A Lady’s Reward – A Regency Romance
The Village of Ashworthy was large by English standards. Most of it was owned by Mr. Daniel Pickford, the owner of the mill where a high percentage of the population worked. Mr. Pickford demanded much of his employees. He was one of the new rich, part of the an elite group of industrialists whose wealth had multiplied incalculably during the industrial revolution. For those unfortunate enough to work for him, it was a living hell. Fifteen-hour shifts for little pay, six days a week.
Victoria was just eighteen, but she had already been working in the mill for three years. She was by far the most beautiful woman at the mill, and Mr. Pickford had earmarked her for a job as one of his assistants. Mr. Pickford's assistants didn't work in the traditional sense of the word. They waited. It was not their job to turn up at the mill and do a shift with the others; it was their job to go to Mr. Pickord's special cottage and make sure they looked pretty, in case he came to see them. As Mr. Pickford liked to have plenty of choice, he had four assistants. He always chose young unmarried women; he didn't care for husbands. They caused him to look over his shoulder too much. Victoria was next on the list as soon as one of the current incumbents decided to marry.
''You ain't like us,'' Mary had told Victoria when she'd first come to the mill from the village school. ''You're posh.'' Mary was the forewoman and not to be quarreled with. Victoria had been terrified on her fist day, indeed the first week, and the greeting Mary had given her, had done nothing to improve her state of mind. She'd taken comfort in the fact that almost the whole of her school class had come to work there with her. They all thought she was posh too, but they were used to her ways.
''You're far too intelligent to go to the mill,'' Mr. Jameson, her teacher, had told her. ''You should school yourself some more, and be a teacher, or at the very least a governess.''
''But sir, we have very little money, and I'm afraid if I don't work, we may want for food,'' she'd replied. ''My father is not well, and as you know, my mother passed away three years ago.''
Victoria lived with her father in a small cottage for which they paid rent to Mr. Pickford. Her father also worked at the mill and had done so since before Victoria was born. He was well spoken and gentle. The village had been rife with speculation when he'd arrived to live there with his well-to-do wife, for it was obvious that they didn't belong in a small cottage or at the mill. The rumor that held most credit among the villagers was that he'd been disinherited for marrying an Irish woman.
Her parents didn't tell her much about their lives before Ashworthy. All she knew was that her father was English, and her mother Irish. Her mother had mentioned Cork a few times but nothing more. What Victoria did know, was that her mother had an Irish temper. Red haired and fiery, the villagers preferred to keep out of her way.
''You'll be coming to church tomorrow, won't you?'' Lizzie asked as she and Victoria were leaving the mill on Saturday evening after fifteen hours. It was April and almost dark.
''Of course. Since my father became ill, I've never missed a Sunday service. I just hope the good Lord hears my prayers. It's not nice for him lying in bed every day waiting for me to come home.''
The two girls walked together down the hill and into the village. They parted company where they always did at the village green.
''Victoria, can I walk with you?'' It was Jack, the son of the mill foreman. Just eighteen and already six feet tall he looked like a walking coat hanger. He was one of those boys that first shot up in height, and some years later filled out. The filling out hadn't yet taken place.
''I've only got a couple of yards to go,'' she replied, thankful that he'd only caught up with her so close to home.
''Perhaps on another occasion,'' he hung his head and walked across the green, scattering a group of grazing sheep.
Their cottage was on the west side of the green, opposite Lizzie's house. All the cottages were the same on the outside. A front door in the middle, with a window on the left and right. Upstairs two bedroom windows. All had a thatched roof and a small garden at the front.
Victoria looked at her reflection in the window as she walked up the path to the door. She was a tall woman with strawberry blonde hair, a mix of her father's blonde and her mother's ginger. Her feet were aching, and she badly wanted to sit down with a cup of tea. She opened the door and, as usual, took off her bonnet before shouting to her father. Only on this day, there was no reply. He had died in bed twenty minutes before Lizzie got home.
*****
The Duke of Haslemere had more land than any other member of the aristocracy except the King himself. His Dukedom was made up of three estates, two had been in the family since Magna Carta, and the third was a more recent acquisition. His residence was Easingborough Hall. A twenty-five bedroom mansion set in three hundred acres of parkland. His Spanish wife had only been able to bear him one child, Edward, now twenty. Edward was a handsome man. Tall and slender, he had his mother's hair color, black, and his father's green eyes.
