Author: rharrisonauthor

This chapter introduces two things in the context of a country ball. The chief villain (what’s a romance without a villain?) and the plot element that motivates the characters. The plot, like all romances, is girl meets boy, then after various complications and difficulties, they figuratively ride off into the sunset together.

The chemistry, by the way, is accurate. Fulminates were first described in 1803, you can download the paper from the Royal Society, and it makes for interesting, if slightly scary reading. Imagine describing the taste of a mercury salt. Especially one that explodes. Brave men in those days. Lucky too. I wouldn’t do it.

The featured image, a cartoon from 1815, shows the consternation American work along a similar line to Rupert’s produced in the English Navy. This was serious stuff.

It continues from the previous chapter, or you can start from the beginning.

My co-author Amelia and I often put the beginnings of books on my, now our, blog. They don’t always make it to the end, but it’s helpful for our writing. This is another Regency Romance. This time without grave robbing or financial dealing and legal chicanery.

A Ball, in the Country.

George surveyed his friend when Rupert emerged from his room. “I say Ga- Rupert, that suit, it’s as queer as Dick’s hatband, positively ramshackle. I’m sure your man did his best, but I say.”

“What?”

“Have to get you to the Village. That suit, it’s at least years out of date, a sartorial solecism.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Can’t you tell? I suppose it was your fathers.”

“No. Mine, from … back then.”

They were joined shortly by Rachel. There was a hidden advantage at having a small wardrobe. She was dressed in record time.

“Lord Hartshorne, Rupert, you need to take care of yourself. That suit, it practically hangs off you.”

Rupert paused, then said, “I do? … I suppose you’re right, I haven’t been eating.”

“Nor dancing?”

“No, not since.” Rupert stopped. A pained expression grew on his face.

“Antonia?”

“Yes, her. I last danced with her.”

Rachel broke out in a hearty laugh, “Then your next dance can be with me. If you don’t need the practice, I do.”

Rupert flashed Rachel a quick smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry, it’s an old habit and one I intend to break. Worrying about that virago. I’m well out of it.”

“Good. Especially if we’re engaged, even informally. I could still break it off and I will if you’re still holding a candle for her.”

“No. I’m not … please believe me.”

Rachel curtsied to him, “I’d be honoured to dance with you, even more than once.”

Rupert, having thoroughly considered Rachel’s words, said, “You are right. I have buried myself too long … Please dance with me.”

George chuckled at this, “Then I’d best ask now for the second dance, Lady Hayfield. Can’t let my nephew monopolise you.”

Rachel laughed “The honour’s all mine, My Lord … My Lords.”

Lucinda, hurrying in to accompany her charge, said, “What’s this about?”

“Just arranging my first two dances, Lucy.”

“Oh, good, Ma’am.”

George said, “Miss Holloway. Would the first dance be acceptable?”

“I couldn’t. My place … with the chaperones and the mothers.”

“Lucy,” Rachel said, “Of course you could. In fact I think you should.”

“As long as it isn’t a waltz.”

George said, “I would think it will be a country dance. Gas old boy, you wouldn’t know if the Waltz has penetrated these wilds?”

Rupert ignored him.

“Rupert, then. What about it?”

“No I wouldn’t, but I’d think not.” Then he smiled at Rachel and gave her a quick bow, “Though if it has, Lady Hayforth, I must claim your hand for it now.”

****

Rachel watched the country roll by as she rode in Lord Hartshorne’s carriage. The miserable country road she and Lucy struggled down. It seemed so long ago, although not even two weeks had elapsed, passed by in comfort. Her broken carriage sat where she’d left it. The carriage wright had removed the wheels and rear axle. Until those were repaired, the broken mainbrace and other things couldn’t be finished. What was taking so long? Then she realized that it didn’t matter. She had a carriage, and Rupert would take her to London.

She turned to Rupert and said, “This carriage, it’s so much more comfortable than mine ever was. Even before it broke. Almost luxurious.”

“It is?”

“Padded seats, and dry.”

“Lady Hayforth,” he nodded, “if that’s your idea of luxury, you’ll be soon satisfied.”

