The Reluctant Duchess (7 page)

“Oh, he was. He fired up my curiosity, making me not only want to learn but to see things for myself. Instead of asking ‘why’, he told me to ask ‘why not’.
I recall being terrified when he told me that we were to honeymoon in Spain, but he wouldn’t allow me to be frightened off.”

Annabelle smiled.

“I remember thinking that if he could see me from heaven, he would be terribly upset if I retreated back into my shell, as I felt like doing. I called upon you because you were the bravest woman that I knew and each time I left you, I felt as if some of your courage had rubbed off onto me.”

“Then I’m very glad that I could help.”

They worked in silence for a moment as Annabelle cut the square torte into a triangle, then began to make the caramel on the stove for the frosting.

“You’re sure it won’t go stale?” Lavinia asked.

“The butter in the caramel frosting will stop that, but it must be kept in a cool pantry.”

When she had finished, s
he put the cake under a wax sealed cake stand and then began working on the next torte.

“
Your Grace, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course my dear, but please call me Lavinia.
I know I have asked that many times but now we are cooking together, surely that makes us friends?”

“Very well, Lavinia.” Annabelle smiled shyly.

“So what did you want to ask me?”

“Well, it’s related, actually. I was wondering why… well…
it’s just that everyone calls you Your Grace or Duchess, but your title is actually Royal Highness or Princess.”

“Ah yes, but such grand titles come with expectation and of course, everyone fawns over a princess
. Sometimes I think that people would drink my tea for me if they could, we are such a coddled breed. To be honest, Your Grace is such a mouthful that if it hadn’t been my husband’s title, I should probably prefer being called Lady.”

Annabelle smiled.

“I notice that you prefer the title of Miss rather than Lady”

“That is more a matter of stature. I do not have the trappings of a Lady, nor the wealth.
‘Miss’ is a much more fitting title. Besides, for me Lady is just a courtesy title thanks to my father’s rank, I have no real right to be addressed as Lady.”

“I have always felt that status
was a matter of attitude, rather than wealth. Believe me, I have met many tradesmen in my years and their money, no matter how much they have, is no substitute for good breeding.”

“Perhaps but then, I know
of gentlemen who are far from gentle.” The next utterance was muttered but Lavinia still heard. “Far from men even, if you ask me.”

“It’s true, which is why I value
character above all else.”

Just then Richard wandered in from above stairs. “There you are. Where are the servants?”

“I sent them back to the main house to eat with the others,” Lavinia answered. “I wanted to get to know our guest a little better.”

Richard reached out for the
bowl of chocolate butter that Annabelle was using, intending to try a taste but a swift slap to his wrist stopped him.

“You dare strike me, woman!” Richard pantomimed as he picked up a
pallet knife. “
En garde
!”

Annabelle laughed. “Is he always this ridiculous?” she asked Lavinia.

“Not often these days but yes, he gets it from his father.”

“I see you will not fight me, you cowards, leaving me no choice but to sit down and sulk.” Richard bent to kiss his mother’s cheek,
then sat next to her. “So, how go the preparations?” he asked.

“Very well,” Annabelle answered. “The tortes are the most complex dish for tomorrow, and I am about half way through.
Next I’ll make the choux pastry buns. The biscuits and
beignets
will have to wait until tomorrow, as will the chocolate cream but I can make the pear compote, the Bakewell tart and part of the trifle today.”

“Bakewell tart?” Richard asked in surprised.

Lavinia shrugged. “I have always wanted to try one.”

“And what are we having on Sunday?”

“Caramel soufflé,
mille-feuille
, raspberry crescent roll, macedoine of fruits with jelly and
pain à la duchesse
.” Annabelle answered.

“Duchess bread?” he asked with a smile. “Fitting but what is it exactly?”

“Long, thin choux pastry rolls, filled with cream and topped with chocolate.”

“Sounds lovely.” Seeing the off
cut from the first torte, he got a plate out for it, deciding to frost it, although first he had to steal his mother’s frosting. She just smiled as he pulled her bowl away and set about making herself some more.

Annabelle smiled as she observed them.

“Will you join us for dinner again?” Richard asked.

“
Thank you but I’d better not,” Annabelle said, surprised to realise that it was with some reluctance. Still, there was no way she was going to get everything she needed done and still have time to get dressed up for dinner.

“Then it will have to be lunch. I had the kitchen prepare some sandwiches which I left covered in the parlour, and we can have my cake for des
sert,” he announced, proudly displaying his frosted torte offcut.

“That sounds lovely,” Lavinia smiled.
“Why don’t you take some plates and set up in the parlour and we’ll join you in a moment.”

Annabelle was a little upset about being taken away from her cooking but she supposed that she had to eat, so she bit her tongue,
although she did insist on finishing her current torte before she joined them. She was a little distracted though, wanting to get back to her work, until Richard cut up his cake creation. In places the frosting was paper thin, while in others it was an inch thick. Whilst she tried her hardest not to laugh, she couldn’t help it and when Lavinia joined in, they just fuelled each other’s mirth, continuing until they had tears in their eyes. To his credit, Richard didn’t seem to take offence and just sat watching them, enjoying their pleasure and his inexpertly frosted cake.

When they finally left,
Annabelle got back to work, doing as much as she could in preparation for tomorrow. When she was done, she was exhausted so after a quick dinner, she headed to bed for an early night.