In all, the Dukedom had around five hundred tenants. Not many of them had much respect for the Duke. Extortionate rent increases and regular evictions were commonplace, ample explanation why there were so few mourners at his funeral.
Edward held onto his mother's arm as they followed the coffin into the church. He had just inherited a massive fortune and a lot of responsibility. More sensitive than his father, the tenants were hoping for an upturn in their fortunes. Edward counted thirty-two people in the church, including the vicar, the organist, his mother and himself. Just twenty-eight out of five hundred, he hoped more would turn up when it was his turn.
Edward didn't have an easy first few weeks. The old Duke, his father, had surrounded himself with men as unscrupulous as himself. The official title for each of these gentlemen was 'Estate Manager.' Edward likened them to crooks when he discussed the estate with his mother.
''Anyone over the age of sixty may live in our houses free of rent until death,'' he'd announced at their first meeting, to wails of anguish and cries of no.
''I believe it is my property now, is it not?'' he'd added. He waited for each of them had to nod before continuing. ''In that case, I will do as I see fit, not as you see fit. Things are going to change around here, starting today.'' His eyes narrowed, and he pointed at each of them in turn. ''Thank you for serving my father so faithfully over the years but the time has come for us to part.'' The estate managers looked at each other in disbelief.
''You mean you don't want us to work for you anymore?'' one of the wanted to know.
''That is correct,'' he smiled. ''I have arranged an alternative job for each of you at Manor Farm under Mr. Jespon.'' Mr. Jepson was six feet five and a former bare knuckle fighter. He was a good farmer, and he'd taught Edward a lot about the workings of the land. He'd often told Edward that once he was Duke, he should do things differently and get rid of his father's team of crooks.
''If you want, send them to me, and I'll make sure they find out what real work is,'' Jepson had told him. When Jepson was informed that Edward was indeed going to carry out his suggestion, he'd danced around a milk churn until he became dizzy. That day Edward made three enemies and gained five hundred admirers.
When he returned to Easingborough Hall after that meeting, he'd found his mother was making preparations to move into the dowager house.
''Mother you look tired. You should let the servants do more,'' he told her. The English climate had made her skin paler over the years. When she'd arrive from Spain, she was very dark. Now much paler, Edward could see dark rings under her eyes. ''You don't have to move into the dowager house. What on earth will I do here in this enormous house alone?''
''One day you will find yourself a wife, and fill some of those bedrooms with children. You won't want your mother around when that happens,'' she replied.
He had feared his father, but he loved his mother. She had been kind to him and regularly defended him against her husband when he'd reached for the cane. The Spanish were more pleasant to children than the English; they didn't beat them or send them away to boarding schools.
''Would you help me sort some of your father's things? There are boxes and boxes of papers and documents. I have no idea where to begin,'' she asked. ''They're in his bedroom.''
Later Edward went into his father's room and began to do what his mother had asked him. There were six boxes placed in a row at the end of the bed. The room was large and had a fantastic view over the garden. Edward hadn't realized that his parents didn't share the same bed until he was thirteen. His mother had removed herself when he was five, no longer able to bear the whiskey fumes and incessant snoring.
It took Edward three evenings to reach the last box. At first, he'd wondered why the boxes weren't in his father's study but soon came to realize that he'd kept these letters under the bed for a reason. He'd had mistresses. Lots of them, and it appeared he had tried wherever possible to keep in touch with them, even when they were no longer sharing his bed. Edward read a lot of letters at first but soon tired of the same amorous language. As far as he could see, they were just love letters and of no real importance and certainly not to be seen by his mother. He'd get Roberts to burn them.
On the third evening, he pulled the last box to him and opened it. More scented letters and fancy ribbons. He was grateful that the tedious task was almost over. He was just about to give up, fearing all the letters in the box were love letters when he spotted an unopened envelope.
The letter was in a white envelope. It was a letter his father had written to someone but never sent. Edward read the address: Captain Landsborough, Landsborough Hall, Landsborough Estate. Why had his father not sent the letter? His father was dead and couldn't object, so Edward opened it.
Dear Captain Landsborough,
It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance the other evening.
I must say it was foolhardy of you to risk your ownership of the Landsborough Estate in a simple game of cards. Of course, I mustn't complain at having won it from you, but it was nonetheless foolhardy.