Lucy nudged her mistress and whispered, “I told you he was a good one.”

George asked, “What was that Miss Holloway?”

“Just congratulating my mistress on her engagement.”

****

The orchestra, a pair of violinists, a bass and clarinet, struck up the first dance. Fortuitously it was a familiar country dance in slow time because both Rupert and Rachel were out of practice. It also gave them time to converse, though most of the time Rupert smiled at his partner. Rachel thought It’s as if he can’t believe his good luck. When they finished, he said as he bowed, “Thank you. You must think I’m a poor conversationalist, but I was counting the figures. Wouldn’t do to disgrace you with an awkward partner.”

Rachel talked more during the next dance with George. He started, “I must admit you have made a difference in the poor lad. Good thing I suggested it.”

“You didn’t, you know. Just that I try to befriend him. Anyway he had guessed.”

“Observant little tyke, my nephew. Still.” The figures moved them apart. He continued when they came together again, “Still I am surprised that he proposed.”

“Or that I accepted?”

“That too.”

“To be honest, I refused at first. Hardly knowing him, but Miss Holloway pointed out the certain evils or my choice.”

“That you might not get another offer? He’s an odd one, Ma’am. Full of surprises. I didn’t know.” The figures intervened again, “I didn’t know about his work for the army. Old Gas making bangs.”

Eventually the chords drew to a close and it was time for supper. Disaster struck. A strange man interrupted Rachel and Rupert as they walked together to the table where the refreshments were served. He was dressed in plain and simple clothes, but was clearly important. Or, perhaps, it was clear that he thought he was important.

“Miss Heppleworth.” He bowed to her.

“Do I know you?”

“Surely you’ve not forgotten me so soon.”

Rachel studied him, “Mr Harding, out of fleet prison already; who paid your debts?”

“It’s Mr Oliver, Mr William Oliver. May I be introduced to your partner?”

Rupert’s face stiffened. “I believe we’ve met as well. How to you know my fiancée?”

Mr Harding or Oliver or indeed one of several other names chosen for convenience and anonymity bowed to him and said, “I knew her father, quite well. She was promised to me.”

“I wasn’t. Never.”

“Clearly your father didn’t tell you. It was made shortly before his unfortunate demise.”

“All I know is you helped him spend his money. Left us to rusticate on a mortgaged estate that could barely support itself.”

“I shan’t ask much for a settlement, breech of promise is such an ugly idea. Very destructive of one’s reputation, even if it is ultimately voided.”

Rupert glanced at Rachel. She was pale, barely fighting off a faint.  He turned to the man and uttered “You puppy!” from his clenched mouth. Then turning to Rachel he said, “Rachel, let me help you to a seat.”

As they walked to the far side of the room, neither of them noticed the grim smile of satisfaction that coursed over Mr Oliver’s face. After he’d helped her to a seat, Rachel looked up and said, “Did you say you knew him, how?”

“That cad, that puppy, he carried the letters between Antonia and Lord Biddle.”

“Oh Lud! What a mull I’ve made.” Rachel put her face in her hands. “I wish that … that … that fellow were at Jericho.”

“What do you mean ‘I’ve made’? I fail to see that you’ve done anything.”

Rachel bit her lip and looked up at Rupert, tears forming in her eyes. “I didn’t know about him … him and that awful woman.”

“How could you know?”

“I suppose you’re right, I couldn’t have. Please believe me that I have no interest in seeing Mr Harding or Oliver or whatever he calls himself now ever again. His effrontery.”

Rupert shook his head sadly, “I know.”

“He really did lead my father to perdition with the dice box, faro table, and … I don’t know what all they did. My father caught an ague from some.” She stopped, unwilling to voice ‘barque of frailty.’ “That man played him for a jobberknowl until he was skint.”

“Don’t let that dandiprat cut up your peace.” Rupert paused, “Unless there is something you’re not telling me.”

“No. Well maybe. He did have some of my father’s vowels. They should have been settled with the estate. There could be something like those. Who knows what my father may have signed before he died. It was a desperate time, and he wasn’t truly in his right mind.”

