.
When the drawings were shown to the ladies later, he was gratified to find that they were almost universally admired. The only naysayer, although in the mildest terms, was Mrs Richard Merrington herself, for whom the project was ultimately intended.
“It is quite splendid,” she said, after the effusions of the others had died away somewhat. “It will be rather a long way to walk to enjoy it, however.”
“There will be an admirable view from the front of the house,” the duke said, his brows lowering again in the manner Simon had come to recognise as a sign of displeasure.
“Oh, yes, and it will be quite lovely to gaze out at it over the lake,” she said.
“But I shall want to sit in it, too. There is nothing so delightful as the sight of all those exotic trees flourishing and watching their wonderful fruits burgeoning day by day. To get there, I shall have to cross the stream by the bridge at the top of the lake and walk round the far side to the orangery.”
“You will hardly want to be out there every day,” the duke said dismissively. “It will be a pleasant stroll in the summer.”
“Well, yes, but—” she began.
Simon put in hastily, “How about a bridge across the narrow part of the lake? That would be a shorter route to the orangery.”
“Even more expense,” Merrington muttered, but Simon was given leave by the duke to design a suitable bridge.
“After all, nothing is agreed yet,” he said, glowering at Merrington. “I want to see all the possibilities before I make a decision.”
Simon retreated promptly to his room, and settled at the table there, sketch book ready.
How easy it would be to run up some elegant designs for bridges, and yet…
He could not help recalling the endless hours he had spent talking to Mr Thwaite, discussing his requirements in minute detail and then modifying the plan of his great house accordingly.
Not that he had yet agreed to build, but still, everything had been discussed.
Yet he had never talked to Mrs Merrington about the orangery. To Merrington, yes, and to the duke, but never to the lady in whose honour it was to be built.
He was still pondering this point when Juliet bustled in.
“This is very good, brother! The duke likes what you have done, and now there is to be a bridge, so—”
“She plans to use it, Juliet.”
“What? Use what? Of whom are we speaking?”
“Mrs Merrington. I assumed it was merely a monument, an ornamental gift, but she wants to use it… to sit in it.”
“And so she may, if she wishes. There is no law against it, I am sure. You can put some seats and such like inside it, I dare say, something comfortable, and she can go and sit there whenever she likes. What is the problem?”
“She wants to 'watch the fruit burgeoning day by day’, Juliet. Day by day, do you see? She wants to sit in it every day. But it is away across the lake.”
“So you will design a bridge for her. Simon, this is not a difficult task, but you must take as long as possible over it, for Richard Merrington will probably have his way in the end, and therefore we will not be here to see the thing built. Let us see if we can last a full month, at least.”
“He wants to put the orangery with the forcing houses, which is much further away. That would not do at all. Mrs Merrington will not want to get herself rigged out for a long walk in the rain every day.”
“Well, of course not! She will not go there in bad weather. But tell me, how are you getting on with the Merrington girls? You played whist with Miss Augusta last night.”
“Did I? I cannot tell one from another.”
She stared at him in disbelief, before bursting into laughter. “Really, Simon! What a tease you are! Now get to work on that bridge, but slowly, mind! You were far too quick with the temple design, so take your time with this. It is glorious to be warm and well-fed all the time.”
She sighed with contentment, and he smiled, entirely in agreement with her.
***
Sophia’s project to produce new gowns from old was proceeding apace.
The duchess had thrown herself into the task with enthusiasm, and as Sophia’s supply of old gowns was gradually depleted, so the press filled up with delightful new ones.
The seamstress from the village did most of the work, but Lily directed her and Sophia had little to do but agree to all the improvements.
The outdated wide skirts and voluminous bodices disappeared, replaced with fashionably high-waisted bodices and narrow skirts.
There was enough fabric left over for puffed sleeves, decorative trimming and elegant little trains.
It would be very satisfactory if only there were somewhere such charming garments might be worn.
The answer to that question arrived that very afternoon, in the prosaic form of the mail collected from Brinchester by one of the grooms. The snow having rendered the roads impassable for several days, the haul was rather larger than usual and the Merrington ladies and the duchess gathered in the cosy winter parlour to read them.
At first they seemed to be merely the usual missives from distant cousins and acquaintances from Norwich, with depressing news of how lively that city now was, with a great many parties to be held.
The Merrington sisters were thrown into gloom by all the entertainments which were going forth without them.
“Now, girls, you know perfectly well it will only be musical evenings and card parties and the like,” their mama said, in tones where her own disappointment vied with the need to be bracingly cheerful.
“No assemblies, and no one would risk a ball at this time of year. We are much better situated where we are.”
“But there are no parties at all here, Mama, and no dancing,” Charlotte said plaintively.
“You would not wish to be dancing while the duke and duchess are still mourning the loss of their son and heir,” Mama said sharply. “Perhaps after Mrs Richard Merrington’s confinement there might be some celebrations considered.”
The sisters sighed, but the possibility of some future delight could not quite compensate them for missing the known entertainments of Norwich, and which they might even now be enjoying.
The duchess had bad news, too, although it was cunningly disguised as good news.
“Well! Elinor has a suitor! At least, so Amabel thinks. She says he is ‘excessively attentive, and has called at the Grange every day, through the direst weather, bringing fruit from his own stores.’ They went out for a walk, you see, and were caught out in a nasty shower, not snow but very sleety. Sir Nicholas was most concerned that Elinor might take a chill and nothing assuaged his fears, seemingly, except baskets of pears. That is very promising! Oh, but it means that Elinor will not come to me later this month after all. Amabel says that matters are just at a delicate stage, and she does not think a separation just now would be a good idea. No, indeed! Elinor must stay, and see if anything comes of it.”
“Your sisters?” Sophia said, trying to follow Lily’s rapid words.
“Yes… did I not mention it? I am the eldest, but Amabel is next to me in age, and then Elinor. Amabel is married to Sir Maurice Hartwell — an excellent match, and now this neighbour of hers… Sir Nicholas… something-or-other… sounds as if he will do very well for Elinor. Goodness! How exciting! I shall miss her, of course, but how happy for me that I have you ladies to bear me company, for I should be very moped without you all.”
But the best letter of all was one which was not revealed to the ladies until the evening, when they were all seated around the White Drawing Room.
“I have received an invitation from Camberley,” the duke said in a loud voice, standing with his back to the blazing fire as he surveyed the room.
All conversation died away on the spot.
“The Duke of Camberley?” the duchess said. “Goodness! What does he want with you?”