The reason for my letter is thus: I have heard that you are under investigation by the Army. It seems they have an objection to one of their captains gambling in the manner to which you seem to have become accustomed.
I understand the hearing is Tuesday next, and the possible punishment is a dishonorable discharge.
Under the circumstances, I feel it would be inappropriate of me to see you penniless. I, therefore, propose to return your estate to you and your wife. It was after all just a game of cards which unfortunately became unseemly.
I will instruct my lawyers to issue the paperwork forthwith.
Yours
John
Duke of Haslemere
A card game? Who puts up a whole estate as collateral in a card game, Edward thought? Father is obviously writing about the Landsborough Estate. But we still own it, so he didn't give it back. Why didn't he send this letter?
Over the course of the next few days, he asked as many people about the Landsborough Estate as possible. The Duke had acquired it a year before Edward was born, twenty-one years ago. Some older tenants told him that it used to belong to a family called Landsborough. Apparently they moved away, but none of them knew why. All of them just assumed they had sold it to the Duke for the money. Even Jepson didn't know, and he ran the largest farm on the Landsborough Estate.
''Mother, what do you know about the Landsborough Estate?'' Edward asked at dinner.
''It's three thousand acres, that much I know, and not much more.''
''Three thousand acres is large. We've only owned it for twenty-one years, do you know how father acquired it?''
Roberts, the butler, looked at Edward as he placed the salmon on the table. He was relieved the young man had his mother's character, not his father's. ''You're father bought it from the Landsboroughs.''
No, he won it in a ridiculous game of cards, but didn't dare tell you, because you are kind and wouldn't have allowed him to keep it, Edward thought. ''Thank you mother, I just wondered, that's all.''
*****
Victoria was allowed one day off to bury her father. Few people came to the funeral. Lizzie came to comfort Victoria, and there were a couple of direct neighbors from the village. The vicar, seeing so few people, decided to do away with any singing, and the said service lasted just ten minutes. When the pallbearers lowered the coffin into the grave, Victoria collapsed into Lizzie's arms and wept.
Victoria's father had left some money for his funeral. She had hated him talking about it, but he'd told her they had to be practical. Now she was grateful to him. On her wages, it would have taken her whole lifetime to pay the undertaker.
''How are you bearing up?'' Mr. Pickford asked. He'd told Mary to bring her to his office on the day after the funeral. Victoria was standing in the middle of the room as he walked around her.
''I'm as well as can be expected Mr. Pickford,'' she answered politely.
''It's a shame. I liked your father. He was a good worker, never missed a day until his illness started.'' He continued to circle her, gawking at her breasts. He was small, and he had a large pot belly, which he tried to hide behind a baggy waistcoat with a gold watch chain dangling across it. He also tried to cover up his considerable bald patch by dragging strands of hair ridiculous distances across his head. ''I want to help you. It can't be easy now you're alone,'' he spluttered, his jowls shaking. ''At the moment I have a full contingency of assistants, but as soon as one leaves, I would like you to take her place. I have it on good authority that there will be a vacancy very soon. What do you say?''
Victoria had heard all about his assistants, and she knew perfectly well what their job entailed. Of course, they were well paid and didn't have to endure the dark and damp conditions, or the working hours that she did. But she was never going to be anybody's lady of the evening. ''No thank you, Mr. Pickford, I'm quite content where I am.''
He didn't like her reply. He'd been eyeing her up for many months, and he wanted her badly. ''Well, that's very disappointing Victoria. I had hoped we could get to know each other better. Is that your final word on the matter?'' When she nodded, he took hold of her arm and hissed into her ear. ''That's not a very sensible decision, I'll give you a day to think about it. If you continue to refuse, we'll see if a drop in wages and an increase in hours will do anything to change your mind.''
As usual, she walked home with Lizzi. When they reached the green, their usual parting place, Victoria turned to her. ''Lizzie, do you think you can come and help me. I should go through father's things, but it is terribly upsetting. Would you come and sit with me while I do so?''
''Of course.'' Lizzie took hold of her arm. When they got to the cottage, Jack was hanging on the metal fence that surrounded the tiny garden.
''Were you waiting for me?'' Victoria asked.
''Er.....'' he said, put off by Lizzie's presence. ''Yes I was, but I can see you have company. I'll come back another time.''