The musicians chose this auspicious moment to start tuning their instruments for the next dance. Rupert bent down and took Rachel’s hand. “This dance is ours.”

“But?”

“We’ll talk later, I’ve had my dealings with that puppy, too. Not just with that woman.” Rupert led her to the middle of the floor where they started the line for the next dance. It felt to Rachel as if everyone in the room were staring at them. Sir John certainly was. Rupert bowed to him and said, “I should like to lead this dance, with my newly affianced wife.”

“Oh,” He laughed, “I guess you meant what you said.” Then he tapped on a glass and shouted to get attention. “Dear guests, before we begin, a toast – to our neighbour Lord Hartshorne and his intended. Newly engaged. May their marriage be long, and happy.”

Rachel thought, If it isn’t happy, it will certainly be long, then she shook her head and studied Rupert. It will be happy. I will make certain of that.

Mr Oliver started to object, when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. It was George. “You, sir, are coming with me. This is the last time you will bother Lady Hayforth. Do I make myself clear?”

The dance started with both Rachel and Rupert lost in each other, both too overcome with emotions to say much.

Part way through the dance, George re-entered the room, dusting his hands. He strode to his host, Sir John and said, “That’s done. What ever possessed you to invite such a rotter?”

“He’s the man of the moment. Helped break those revolutionaries in Pentridge, at great personal risk.”

“Knowing him, I doubt it.”

“I must remind you I’m the host, and General Byng will be most displeased when he hears of how you’ve treated his best agent. A real British hero.”

George indicated his lack of concern when he said, “If you say so. I don’t know the general well, but I’m good friends with his cousin Poodle. I think I can weather the storm.”

****

Once the ball was finally over, in the carriage home, Rachel asked, “What happened to that man?”

“Mr Oliver?” George said, “I suggested that he make an early night of it.” He smiled, “rather forcefully I might add.”

“And Rupert, my love, you said you’d known him.”

Rupert hesitated, then said, “Yes … he offered me money … to see, make a copy of what I was doing for the army. I think it was when I refused that he introduced An- that woman to Lord Biddle.”

“What were you doing, Gas … Rupert that would be worth money?”

“I guess what I did is not really secret, the secret details aren’t interesting anyway. You’ve shot with one of those scent-bottle locks George.” Rupert stretched back in his seat, ready to be expansive.

“Dashed good gun. Yes. Faster and more reliable than my Manton.”

“The Army thought so too. Started working on them in the Tower Armoury. They came within aces’ aim of levelling the place with all the fulminate they made. Guy Fawkes would have been delighted. His Majesty less so.”

Rachel and George leaned forward to hear every word. George said, “I see. So…”

“So I worked on more stable fulminating mixtures. Oxymuriate of potash, various … fillers to make it more stable. I was, ah, more than moderately successful. Had the war dragged on, it would have made a big difference. General Shrapnel’s shells with my fuses, mayhaps on rockets. Torpedoes that exploded on contact. Can’t say too much more. It would have been ‘interesting’ to say the least.”

Rachel gasped, “So he was a French agent?”

“Maybe. More likely working for the highest bidder – French, American, those damned Prussians or even the Tsar.”

“Good Lord Nephew. I never knew. Just thought you were playing around.”

Rupert laughed, “I’m not saying it wasn’t fun, but I’m glad to work on safer things.”

Lucy, who had been quiet because she was tired and had consumed more than her share of the punch, said, “I bet Lady Hayforth is too.”

Things get more serious in this sweet romance. Lord Hartshorne isn’t as clueless about his Uncle’s machinations as he seems. He decides that this young woman will do. She’s not as dashing as his lost Antonia, but presentable, friendly, and more importantly not likely to hurt him. Life together won’t be passionate, but it will be comfortable and companionable.

It continues from the previous chapter, or you can start from the beginning.

My co-author Amelia and I often put the beginnings of books on my, now our, blog. They don’t always make it to the end, but it’s helpful for our writing. This is another Regency Romance. This time without grave robbing or financial dealing and legal chicanery.