She rose early t
he next day and spent it in a similar fashion, crafting cakes, biscuits and other sweet treats. When she was finally done with that day’s treats, she moved onto the desserts for the hunting party the next day. Both Richard and Lavinia stopped in to thank her but she was too busy to stop and chat for long and sensing her reticence, they quickly left her.

Sunday morning was a rush to get everything finished in time and still give herself enough time to get ready. Thankfully the kitchen maids, Sarah and Mary, were both efficient and had quickly learned how she worked and how best to help her with the recipes. Finally she had done as much as she could and with one final look over her offerings, she declared them ready. The maids set about transporting them to the house, as Annabelle headed to her room.

Laid out in her bedroom was the dress for today,
a dusky rose pink gown which was exquisite in its simplicity.

She ignored the dress for now a
nd had a quick wash, then let Carol do her hair, although Annabelle instructed her to do it simply and keep the look of the curls. Carol did so, loosely pinning the hair back, leaving a few tendrils loose around her neck and in front of her ears. She finished the look with a dozen tiny fabric roses, which matched her dress.

As
Annabelle looked at her reflection, she felt as if she belonged in a renaissance painting.

“Thank you, Carol, it looks absolutely lovely.
”

Carol just smiled and helped her into her corset and dress.
The carriage was waiting for her and the driver gave her a double take, before realising who she was and getting down from the perch to help her into the carriage. As she alighted at the Manor, she felt her nerves come back full force and considered asking the driver to take her back. Then she remembered Lavinia; how brave she had been after her husband died, and how hurt she would be if Annabelle didn’t turn up.

She was already late since the hunting party
convened this morning, but she was in time for lunch and the gathering would last for the rest of the afternoon, probably into the night as most guests were staying over.

The housekeeper showed her out into the garden, where the most spectacular display had been set up about fifty feet from the house. A long
, open sided gazebo-like tent had been erected and a long row of tables and chairs sat under it. The table was covered in white linen tablecloths, full place settings and elaborate table ornaments and flowers lined the centre. The top of the tent had also been decorated with flowers and the tent poles had been covered with ivy.

A second smaller
, open sided tent had been erected not far from the first, which was being used to serve refreshments and later, would be used to help the servants serve lunch.

The ladies were just milling about at the moment,
although most of them stayed in the shade of the tent. A few even had parasols to shade them from the sun. She recognised most of the people here from events that her father had given over the years, although there were some new or changed faces that she couldn’t recall. She doubted that many people would recognise her since she had been so young when they last saw her.

A servant came up with a tray of drinks and Annabelle chose a glass of
fortified wine, in the hopes that it might calm her nerves.

“When will the hunting party be back?” she asked the server.

He took his pocket watch out and checked it. “In approximately thirty minutes, Ma’am.”

“Thank you.” He nodded his acceptance and moved away.

Annabelle headed closer to the others and was grateful when Lavinia spotted her and came over, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Annabelle, darling, I’m so glad you could come.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“You look absolutely divine.”

Annabelle blushed in reply and Lavinia took one hand in both of hers.

“Yo
u really have nothing to fear, Darling just stay with me and I shall make sure that you have fun.”

“Oh no, really, this is your party-”

“And I shall spend my time with who I want to. Truthfully, I find most of these ladies dreadfully dull. I’m afraid that since my husband educated me in the ways of the world, I have little patience for fashion or small talk.”

“But you always look so good, and the table must have taken you days of work.”

“I simply have servants that I have taught well and that I trust, and a talented dressmaker who has my measurements and knows my tastes. I must conform to what Society demands, but that doesn’t stop me from finding ways around what I dislike.”

“So why host a party and invite people you don’t like?”

“This party isn’t for me, it’s for Richard; coming out of mourning was simply my excuse. He has been hesitant to embrace his new role, as if somehow he feels like he’s trying to replace his father but he must embrace it. This is just my way of gently breaking him in to his new status.”

“By inviting half of England?”

“He has met almost everyone here before, I just want him to see that having his father’s title doesn’t actually change very much and if I must be the excuse for this gathering, then that is a burden that I am happy to shoulder.”

Annabelle smiled.

“I really do wish that he would cut his hair though,” Lavinia lamented. “I understand that when you’re at war in a strange country, finding a barber isn’t a priority but he’s home now; it’s time to smarten up.”

“It’s probably part of not wanting to assume his father’s mantle,” Annabelle suggested. “Although I have to say, I quite like the hair.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that, he will never cut it again! Although I suppose it is preferable to those wigs that were all the rage a while back.”

Annabelle nodded her
agreement; she was no fan of those wigs either.

Lavinia took
Annabelle’s elbow and began introducing her to a few people. No one mentioned the coffee house, for which she was grateful. She noticed that some people referred to Lavinia by her name and others by her title. Most fell into the latter category.

She
and Lavinia were talking with a woman called Sophie, when she spotted the men heading towards them from the woods. She searched the crowd and quickly spotted Richard. He was wearing fawn britches with knee high boots, and the image of him caused her heartbeat to quicken for a moment.

It
then stopped completely for a beat when she saw who was beside him. Frederick Wyatt, the Marquess of Dorset and her half-brother. He was far more rotund that she remembered, older, his hair seemed oily but there was no mistaking those mean, beady eyes. She quickly turned her attention back to Sophie and drank a few more sips of her wine, managing to turn her back to the men as they approached.