''He wants you,'' Lizzie said when he'd gone.
''I know, awful isn't it? He looks like a pole.''
Lizzie nodded in agreement as she watched him cross the far side of the green and disappear between the pub and the church. ''But he could offer you some security, and you wouldn't be alone anymore. His dad's foreman and Jack could be one day.''
''Lizzie Earnshaw. If you weren't my friend, I'd wallop you. How could you think that I'd have the slightest interest in Jack?''
Lizzie was only trying to help. She still had her parents and couldn't bear to imagine what it would be like to lose them. ''Sorry.'' The two went inside, Lizzie suddenly aware of the finality of death.
The cottage was just like all the others, tiny. The front door led to a short corridor, the sitting room to the right and the stairs straight ahead, to the side of the stairs, a kitchen. The two ladies took off their coats and bonnets and hung them on a hook in the corridor.
''I'll light the fire in father's bedroom, it's a chilly evening,'' Victoria said. Upstairs there was a small landing with two bedrooms off it. When the fire was roaring, Victoria closed the door and took a deep breath.
''I really don't want to do this, but I suppose I can't leave father's things here forever. Lizzie will you take the things from the chest of drawers and put them in these boxes.'' She pointed to some tatty cardboard boxes she had taken from goods inward at the mill. ''It's mostly socks and underwear, and the odd belt and pairs of braces. I'll start in the wardrobe.'' She remembered when she and her father had gone through the same process after the death of her mother. Her father hadn't been able to cope, and he'd gone downstairs and left Victoria to it.
''Mr. Pickford has asked me to be one of his assistants,'' Victoria said, eager to divert her attention away from the job at hand.
''No.'' Lizzie gasped. ''You know what that means don't you? My mother told me what his assistants do, and it had precious little to do with anything at the mill.''
''I refused him, but he told me I should think very carefully about it otherwise he would cut my wages and make me work longer hours.'' Victoria put one of her father's jackets to her nose, hoping to gain some comfort from it, but it only smelled of moth balls.''
''How terrible. I sometimes think life would be far easier if one were plain. Men would leave you alone then,'' Lizzie observed. She was pretty but not beautiful like Victoria. She was shorter, and her bosom was more obvious, as was the curve of her hips and bottom. Brown hair and blue eyes also set her apart from her friend. Mr. Pickford had considered Lizzie for a job as an assistant but her father was over six feet and revered in the village after he'd beaten three men in a fight. The men, drunk at the time, had insulted his wife outside the village shop.
''You are right. What am I to do? If I become one of his ladies, no man will want me.''
''I don't know about that. Plenty of them get married and leave. If you're beautiful, men will turn a blind eye.'' Lizzie took a handful of socks and put them into one of the boxes. ''What shall I do with this green box?'' It had appeared when she'd moved the socks that were covering it.
''Let me look.'' Victoria took it from her. It was wooden, about the size of a shoe box. She put in on the bed and sat down next to it. The lid came off easily, and inside she saw a disorderly pile of letters and documents. When she lifted the papers, she saw three military medals. Lizzie, feeling depressed by the task at hand, sat down on the bed next to her. Perhaps there would be something intriguing in the box to make the event happier.
Victoria took out a brown envelope and looked at the front of it. There was just one line, written in black ink, 'The Landsborough Estate.' Inside there was a solitary piece of white paper.
''What is it?'' Lizzie asked anxiously.
''I don't know. It's a letter from an architect about some building works on a place called Landsborough Hall on the Landsborough Estate. She took out the next envelope. It was a letter from a firm of solicitors, Jones, Acheson, and Hopkins in the town of Haslemere. ''Lizzie do you know where Haslemere is?'' Lizzie shook her head and looked down at her frock. It was covered in filth from the mill, and she wished she could go home and change. ''Who is Captain Landsborough?'' Victoria asked, knowing full well Lizzie didn't have any idea. ''And what is the Landsborough Estate?'' She thumbed through a few more letters and in every one of them found a reference to the Landsborough Estate and Captain Landsborough. Almost at the bottom of the pile, she found something different. An unopened letter addressed to 'The Duke of Haslemere, Easingborough Hall.' Victoria put her dirty fingernail under the sleeve and opened it
''What is it?'' Lizzie asked when she saw Victoria's mouth open.