A Serious Chapter.

Next morning, the rain, having finally, finally broken, George, with the time hanging heavy on his hands, found Rachel and Lucinda at breakfast and said, “I feel like a ride. Do you ride Miss?”

“I used to.” She grimaced, “Sold my hunter to pay for this trip so in a sense I’m wearing her.”

“That’s too bad. Rupert used to keep a good stable. He’s let it go in the last years, but I’m sure there’s something worth throwing a leg over. Would you be willing to accompany me on the downs?”

Lucinda gushed, “Yes. I like to ride as well.”

George bowed to the inevitable chaperone, and realizing that Lucinda was better company than most chaperones, rose and bowed. “I’ll inquire about the horses and see if there are side-saddles.”

After he left, Lucinda turned to Rachel and said, “What an elegant man.”

“Yes, A pity he’s engaged … to a Miss Deacon, his ‘Charity.’ The good ones all get taken. I think we’d best hurry to London before they’re all gone.”

“Don’t be so cynical. There’s always, what was it Lord Beddlington called him? Gas.”

“He’s handsome enough, I’ll grant you, but so dashed odd. Buried in that workshop of his.”

“You can change that, can’t you? Or at least take an interest in his work.”

“I suppose.” Rachel studied the room, found it lacking inspiration, and finally said, “I suppose I could change my name to Sodium, Natria or something elemental. Then he’d like me.”

George overheard that as he entered the room, “I wouldn’t, Ma’am. Rachel is a pleasant, if unusual name.”

“My father found it in the Old Testament. Could have been worse, Delilah or Jael. What did you find about the horses?”

“I found Brindle and he sent a footman. Unfortunately, he remembers only one serviceable side-saddle. If that.”

Lucinda’s face fell. “So a groom will accompany you.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” George bowed gently again, “I should much rather have both your company.” As he straightened he smiled at Rachel, “Lady Hayforth, I await your pleasure.”

****

Upstairs, in her room, Lucinda pulled Rachel’s riding habit from her trunk and brushed it down. She said, “Sad, isn’t it, that you haven’t had many chances to wear it? Since selling your mare.”

“I don’t know, Lucy. You enjoy riding much more than me. Why don’t you wear it and ride with Lord Beddlington?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Well, I shouldn’t.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ve seen it in his eyes and … his smile. He likes me, and quite frankly, I like him. But he’s engaged, off the market. It would never do to become more than just friends with him.”

“Oh, and you think I’m safe, that he won’t look at me, that I’m too plain?”

Rachel laughed, “I didn’t mean it that way, but you are safer. Besides, he asked me to tempt Lord Hartshorne into going to London, and I’d best be about my business.”

Lucinda hesitated, so Rachel continued, “You’re doing me a great favour, and in any case I’ll have a chance to parade in Hyde Park on one of Lord Bromley’s nags whenever I’d like. You won’t.”

Lucinda allowed herself to be swayed. When the two women returned to the parlour, George stared at them.

“I thought, Lady Hayforth that you and I would ride.”

“Miss Holloway is the better rider.”

“Am not.” Lucinda added in a whisper.

“Is the better rider, and I’d best be about completing that task you set me. I won’t succeed if I don’t pay attention to his Lordship.”

George nodded, “Yes, there is that … Miss Holloway, pleased that you will ride with me.”

Lucinda said, “I hope that you’re not too disappointed.”

“No, not at all.” Rachel caught the hint of disappointment in his voice. It’s for the best.

****

Left to her own devices after they left, Rachel found her way to the front parlour. A spinet, dusty and disused, but surprisingly still close to in tune sat in a corner. She started playing, first from memory, and then from a piece of sheet music.

Lord Hartshorne startled her and she stopped playing, “Lady Hayforth?”

“Yes?”

“I … should like to … apologize. Last night.”

“For what?”

“I had intended to return, to keep you … and George company. It’s just … Well, I became distracted in my notes.”

“That’s what I thought. Do you mind if I keep playing?”

“No. Please do … You play very well.”

Rachel resumed playing, but continued to talk. “I thought you would be in your laboratory today.”

