Page 6 of The Trouble With Titles
“Nicholas, I am concerned for your health. Your leg has been stiffening up, your limp more pronounced. I wish for you to see the physician that has been recommended?—”
“Not this again! I am well and have no need for such things. I am an idle buck of the noble class with no chance of inheritingor making something meaningful of myself … Unless there is a lucky change in my circumstances.” Nicholas waved his crystal wineglass at the lame leg, which caused a physical sensation of regret to wash through Simon. “I shall live fast and expire young while I hold on to my Campbell good looks.”
Framed by the claret red wallpaper and bookcases, the morning sun filling the library with light, Nicholas appeared ghastly with his pale features and reddened eyes. “Where were John and Mother off to so early?”
It was a transparent change of subject, but Simon was at a loss for words. Attempting to talk to Nicholas when he had been out routing for as long as he had was pointless. Best to attempt this conversation when his brother had some sleep and some food in his belly.
“The coronation is this morning.”
“Ah! That explains those puffy breeches.”
As Baron of Blackwood, John was garbed in antique dress per the specifications laid out by the College of Arms at the King’s behest—a tight-fitting doublet with shining buttons. Gold and white breeches formed a puffy skirt, which stopped at the upper thighs to reveal a long expanse of white-stockinged legs. Heeled shoes along with a red velvet cape lined with ermine.
“Quite. The monarch had some ridiculous notions about what is to be worn by the lords. I am quite heartened to be a mere heir rather than suffer the indignity of what can only be classified as costume. It is unlikely there will be a coronation of suchgrandeuragain.” Simon’s voice was laced with sarcasm. He appreciated art and beauty, but this morning’s ceremony seemed more of a pompous spectacle. Their mother, the dowager Lady Blackwood, had been tittering in glee at his older brother’s ensemble when they had left for Westminster. The ladies were not afflicted with such silly adornment.
Nicholas chuckled, downing his port to smack the glass down on a side table. “I predict there will be humorous prints for sale come morning!”
It was not long before Nicholas limped up the stairs to find his bed. Simon went off to take care of baronial business. John might be the baron, but his health had been declining since their father had died eighteen months earlier, so it was Simon who had taken over managing the vast estates held by the Blackwood title. The work would not complete itself, and it would be better to keep his mind occupied until evening when he would need to deliver some unwelcome news. Tomorrow he would sacrifice much in the name of duty, and he must sever his ties to the past if he wished to claim he possessed any integrity as a gentleman.
Madeline toyedwith her apple and potato pie while her twin and Mama discussed the coronation over dinner. As private secretary to Uncle Reginald, Henrietta Bigsby was privy to information about the cost and organization of the ceremony held earlier that day, but Madeline was finding it difficult to participate, so she just listened while they chattered.
“Uncle Reggie says that Parliament provided one hundred thousand pounds! Can you believe such a princely sum for one event?”
Eleanor Bigsby tutted, her expression scandalized. “It is wasteful.”
Henri leaned forward, tapping her finger on the white linen tablecloth for emphasis. “That is not all. A further one hundred million francs came from French war reparations!”
Mama gasped. “That is a fortune!”
“Altogether it is close to two hundred and fifty thousand pounds! Uncle Reggie says it is twenty times more than the last coronation. Such outrageous extravagance! No members of Parliament will speak out about it publicly, but plenty at Commons are complaining in private. One could build a palace for such a sum. Or fund fifty foundling homes for the orphans of war.”
“Did Uncle Reginald attend the coronation?”
Henri shook her head, her honey brown hair glowing from the golden light of sunset. “Uncle Reggie could not obtain an invitation, but Lord Gwydyr invited him in to visit the Abbey last night to witness the preparations. The King’s procession arrived while he was still at Westminster.”
“It is a pity he could not witness it firsthand.”
“He managed to secure a seat to watch the banquet. There was a temporary gallery built within the hall. I look forward to hearing about it tomorrow.”
“You did not meet with him today?”
“Nay. We spoke last night when he returned home from Parliament, but he had to leave for Westminster early this morning.”
Henri had been at their great-uncle’s home the past few days to assist him with coronation-related duties. Visiting dignitaries, political soirées, and other functions had resulted in all hands on deck at Parliament. It was the first they had seen of her sister since the prior week.
“That is not all. Uncle Reggie says there are plans afoot to build out Buckingham House into a palace. Both Commons and Lords are anxious due to the King’s expensive tastes.”
Madeline pushed her plate away to sip on her watered-down wine. She did not know why her thoughts were plaguing her so. Last week she had enjoyed the pinnacle of career success, impressing even her mother, who was the premier titan ofmoulded stone in all of England. But it had been some time since she had wielded a chisel to craftobjets d’artwhich would act as templates for stone statues and ornaments to adorn the monumental buildings of the realm. She spent her days engaged in the business of manufactory, rather than the artistry she had once loved so.
All she could think about was that soon she would turn nine and twenty. She had made no definitive decision that she did not wish to wed one day. With time marching on, the decision to wed would soon be beyond her control. Talk of the coronation did nothing to distract her from the frustration of lonely nights. If she did not marry, she would never know the joy of her children.
Madeline was approaching a crossroads, but she did not know what she wanted to do about it.
She wished she could discuss the subject with Henri, but her sister had no interest in it. Henri enjoyed her work with Uncle Reginald, and never discussed courtship or settling down. Madeline had often wondered what her sister would do when Uncle Reginald finally left this world. He was getting on in years, so eventually she would need to make a change when their great-uncle … was no longer around to employ her.
Thinking of death did nothing to lift her desolate spirits, and soon she picked up her fork to poke at her pie once more until dinner was over.
After dinner, Madeline wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and headed to the walled garden. She would enjoy the evening sky, she decided. It was not at all because she hoped for a visit. Simon appeared less frequently with every passing year. Sometimes weeks would go by without him making an appearance. She knew there was no possibility of courtship between them, that his unfailing commitment to familial duty this past decade would never flag, but it was a secret joy when he did join her in their garden. It reminded her of happier times,when the future had held such potential, she could scarcely grasp the magnitude of her joy.
