DESPITE HER PRIVATE MISGIVINGS, C.J. tried to take comfort in her “aunt’s” complete certainty and pressed her for further details about Darlington’s misunderstood distaff relation. “Then what happened with Augusta and Lord Oliver? Clearly, they did marry, since she is Lady Oliver.”
“It was the wedding of the season,” Lady Dalrymple explained. “But the embers on the marital hearth were barely banked when Oliver bolted, abandoning his new bride. If the match had been purely for pragmatic purposes, Augusta might have been better able to bear her burden, but she had become quite smitten with the rake and truly believed his fervent declarations of love. Having never received the ardent attentions of any suitor, Gustie was completely taken in. To compound the betrayal, Oliver had absconded with both of Augusta’s younger sisters.”
“Well, you did say that Abigail and Arabel shared everything,” C.J. commented, attempting to conceal her shock. She had read a good deal about the Georgian era being a licentious time, compared with later periods, but a scandal along the magnitude of the aftermath of Lady Oliver’s nuptials would have even shocked Hollywood.
“I suppose, Cassandra, that this was their last act of sharing. The day after the wedding, the three of them fled to Switzerland, leaving Augusta to mourn her loss and face the censorious world alone.”
“And her sisters?”
“Scandalized. Entirely ruined.”
C.J.’s eyes widened.
“And Lord Oliver had his father to rights regarding his inheritance,” the countess continued. “He had indeed wed before his twenty-fifth birthday; the ceremony was legal, and there was nothing the father could do to renege on the bargain he had made with his renegade son. So Oliver inherited the land and the title, and his bride of one night earned the right to be called Lady Oliver.”
C.J. shook her head. “And Owen Percival—Percy is . . . ?”
“Abigail’s son. His mother sent him back to England to be raised by his austere aunt so that he could take his place in society. His younger brother, Jack, later earned the same privilege.”
“But Percy is the Earl of Darlington. Then he was not Lord Oliver’s son?”
“For the briefest space of time that was thought to be the case. However, soon after the Arundel sisters arrived in Switzerland, Oliver tired of Abigail and concentrated his attentions on Arabel. She lived as his paramour after Lord Arundel successfully petitioned the Consistory Court in London for a divorce a mensa et thoro on behalf of his eldest daughter. The twins never spoke to each other again. The bohemian Abigail recovered from her broken heart with astonishing alacrity and married Peregrine Percival, Lord Darlington, the adventurer who had gotten her with child a few months after her departure from Oliver’s ménage. Percy was born legitimate, though conceived as a love child. His parents permitted him to join them on their archaeological excursions in countries as far-flung as India, believing the experiences there would expand his educational horizons better than any tutor might do. During Percy’s early childhood, both Peregrine and Abigail, possessed with a certain wanderlust, traveled the world over while their eldest son was afforded the finest opportunities and an English education under the exalted eye of his abandoned aunt.”
C.J. assayed one of the rout drop cakes, which she discovered tasted more of fragrance than flavor. Perhaps it was the rosewater. She lifted the heavy silver coffee pot and poured for her “aunt,” filling the cup only halfway.
The dowager topped off her cup with cream. “Like Portly and me, the elder Percival was one of those aristocrats who enjoyed flouting convention. Some considered him merely eccentric, but most branded him outrageous. Yet Peregrine never laid store by what others thought of him. You must know, Niece, it is endemic to the Percival men that once they fall in love—no matter what unfortunate circumstances may have befallen the object of their affections—rabid dogs could not dampen, diminish, or dissolve the desire to woo and win their ladyloves. It’s quite medieval!” Lady Dalrymple said gleefully. “To my memory, every Lady Darlington has had a ‘past,’ and nonetheless, the Percivals have pursued each of them like the Holy Grail.”
“Where is everyone now?” C.J. asked curiously, thinking that her past would trump them all.
“Gone. All dead, except for Augusta and Percy. Arabel died of ague in 1791. A year later, Oliver took a nasty fall down a flight of stairs and never recovered. Abigail and Peregrine both perished during a devastating monsoon in India. The old earl—Peregrine—left his estate, Delamere, in quite a shambles too.”
“What kind of divorce did you say Lady Oliver won?”
“A mensa et thoro. One can only obtain a divorce by petitioning the ecclesiastical court assigned to handle such matters. Lord Arundel’s solicitors appeared on behalf of him and his daughter at the Consitory Court in Doctors’ Commons in London. Neither spouse may testify, and only the aristocracy has access to such a procedure. It is extremely costly, but as Arundel was quite close to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who sat just a few feet away from him in the House of Lords, several special dispensations that are ‘not on the books,’ as they say, were granted him.”
Lady Dalrymple smiled slyly. “Nothing, of course, should be inferred by his lordship’s sudden and extreme generosity to the Church by way of a rather large land grant. The nature of Augusta’s decree permits neither spouse to ever remarry, but effects a separation that is legally recognized by the Church of England.”
C.J. could not stop shaking her head in wonderment at the magnitude of the scandal. “I suppose Augusta never spoke to her sisters after that fateful day?”
“Only as concerned Abigail’s son. She never again exchanged a word with her estranged husband. Everything was settled by the legal representatives on either side.” Lady Dalrymple placed her coffee cup on the large silver tray. “Which reminds me. I must make arrangements to speak with