“Usually, but not today. Not when I have.” He paused for more than a moment, “To be honest, I caught a few too many breaths of the fumes, and need to let my lungs clear.”

“I thought you were going to say, ‘not when I have company.’”

“That too. It’s just.” Rupert couldn’t overcome his shyness.

“It’s not Antonia, is it?”

“How do you know about her?”

“Your uncle.”

“George needs to keep his mouth shut. Yes it is. Your playing, it reminds me of her.”

“Should I stop?”

Rupert stared out the window. The grey skies from the last few day’s rains were gone. He could hear the birds and imagine the fresh smell of the drying earth outside. He turned back and said, “No. I liked, I like music.”

Rachel stopped for a moment, nonetheless. “Do you play?”

“A little, I haven’t in years. Not since …”

“This is a duet. The bass part is simple. Would you-?” She blushed. It was putting herself forward.

“Join you?” Rupert studied the window again, then flexed his fingers. “I’ll try. It’s been a long time since I’ve played.”

Rachel scooted to the side of the bench to make room for him. When he sat next to her she thought, He’s so thin, needs to look after himself … needs someone to look after him.

Then they played together. It wasn’t exactly the best performance, and certainly no one would have thought either of them an adept, but it didn’t matter. They were lost in the music. Together.

Eventually the piece came to an end. Rupert said, “I haven’t sat this close … I mean played a duet with … not since Antonia.”

“I’m not her.”

“I know.” Rupert sat quietly. Rachel could see the confusion in his face.

“Tell me about her, if it would help.”

“Not much to say. A beauty. I thought, no I was in love with her. I thought she was in love with me. We were …”

“Engaged?”

Rupert nodded, “Then she eloped with Lord Biddle. Didn’t even leave me a note.”

Almost unconsciously, Rachel reached for his hand and squeezed it. “It must have hurt.”

“It did.” Rupert turned to face her. After studying her face for what seemed a very long minute he said, “But that’s over.”

“Good.” Rachel suddenly felt a little breathless. She sat too close, too alone, to a man. Not only that, she held his hand. Without gloves. The bleached streaks and white pallor of his skin accentuated the darkness of his eyes. She sat too close to a far too handsome man for comfort.

Rupert only made it worse. “Marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me.”

“Lord Hartshorne,” Rachel rapidly backed away and tried to stand. Only to trip on her gown and land on the floor.

Rupert calmly moved over and helped her up. “I’m sure George has, by now, asked you to help shift me to London.”

“How’d?”

“I know my Uncle. For that matter, I could tell something was up, from Mrs Hobbes. The way she smirked this morning. What did he offer you?”

“To help pay for my season.”

“I see. A bit mercenary?”

Rachel laughed, “No, a bit desperate. Lord Hartshorne,”

“Rupert.”

“Rupert, then. I hardly know you, and you hardly know me. How could we possibly wed?”

“I like the way you play your instrument, and you’re beautiful. You handled my … impoliteness with grace.”

“That’s not enough and you know it. Or you’d know it if you thought it through.”

“I thought it through with Antonia. Should have just kept looking.”

Rachel saw a flash of distress on his face.  He still is in love with her. “Are, are you sure? I, I can’t.”

“It won’t be passion, I’m done with passion, but I can offer you comfort, comfort and security … I think we should get on well enough. Learn to love each other in time. So what about it?”

“I can’t say yes. You know that.”

Rupert’s face fell.

“But I won’t say no. How would ‘maybe’ work for you? You’re not unattractive.”

“That’s damning.”

“Alright, you’re handsome, and you don’t seem vicious. I’m willing to see if it works. Will that do?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s better than no.”

Rupert chuckled. “You’re right. Maybe will be first rate.”

“And you’ll come to London with me?”

“I’ll bring you to London. If only to show George that he shouldn’t trifle with the head of the family.” Rupert’s smile broke into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m just imagining the expression on my step-grandmother’s face when I turn up with a dashed good-looking armful.”

Rachel’s attempt to question Rupert about why that should matter was interrupted. Lucy stood in the door and shouted, “Miss Rachel, what are you doing? Alone with a man.”

