Chapter 10 #2
“My father is an importer. Waddley’s had much of his freight business for his imported items. He would see Partridge and Sons as one of his competitors.
Father travels all over the world looking for the exotic and unusual to import to England.
He never wanted to be involved with the shipping, only the acquiring of items. He dragged Mother and I everywhere he went.
I never had a home.” She sighed. “I hated that life, never having a home, never having the chance to form lasting friendships. When we came to London in 1813 I thought we would stay there for a while. All too soon Father was talking about going to the Americas. Ugh!”
They were approaching the top of the ridge.
“So, what happened?” Cecilia asked, drawn in by Mrs. Hargrave’s story.
She felt she could understand her dissatisfaction with never having the opportunity to stay in one place through the opposite end of that lens, being a caged bird in a gilded cage.
During her marriage she was scarcely allowed any freedom, not even the freedom to go to the circulating library unless she was accompanied by a maid and two footmen. It had been a stifling existence.
“I fell in love,” she said simply.
“With Mr. Hargrave?”
Mrs. Hargrave smiled sadly. “No. Let’s dismount and take in the views from here as we talk.”
They handed the reins of their horses to the groom and walked across a rocky, but wildflower-studded small meadow toward a large rock at the top of the ridge. There was room for them to sit on the rock.
Cecilia looked down the hill toward Pomum. Everything looked neat and tidy, but she hadn’t realized how big Pomum was until looking down from up here. She realized she had been in only half of the large structure, and only a small half, at that.
The limestone gray house gleamed almost white in the bright morning sunlight. It was built in the form of an ‘H,’ a majestic statement where it stood.
“Doesn’t it look wonderful from here,” Mrs. Hargrave breathed, reverence in her voice.
Cecilia turned to look at her. “Yes, I suppose it is. It doesn’t look as magnificent when you are near it.”
“I close my eyes and I imagine it as it was one hundred years ago. Carriages driving up, music playing, laughter, the tinkling of crystal glasses. Ah-h-h…”
Cecilia looked at her and grinned broadly. “You’re a dreamer,” she said.
Mrs. Hargrave shrugged sheepishly. “I suppose I am.”
Cecilia found herself wondering what happened to her new friend. “You said you fell in love, but it wasn’t with Mr. Hargrave?”
“Yes, I did,” she said, finding her fingers together and looking down at them in her lap.
“I met Matthew Rackham, the Marquess of Debenen.” She laughed slightly.
“It was, strangely enough, love on sight for both of us. And so fortuitous. An impoverished nobleman with a magnificently impoverished property in Somerset with a merchant’s daughter with more funds than hair.
I fell in love with Debenen, the man and the property.
I had plans for how I could bring the property back to its former splendor.
It would be a project of my heart, and Matthew was happy and supportive.
We were engaged to be married, all the plans made, invitations sent, and my father pledging to remain in London until after the wedding.
“Then my kind, wise, witty, and impoverished Matthew did something stupid,” she said, the last words coming out with disgusted force.
Cecilia looked at her. Not wanting to interrupt her memories.
She saw a tear slide down her cheek as she tilted her head to the side. “He engaged in a race. And not just any race,” she said on a shrill laugh, her eyes unfocused. “A high-perch phaeton race.”
Cecilia felt her heart clutch in her chest. High-perch phaetons were not the steadiest of vehicles driven at a city pace. In a race they would be unwieldy, tipping one way and another until they toppled over.
“When the carriage tipped, it rolled twice. Matthew was thrown clear, his neck broken,” she finished flatly.
“Oh no! What did you do?”
“What did I do? I put away all my dreams for Debenen and wed Matthew’s uncle. He was available, willing, and my father wanted to get rid of me before he and Mother set sail.”
Cecilia closed her eyes and shook her head in sympathy.
Mrs. Hargrave took in a big deep breath, shaking away the sad memories. “My marriage was not a bad marriage. Not what I dreamed of having with Matthew, of course, but Mr. Hargrave worshipped me. Poor man. I never understood that. He would give me the moon and the stars if he could.”
She leaned back against the slanted rock, propping herself up on her elbows, allowing the sun to hit her face as no woman of fashion would.
“He tried to buy Pomum Court for me. Can you imagine?” she asked, turning to look at Cecilia. “He knew I love it, almost as much as I loved Debenen in all its impoverished splendors.
