Chapter Three
JONATHAN URGED HIS favorite horse into a canter across the dew-bright green grass of Hyde Park as dawn spread golden light across the sky. Only a few hardy souls rode in the park this early in the morning. He tried never to miss this energetic start to his day.
An hour later, Jonathan turned his horse for home and breakfast. The rest of his morning would be spent with his secretary, reviewing reports and answering correspondence concerning his estates, which were scattered over a number of counties.
Jonathan hadn’t thought himself a farmer before coming into the title and its properties.
More a Corinthian, engaged in manly pursuits of boxing, fencing, driving, and riding, but equally at home reading in Greek and Latin.
He was proud of his Oxford degree, earned while his compatriots were happy to enjoy university life and dabble in their studies, filling in time until they were permitted to go up to London.
At age twenty-nine, Jonathan considered himself still a young man, with time on his side.
However, since his father’s death several months ago, his large dependent family, especially Aunt Lucinda, had become relentless in its insistence that he marry soon.
They were all reliant upon him and his succession and insisted that he should do his duty to marry and produce an heir.
The only problem was, he was yet to find a single woman in the whole of England who kept his attention for more than fifteen minutes.
The only one who had ever caused him to respond to their conversation in any way except to yawn was Miss Jane Brody, a woman so utterly unsuitable for the role of his marchioness that he laughed out loud at the thought of presenting her to his aunt as his intended!
Why, then, did his recall of their meeting yesterday leave him intrigued by the anomaly she presented—an attractive, desirable woman repressing her beauty and arguing for the better education of women and their equality with men?
She must know that the idea had been raised before by Mary Wollstonecraft, who had shot her cause in the foot by leading a life of scandal to the point where her views were ridiculed because of the shocking example she had presented.
By the time his horse clip-clopped up the cobbled road to Jonathan’s Grosvenor Square mansion, he still hadn’t resolved why he could not stop thinking of Miss Jane Brody the bluestocking.
He handed his horse’s reins to his groom.
They briefly discussed the condition of his racehorses since their move from Newmarket.
At his approach, the front door of Dalton House opened.
His starchy butler, Jones, bowed him into the hall and enquired whether he wished his breakfast served immediately.
Jonathan answered in the affirmative and strode into the breakfast parlor located toward the rear of the ground floor.
He seated himself and took up the day’s copy of The Times from the table.
A line of servants trooped into the room carrying prepared dishes for his selection. Kippers, bacon, eggs, steak, and a steaming pot of coffee were set down on the sideboard for him. Jones poured a cup of coffee without being asked.
Jonathan read his newspaper as he ate. The unrest that seemed to be brewing up and down the country, as men returned from the wars remained unemployed and hungry, niggled at his complacent existence.
Jonathan shook the pages of the broadsheet closed, ending the inner turmoil the discontent of the outer world caused in his mind. In his bedchamber, Jonathan permitted his valet to shave him and assist him into his morning coat and trousers.
Refreshed, replete, and content with his world, Jonathan strode downstairs to the study, his favorite retreat.
Upward of a thousand books perched on shelves around the spacious room.
His desk stood within a bay window while a circle of chairs was grouped around the fireplace.
Above it, a large gilded mirror reflected the multitude of leather-bound tomes.
An Ormolu clock on the marble mantelpiece chimed nine of the clock as Jonathan stepped up to his desk.
His man of business greeted him, ready to start their daily work.
The usual program thereafter was luncheon followed by sporting activities, such as boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s club during the Season, or fencing.
In the late afternoon, he often accompanied his sister in the park at the fashionable hour, either taking her up in his curricle or walking.
Evenings he spent either at his club or escorting his sister to a social event.
So progressed another day in the routine life of the new Marquess of Dalton. He was every bit the pillar of society he felt his title required of him. It was a pleasant and well-regulated life. If asked, Jonathan would have called it “highly agreeable.”
It was only when he woke with a feeling of nagging discontent in the dark hours before dawn that he might have admitted, if pressed, that his life bored him and a heavy weight of dread pooled in his gut at the thought of it continuing in such a way for the rest of his time on this earth.
***
THE DAWN THAT HERALDED Jonathan in Hyde Park shone through the window of Jane’s second-floor bedroom in Harley Street. She sat at her writing desk, dressed ready for the day ahead. Her hair hung in soft waves down her back since she had released it from its nighttime plaits.
Jane feathered the end of her quill against her cheek as she organized her thoughts before writing the next sentence of her pamphlet about the best form of education for young women.
She had tried to follow these prescriptions with her own sisters, but Charlotte had already been thirteen when she started.
Jane had failed to convince her that an education was important for the development of her character and to ensure that she had some ability to support herself in the world, should a knight in shining armor not ride into her life to bring her undying love and fidelity as well as sufficient income to support her and their many children.
Both her unmarried sisters also seemed happy to accept this dream, never sparing a thought for the danger to health and life that repeated childbearing brought.
This didn’t deter her. Should even one young woman gain a better education that could bring her independence and income should the need arise, then Jane felt her labors were worthwhile. And so, she rose at dawn every day to write her pamphlets before her work began.
At seven o’clock, Jane washed most of the ink from her hands, bound her hair into a severe knot at the back of her head, and went downstairs.
She breakfasted in haste, thinking all the while of her tasks for the morning.
She spoke with the cook about luncheon and dinner and arranged for the sorting of the household linen.
Afterward, she talked with her sisters about their plans for the day.
Jane’s time was much more her own than ever before, as she was no longer responsible for Anna’s education, and only Katherine and their younger brother, Kit, were still being tutored.
Jane encouraged Anna to keep up her reading of the classics, and she assisted Jane with some of her charitable causes.
However, Anna was mostly keen to attend as many balls and social events as possible.
This morning, Jane would visit Lady Elizabeth Everslie as soon as she finished her letter to her younger brother, James, who was serving in the navy.
Jane wrote to each of her four adult brothers in weekly rotation.
They were scattered about England and the world now that peace had come at last. None could afford to marry on the salaries they received, so they lived frugally while trying to further their careers.
Their father’s modest living from a city parish and some private means maintained their genteel life but did not run to assisting his sons beyond buying three commissions in the military and educating his second son, Francis, now a temporary curate to a Hampshire parish.
Jane dressed with care in her best morning dress while Anna rearranged her hair in a more becoming style.
She was soon striding to Grosvenor Square, followed by solid and silent Joe, the family’s footman-cum-outdoor man who accompanied Jane wherever she went in the city.
He was a country man of few words whom the Brodys speculated was sweet on their housekeeper, Mrs. Creevy, but too shy to propose.
Jane reached Dalton House in Grosvenor Square, one of the impressive four-story row houses surrounding the square. She admired the grand residence with its fresh paintwork and curved bow windows. “Let us see how an aristo lives,” she said to Joe with a smile and led the way across the street.
Joe followed and stepped up to rap the brass door knocker of Dalton House with gusto.
Dalton’s butler took her card when she announced Lady Elizabeth expected her. He led her to a morning room. The gentle sunlight through the tall south-facing windows highlighted the rose-tinted furniture. This room would be cheerful even on a dull day. It complemented its occupant’s personality.
Lady Elizabeth greeted Jane with enthusiasm and said, “My brother is already in the library with his secretary. He likes an early start on his paperwork, so he will have completed the worst of it and be ready to listen, perhaps.”
This was it, Jane’s opportunity to convince Lord Dalton to support their cause. Her throat constricted. “I certainly hope so. I am not as convinced as you that I can sway his opinion, but I will try.”
“Be brave. He is not an ogre but he sees me as his very much younger sister, so does not listen to my arguments. He may listen to yours.”