“It’s fine Lucy. Lord Hartshorne has been a perfect gentleman. We were-”

“That is as may be. But you shouldn’t be alone with him.”

Rupert rose, bowed and said, “Miss Holloway, how was your ride?”

“It was exquisite. Now Miss Rachel, come with me. We will have a conversation, about your deportment.”

Rachel gave Rupert a wan smile, “See how I’m managed.”

“It’s for your own good, Ma’am.”

Upstairs, in Rachel’s room, as she helped Lucy out of her riding habit, she asked, “How did it go, really?”

“It was fine. The mare was a little barn-soured, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Lord Beddlington was nothing if not a gentleman.”

“Exactly what I’d expect of him.”

“It is. What, may I ask, were you and Lord Hartshorne doing?”

“Playing the spinet. I found a duet. We played it together.”

Lucy chuckled, “Since you haven’t practiced, in … I don’t know, ever so long. I’m glad I was out riding.” She noted that Rachel was unusually distracted, thoughtful. “Did something else happen?”

“He, he asked me to marry him.”

“I hope you accepted, much nicer to be engaged. It’ll solve no end of problems.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t refuse him!”

“I didn’t. I said maybe.”

“Whatever possessed you? You know your situation, and … Good Lord Rachel. Get yourself back down there and tell him you accept his hand.”

“But?”

“But nothing young miss. He’ll make you happy. Happy enough.”

Rachel sighed, “I suppose you’re right.”

“I am. You know I am. With the war there aren’t enough able and eligible men left, and things are so tight with so many soldiers returning from France. We saw a mob.”

“You did?”

“I’ll tell you after you’ve talked to Lord Hartshorne. Lord Beddlington and the groom went to find the local magistrate.”

“Can you come with me?”

“Support you in your time of crisis? If you insist.”

Accompanied by her companion, Rachel returned to the study. Then she rang the bell for the servants. When Mr Brindle appeared, she asked him if he’d seen Lord Hartshorne.

“I believe, Ma’am, that he was headed to his workshop.’ Mr Brindle’s well-trained impassivity concealed his intense curiosity. “I could, if you desire, show you the way.”

“Please.”

Rupert was in his laboratory, with the window open, while he worked through his notes. Rachel’s nose puckered at the remaining smell, the peculiar tang of chemistry. “Lord Hartshorne, Rupert,” She curtsied, “About what you asked me.”

“Yes?”

“I had the time to think, to gather my thoughts. I shouldn’t have said maybe.”

Rupert’s face tightened with worry, then relaxed when he saw she was smiling at him.

“I should have said yes.”

“Do you mean that?”

“That I should like to marry you? Yes. Why would you think otherwise?” Sensing his disbelief, she continued, “I should think there’d be a queue. You’ve such a lost, helpless, romantic look. Childe Harolde or Florian personified. Besides, you told me you were done with mourning that woman.”

Rupert flashed Rachel a quick smile. “You’re right. I am done with her. And you’ve made me the happiest man.”

“Good. Especially if we’re engaged, even informally. I could still break it off and I will if you’re still holding a candle for her.”

Rupert shook his head, “Antonia is at most a bad dream, one … I think you’ve helped me wake up from it, my love.” He paused for a few moments thought. “We’ll need to attend to the settlements, my solicitor is in London.”

“Good thing we’re going there anyway. I’d like the chance to dance with you. To have a season. I’ll write to my cousin Lord Bromley … he was my guardian and will know what should be done.”

“You can do that while I finish my notes. I still intend to present my work at the Royal Academy. Then I’d love to show you the downs. My farm.”

“A walk?”

Rupert nodded, and then glancing at Miss Holloway, added, “If your companion approves.”

Lucy replied, “I should love to accompany you, as long as it’s not too muddy.”

****

When George arrived back at the Hall, he found Rupert, uncharacteristically, enjoying a nuncheon with Rachel and Lucinda. Even more uncharacteristically, he was smiling.

“What did I miss, Gas?”

“Rachel has made me happy.”

