Page 82 of Rough and Rugged

Her opinion, if followed by Philip, would certainly eliminate me.

After listening to her steady stream of views on every matter imaginable, I am relieved she approves of Betsy’s future plans for marrying my brother, however grudging her words. “That is probably the best she can do, having been brought up in this backwater neighborhood.”

How seriously will Philip listen to her?

The next morning, Betsy and I station ourselves in the corridor outside the drawing room while the countess is talking with the duke. Philip came reluctantly. He’d known her a long time; not well, but as a family friend. We were sent away from the room, but remained close by to listen. The dowager’s voice is loud, as if she is hard of hearing.

“I say, Duke,” Lady Broadmoor begins. “You are a young man thrust into a new position. Your battleground skill must be replaced by new abilities. The primary goal must be to reestablish your family’s future after the careless lack of responsibility shown by your uncle. I knew him well and found him a stain on your pedigree and a withered leaf on your family tree.”

If Philip replies, we cannot hear it.

She resumes her soliloquy. “As the new Duke of Aberfeld, you must make up for the failings of your uncle. You need a duchess to provide you with heirs and rebuild your family’s prominence in Society. Very important for her to have brilliant bloodlines, as my family does. She must have been raised in a household and among persons who have shaped her conduct to the highest levels of competence.”

I listen more closely.

“Not just any gel should marry a duke,” concludes Lady Broadmoor.

Philip’s response doesn’t pierce the door. However, I know he is eager to repair his family’s reputation, as well as the condition of the estate, so he might be paying attention to her.

When I speak to him later, he is unyielding.” Who tells me the requirements for my wife? Why should I listen to that old bat?”

I realize I am beyond my depth. No matter how I lust after Philip, I do not possess what it takes to be a duchess. How could I be in charge of the household and social obligations of a member of the highest rank in the nobility? I have no accomplishments; I never learned tunes on the fortepiano or to sing more than a nursery song. I do not sketch or paint in watercolours, nor do I wish to learn about flowers beyond enjoying their beauty and scents.

He says he loves me. But that is not a proposal of marriage, is it?

Chapter Six

ThenextdaywhenI go to Aberfeld House, I set two maids to cleaning and polishing the staircase. I cross the servants’ corridor into the library. Only two candles burn on the cabinet, either side of a small globe. I open the curtains, as dusty as they are, and search the shelves. I need to know what kind of women are duchesses. I’ve never met a single one.

I finally find DeBrett’sThe Peerage of the United Kingdom & Ireland, in two volumes, the seventh editions, considerably improved, volume one, England, London 1809.I carry the book to the window to read the small print.

I thumb through “Symbols of Heraldry, Coronets & Arms,” until I find the section titled “Peerage of England, Dukes,” containing a list with family histories. As I suspect, many duchesses are daughters of dukes or earls. Could I ever follow them? Simply asking the question provides the answer. I am a country girl, raised in a quiet village, my father a minor baron. The duchesses of Richmond, Gordon, Manchester, and Bedford, were all daughters of dukes. The famous Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, was the daughter of an earl. Even Georgiana’s successor as duchess, Bess she was called, was the daughter of an earl. As was the Duchess of Rutland. To say I feel inadequate is a great understatement.

Later, I name several duchesses who are daughters of dukes to Betsy. “Or daughters of earls, just like your cousins, Caroline and Regina. I could not possibly know what they know, growing up as they did—rich, in noble households.”

“But Meg, you can learn,” Betsy responds. “Philip does not know what it means to be a duke as yet, does he?”

“Chopping down trees while half naked probably isn’t one of the requirements for a ducal coronet.”

We laugh. But my heart is broken. I’ve not only overcome my aversion to Philip. I have actually kissed him, been fondled, and have felt my blood boil. I want him in the most carnal sense. Probably not how a potential duchess would behave, though eventually some of them produce nine or ten children.

I manage to avoid Philip until he leaves Aberfeld House the next morning. I take out my frustrations beating the dirt out of the carpets hanging on lines near the stables. With each whack, I pretend I am striking down the limitations Society imposes. I swing the rug beater with all my strength.Smack. A cloud of dust blows away in the breeze. I swing again and again until I am dizzy. I cannot let myself spend more time with the duke. I will hold him back, spoil his chances to make a success of himself. He needs a wife who already holds social standing. What if he realizes his mistake someday and resents me? I could not bear it. How do I break it off?

Later, I am in the Morning Room, folding freshly laundered linens. My mind is filled with would-be approaches to ending my obsession with Philip, and his with me. Last night while trying to sleep, I uncomfortably alternated between imagining ways I could break it off and disturbing visions of our farewells.

Philip suddenly walks through the doorway, massaging his left shoulder as he enters. “Good day, Meg,” he says, and his smile melts my heart. I make a half-curtsey and worry if my hair is drooping out from my mobcap. What will he think of my faded pinny and the clogs on my feet? I must look as frightful as I feel.

“Your Grace,” I exclaim. “I thought you would be out all day.”

“My shoulder cramped up this morning and my eyes are aching from lack of sleep. That Dowager woman is a threat to my sanity.”

Oh, how well I know that threat. Poor Philip. To avoid offending her, he had to be polite, respectful.

“I cannot silence the dowager or fix your aching shoulder, but I have just the remedy for tired eyes.”

Once I get him to stretch out on his bed and hold his arms still, I go to the kitchen, take a cucumber from the cold larder, and slice it

“What are you doing with those vegetables?” he asks when I return to his bedchamber.

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