“Pomum Court isn’t as bad as it might appear on first review,” Cecilia said. “For example, the library.”
“Yes, that library is beautiful,” Mrs. Hargrave enthused. “The way the wood flows with the carving.”
Cecilia agreed. “I don’t know why, but it makes me think of an undersea grotto.”
Mrs. Hargrave nodded. “A lovely image.”
“Have you tried to find a property for yourself to buy and restore? It sounds like you have an interest in that area. You should do it.”
“That would be nice; however, my late husband’s solicitors and executors do not think I can manage money.
They refuse to consider a purchase such as that for the blow to the principal.
But who would I be saving the principal for?
I have no children and it was money I brought to the marriage so I don’t see how it should go to any of his relatives. ”
Cecilia laughed. “I can see that. Unfortunately, that is the way our legal system works with our lack of ladies' rights. I had a similar issue with Waddley’s when my husband died. Luckily, I had Mr. Thornbridge on my side to steer me clear of the worst of the money-grabbing men around me.”
“The Mr. Thornbridge here in Lord Monteith’s employ now?”
“The very same. After I sold everything, we helped Mr. Thornbridge find another position. What he lacks in agricultural knowledge he makes up for with business knowledge.”
“So that is why Monteith has been inordinately successful,” Mrs. Hargrave said.
Cecilia laughed. “Not entirely. Gideon’s training as a solicitor has been helpful, too.”
“I forget he’s a solicitor,” Mrs. Hargrave said thoughtfully.
“Mr. Thornbridge told me he met you yesterday at the clay pit mine.”
“Yes, Mrs. Johnston and I were curious so we had to drive over to see what all the talk was.”
Cecilia grimaced, “We discovered—too late—that Mr. Abney, the gentleman injured at the mine, was telling all manner of outlandish stories.”
She laughed. “I believe exaggerations were in order. In this village, belief in only half of what is said is the rule. He’s not alone with his revised history.”
“Mr. Thornbridge said you asked a great many questions about any findings at the mine.”
Mrs. Hargrave nodded. “Mr. Hargrave loved all things Roman, and I found myself thinking of what he would want to know. I fear I asked a great many ridiculous questions.”
Cecilia nodded. “He did wonder at a few of them for they did sound like one of the antiquarians.”
“Now I’m embarrassed. Please tell him I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. There is no need. It struck him as odd because no one else had asked similar questions.”
“I am surprised that no one else asked antiquarian questions. I am not a fanatic however, I’ll admit to a certain fascination. I couldn’t have been married to Mr. Hargrave without gaining that.”
Cecilia nodded in understanding.
She silently looked out over the view from the ridge, she reminded herself she had a motive for coming up to the ridge in addition to making a new friend. She enjoyed her conversation with Mrs. Hargrave.
“Where are the various estates from here? You said they converged here.”
“Yes, very odd property layout. Mr. Lamont verified the property lines with his surveying tools.” Mrs. Hargrave stood up and pointed to the land on the back side of the ridge.
“That way is Squire Kassell’s land. He has the largest portion of ridge land after Lord Monteith.
Mr. Falstaf’s land almost comes to a point up here.
My estate is to your left, and then below mine is Baron Compton’s,” she explained.
Cecilia stood next to her. “Whose land are we on now?”
“Lord Monteith’s.”
Cecilia nodded. She could not think why a man would walk up the ridge. She could see from where she stood that it would have made more sense if he’d followed the river to get away. Where was he going? She wanted to discuss this with James.
“I should be returning,” she said to Mrs. Hargrave. “My husband will be wondering where I am and if I am in need of succor.”
“From me?” Mrs. Hargrave asked, laughing.
“More likely from myself!”
They walked toward where the groom had tethered the horses in the shade. He rose to his feet with alacrity as they approached.
“Did you ever consider marrying Lord Jasper after your husband passed?”
“I confess I did propose a marriage of convenience.”
“And he refused?”
She frowned tightly, her lips pulling into a straight line. “He did. And the less said about that, the better,” she declared sourly.
Cecilia looked at her new friend and saw the truth in her words. It would not do to push her into the story of his rejection. Rejection was uncomfortable at any time, and for a woman to open herself up to a man as she had to Lord Jasper, to even suggest the marriage, would have been the worst.
On the ride back to Pomum Court, Mrs. Hargrave peppered her with questions about her son, Hugh. They rode into the forecourt, laughing.