George frowning, glanced at her and said, “That was fast work my lady.”

She replied, “It was Rupert who asked me. He’s the fast worker.”

“I see.”

“We played a duet on the spinet.”

“And on that basis he asked you to marry him?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

Rupert added, “We were wondering if a double wedding were in order, Uncle. Do you think Miss Deacon would mind?”

“I think she’d be delighted … At least I’d hope she would. Have you written Lady Beddlington yet?”

“No, which reminds me. There was other thing I wanted to discuss. When should we put the formal announcement in the Gazette? Rachel thinks not until the settlements’ been negotiated. What did you do with Miss Deacon?”

After giving Rachel a hard stare, George said, “I’d keep it quiet – for the moment.”

Rupert said, “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I will post my announcement when I return to London. It was only polite to ask the head of my family first.”

After they’d finished eating, Lucy chaperoned Rupert and Rachel as he showed her the downs. George insisted on tailing along with them. As Lucy and Rupert walked ahead, he dropped back with Rachel.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I like Lord Hartshorne, very much, if that’s what you mean.”

George stopped, then surveyed the field of still-green corn beside the path. The heads were starting to fill out and the wind made waves as it blew along the down.

Rachel continued, “I’m sure I’ll grow to love him and he to love me. We’ll suit, both practical rather than passionate.”

“That’s not what I mean. Oh damn.”

“You’re engaged too. What would Miss Deacon think?”

“I mean, you’re too good for him.”

Rachel looked away and grimaced, “I doubt that. You don’t know me very well then.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you well enough.”

“Besides,” she laughed, “he’s the best available. My cousin, Lord Bromley, wasn’t enthusiastic about my chances at the marriage mart in London. If your nephew likes me enough to make me comfortable, then who am I to argue?”

George shook his head, “Yes. I’m sorry. Viewed in a practical light you acted with sense. I wish you well. At least you won’t run off like Antonia Green. That really did hurt him.”

“I can safely promise you that won’t happen. Lord Beddlington –“

“George.”

“George, I’m conformable. I’m sure I’ll be happy with Rupert and do my best to make him happy. What more can one hope in marriage?”

“Not much more. I hope it isn’t marry in haste and repent at leisure.”

“It won’t be.”

George looked up the path, “They’re getting ahead of us.”

“So?”

Lord Hartshorne and Miss Holloway waited at the top of the hill. Rupert pointed at a smudge in the distance. “General Byng’s camp. The town of Pontefract beyond.”

Lucy squinted, too vain to wear the spectacles she required to see clearly, and said “It is?”

When they caught up with them, George drew a deep breath and said, “I forget Gas … sorry, Rupert, how much I enjoy the freshness out here. Even with the occasional whiff of cow, it’s far better than London. Clean air, nothing like it.”

“Rupert,” Rachel asked, “You were showing something to Lucy. What was it?”

“General Byng’s camp. The 15^th Hussars. What with all the troubles, I’m glad they’re nearby.”

“Troubles?”

“That meeting in Nottingham several weeks ago, and the march on Butterly. A bad business.”

“Not that they don’t have a point. The corn laws.”

“I know. It’s just we’ve fought to put down those nasty Frogs and now … ”

“We’ve fought?” George said. “I didn’t know you had a commission.”

“I didn’t, but I did work on things. Things for the army, the navy.”

Rachel asked, “What kinds of things?”

Rupert smiled, then held up his hands, spreading them. “Can’t say too much more. Still have ten fingers. I was luckier than most.”

A horseman rode up to them and haled them with a voice practiced from years of running to hounds. The squire and local magistrate of the parish, Sir John Tennant called. “My Lord, I haven’t seen you out this year. Never with such fair company.”

Rupert bowed his head gently, acknowledging Sir John with what he felt to be the proper amount of condescension.  “Sir John, may I introduce my Uncle, Lord Beddlington, Lady Hayforth and her companion Miss Holloway?”

“Delighted to meet you. Chasing the young ladies again, at last?”

“More than just a chase, Sir John. Lady Hayforth has agreed to be my wife.”

