been used for many years. This will require a deal of cleaning and refurbishment but will be ideal for my purposes.”
Mary ignored this unusual suggestion. “Sam is sending one of the men ahead to reserve accommodation for us, your grace. In your delicate condition it would be best if we completed the journey slowly.”
“Thank you, Mary. I’m not looking forward to being jounced around when I feel so sick and will be happy to travel an easy stages.”
Being left in idleness gave her too much time to think. She was not the quiet, timid girl who had married Alexander a year ago. Today she was able to stand her ground and insist her husband did as she requested. The horror of a public scandal should work in her favour this time. She would agree to act as his hostess if there were guests, but the remainder of the time she would remain in the east wing surrounded by those she trusted.
She prayed the baby would be a boy. Although she no longer had any feelings for Alexander she had spoken her vows in the house of God. By refusing to share his bed she was breaking them. Therefore, if she produced an heir at least she could leave knowing he had the son he so desperately wanted.
The Marquis of Newcomb, as his son would be called, would have everything a baby needed without his mother being in residence. No doubt the baby would be removed from her as soon as he was born even if she did remain and be given over to an army of retainers. A nanny brought out of retirement would hand him to a wet nurse. Isobel would have no control over his well-being and only see him when the nanny chose to bring him down. Someone of her status was not expected to be involved in childcare, merely to produce the necessary children.
This was a highly unsatisfactory system but quite normal in wealthy and aristocratic households. Even in her own home she had seen little of her parents when she was young. Fortunately
However she’d recently read in a pamphlet about such matters—this had stated quite categorically that all mothers, not just the poor folk, should feed their children themselves. The author was calling for women at every level to do what nature intended. She shrugged. This was another decision she could put off for a few months.
She would dearly like to have visited with her family during the few weeks she had been in Norfolk. Although Home Farm was less than fifty miles from her birthplace she hadn’t dared to go to Bracken Hall. Her father would have sent word immediately. He knew which side his bread was buttered and would not risk offending the duke. Being with child was making her maudlin—she must stifle the feeling and be strong.
They travelled at a leisurely pace taking three days to complete the distance. The gig, which contained staff and baggage, had gone ahead in order to ensure the overnight accommodation was suitable. When the carriage turned through the gates of Newcomb Isobel’s confidence slipped. Making rash decisions was one thing, but carrying them through in the face of her formidable husband might prove a different proposition.
Mary fussed with her bonnet, shook out the folds of the travelling cloak and smiled a trifle nervously as the vehicle rocked to a halt outside the enormous building. Isobel expected the usual army of liveried footmen to pour from the front door. Foster and Maynard would no doubt be waiting to greet her with sneering faces.
To her astonishment the door remained closed. She stepped down and stared at the building only now seeing the shutters were closed. The house was unoccupied. Alexander had removed to Grosvenor Square. He had shut the house and given up on her.
She felt a moment’s regret but forced it away. So much the better; she would have free rein to set herself up before he heard of her return. There must be a skeleton staff, fires had to be lit on a regular basis or the place would become damp and uninhabitable during the winter months.
“Mary, ask Sam to hammer on the door. There must be someone in.”
Mary relayed the message through the window and Sam dismounted and went to speak to the others sitting in the gig. Othello and Ebony whined to be released. She pushed open the carriage door and let them out to explore their new home. They had never been here but it would soon become familiar territory. Animals didn’t worry about etiquette and preserving their good name; if they wished to relieve themselves a hovel was as good as a palace.
Sam’s thunderous knocking eventually produced the required result. The door was unbolted and a flustered middle-aged woman, with her cap askew and her apron strings flapping, gawped out at him. This was not someone Isobel recognized.
“His grace has moved to London. The house is under covers and I haven’t been told to expect any visitors.”
“My good woman, her grace, the Duchess of Rochester, has returned. You’ll do well to mind your tongue.”
The servant glanced at the travelling carriage. On seeing her the servant paled and threw her apron over her face as if by so doing she would become invisible.
Isobel laughed. “This is quite ridiculous.” She walked forward and gently pulled the apron down. “My arrival is totally unexpected. I don’t intend to live in the main part of the house. As soon as it can be cleaned I shall remove to the east wing.”
The woman was too distressed to do more than curtsy clumsily and step to one side to allow her to enter. About a dozen servants were arriving, hurriedly buttoning livery and straightening their caps. They more or less curtsied and bowed in unison.
Sam and Mary took charge leaving Isobel to head for the small parlour at the rear of the house which would be far easier to heat than any of the enormous rooms.
The maid curtsied nervously. “I’m acting housekeeper here, Smith’s the name, your grace. His grace has taken the rest to Grosvenor Square. There’s no one left inside, apart from us few. And all the grooms and such have gone with him and all the horses too.”
This was exactly the news Isobel wanted. Without the objectionable Maynard and Foster to interfere she might well be installed in the east wing with her own people around her before Alexander became aware of her presence at Newcomb.
“I am delighted to hear you say so. I’ve need of loyal staff of my own. From now on you’re in my employ and shall become
A tall young man bowed to her. “If I may be permitted to speak, your grace. There’s nothing we’d like more than to serve you. We’ve not had an easy time working here. We’re all recently taken on, that’s why Mrs Maynard and Mr Foster left us here on half pay.”
“Good— I require my staff to be loyal to
A chorus of assent ran round the circle. Satisfied she had made progress in her desire to be recognized as a person in her own right, and not merely an adjunct of the duke, she left her staff to get on with what they did best. In less than an hour she was warm and cosy and drinking tea served on the best china.
The next few days were a bustle of activity as her minions cleaned and prepared the east wing for her. Mary insisted she remained with her feet up, reading and sewing.
“The east wing is in good shape, my lady, considering how long it has been left unoccupied.”
“How long before I can move in?”
“I’ve fires burning in every chamber. I reckon the place will be warm and dry in no time. The furniture and curtains you’ve selected from here are being transferred this afternoon. Sam says you can come and see for yourself later on.”
At three o’clock, just as night was drawing in, Sam escorted Isobel from Newcomb and around to her new home. This section was accessed by its own front door and there were no communicating entrances. The east wing was beginning to look like a place where she could be comfortable. The ceilings here were considerably lower, the rooms less vast and although it did not have the modern appointments of Newcomb, it made up for it in other ways. The building was of ancient construction and had been the original Newcomb before the current monstrosity had been added by Alexander’s grandfather.