“Good lord, I didn’t think you had it in you … I say, I didn’t send you an invitation since I knew you’d refuse, but this changes everything. I mean if you’re entertaining company again.”

“An invitation?”

“A ball, informal of course, at the manor. Tomorrow night. There’ll be officers from the 15^th, maybe even General Byng himself.”

“I think,” Rupert said, “I don’t know. Lady Hayforth what do you think?”

“I think I’d like to dance with you.”

“Then it’s settled. Tomorrow at the manor. Thank you.”

Sir John tipped his hat and cantered off.

****

That evening, after supper, Rupert joined the others in the parlour. After whispering something sweet to Rachel, which made her blush, he said, “George, old boy, what are you reading?”

George looked up from the sheath of papers he studied, “A letter … from Miss Deacon, Charity. I picked it up when I rode into town.”

Rachel couldn’t help but ask, “How is she? It’s obvious she likes to write. How many sixpences did that cost or did she get it franked?”

“Enough.” He laughed, “I’d say she crowned me with this letter. Half-crowned me at least. She took me to task for not writing recently, but this is mostly about the book she wants me to read. Improve my mind.”

“Which book?”

“The critic of pure reason, by Kant.”

“I’ve not read it. Is it interesting?” Rachel said.

“Wouldn’t know. Trouble is, I left my copy at home. Only expected to be away a day or so … What am I going to do? She’s expecting cogent answers by return post.”

“Oh dear.”

Rupert cleared his voice and said, “It’s a dense tome but he builds a strong argument for the existence of a common human mentality that foreshadows or shapes our understanding of the world. Indeed, he argues that without a preformed model of our experiences learning would be, itself, impossible.”

Everyone was silent until Lucinda said, “Was that German? Could you try it in English?”

“There must be a pre-existing mental structure in our brains that interprets our senses. In order to communicate, we must share a similar ideal or vorbestehenden modell of the world.”

“Oh. Interesting.”

“It is. You need a copy of his work George?”

“Do you have one?” George relaxed, “You’ll save my life if you do. Charity can be cutting when she’s upset.”

“Well thumbed. A fascinating work.” Rupert rang and when Mr Brindle appeared he said, “Can you get my copy of Kant’s Critique from the library.”

“Certainly sir.” A minute later he returned with a thick book. “Here it is.”

“Thank you. It’s for George.”

Rachel laughed when she saw the book, “A little light reading, Lord Beddlington?”

“The light of my life wishes I’d improve my mind, bring it up to her level, or at least closer to it.”

“I see, Sir.” Mr Brindle’s voice was dry, expressing his concern in the only way open to a servant.

George took the book from him and tried to read it, starting from the beginning of the eight-hundred pages of dense convoluted German.

“I say Gas,” he blurted, “This is in German.”

“Don’t you know German? It’s a language of great expressiveness.”

“Ein glass bier, bitte. Not much more than that. Enough to entertain the Prussian officers when they visit London. You don’t have an English translation?”

“No, and in any case it would be even longer. English isn’t as expressive as German.”

Rachel saw the distress on George’s face. “Lord Beddlington.”

“Please call me George. We’re all friends here.”

“Lord Beddlington, surely you can explain the circumstances to Miss Deacon. It wasn’t your fault that you were detained longer than expected.”

“I can try. Charity has fixed ideas about things, and philosophy is one of them. Bright woman you know. More educated and witty than I am.”

“I can’t imagine that she would hold it against you, especially if you showed up with flowers or some small gift.”

Rupert chuckled, “Was that a pun Rachel?”

“A pun?”

“I can’t.” Seeing that she didn’t understand him, he continued, “Immanuel Kant, I. Kant.” Overcome with his own wittiness he laughed.

Lucinda and Rachel eventually joined in.

George groaned, “What am I going to do?”

“Tell you what, Uncle. Read her questions to me and I’ll help you with the answers.”

“Like back in school?”

“Precisely, and I only ask one thing in return.”

“Anything Gas.”

“Please stop using that nickname.”

“As you say, Gas …

 
The featured image is “The New Spinet” by George C Kilburne.