''Listen to this.'' She began to read out loud.
My Lord,
As you know, my wife and I have vacated Landsborough Hall, and it is now yours to do as you will.
I am afraid I have wronged my wife and the child she is carrying by my ridiculous behavior. I will never be able to forgive myself for what I have done to her.
All I ask is that you look after the tenants of the estate, in the same way, I have tried to, fairly and in a dignified manner.
May God forgive me and cure me of my gambling affliction
Yours,
Captain W Landsborough
''And do you know what the most curious fact is in this?'' Victoria said as she placed the letter in her lap and looked at it. ''This is my father's handwriting.''
''But you father isn't called Landsborough. He was called Lambert,'' Lizzie was eager to point out.
Victoria was beside herself with curiosity. Why had her father written a letter to a Duke and why had he done it as Captain Landsborough? ''I'm stunned Lizzie. I don't know what to do.''
In their relationship Lizzie was often the one who just listened to Victoria's dreams and ideas. She was intelligent but lacked Victoria's optimism. As far as she was concerned, her life was the mill, and hopefully one day, a nice husband who didn't beat her. If she were lucky, she would be blessed with children and live to see them trudging up the hill to the mill, as she had done. Victoria was not resigned to her fate, and often dreamed about a handsome man who would come and sweep her away to a far off land where it was warm, and there were fresh fruits. On occasions, Lizzie would tell her she was a dreamer and that she should recognize reality. But Victoria didn't want to, and Lizzie's words would cast her into despair for days until the handsome man reappeared.
''I know what you should do,'' Lizzie said. Victoria looked at her, shocked. Lizzie wasn't often inspired, but she'd had a moment of rare clarity. ''You should go to that firm of solicitors, what was their name?'' she picked the letter up. ''Yes here look. You should go to, Jones, Acheson, and Hopkins and ask them about the Landsborough Estate and Captain Landsborough.''
*****
Mr. Anthony Acheson looked down his nose at the young lady sitting in front of him in the leather button backed armchair. Cheaply clothed in a green dress with puff sleeves and a square decollete, she was no better dressed than other working women, but much more beautiful.
Victoria had told Lizzie to tell Mary that it was her time of the month and that she was incapacitated. It was the only affliction Mary had any sympathy for. Victoria had wrapped herself in a large headscarf so as not to be recognized and taken the coach to Haslemere via York. The village postmaster had informed her that Haslemere was fifty miles from Ashworth and that it would take five hours to get there, changing coaches in York. She'd arrived at her destination just as the clerk was locking the door for the night. A young man himself, he'd only opened up because she was beautiful. When an equally young Mr. Acheson came to see who he was talking to, he eagerly took over.
''You have an impressive bundle of documents with you Miss Lambert, and I must say it is a very intriguing tale. I'm afraid I shall have to ask Mr. Jones, my partner, to join us; He's a lot older, and I'm sure he can shed some light on the matter.'' He got up and went out of the room. Victoria looked around and started to count the books in the glass bookcase behind his mahogany desk. When she got to 43, she heard someone shouting.
''Doesn't she know what time it is, my supper will be ruined?'' Mr. Acheson reappeared with an elderly gentleman in a pair of red breeches. ''Well, young lady,'' he shouted, ''what is it?''
Victoria decided he was deaf, not angry. ''I've come about the Landsborough Estate. My late father left some documents pertaining to the estate, and I would like to know what his connection to it was.''
Mr. Jones looked sternly at Acheson, who stood up and offered him his seat. ''The Landsborough Estate. Yes, I remember, it was quite something.'' He stared out of the window as if the view of the Inn opposite would assist his memory. ''Captain Landsborough was a gambler.'' Before he could continue Victoria gasped. In the letter, it had mentioned gambling. ''If I may continue,'' he wasn't used to being interrupted, ''Captain Landsborough was a gambler, and one evening he was playing cards with the Duke of Haslemere and a couple of others. The old Duke was well known for his prowess at three card brag, a game that requires a considerable amount of skill in the art of bluffing.'' Victoria was interested in the game, just the outcome. ''Apparently Captain Landsborough got into difficulties early on in the evening and kept upping the stakes in order to recoup his losses, in my opinion, a very foolish strategy.''
''What was the outcome of the evening, Mr. Jones?'' Victoria asked, trying to avoid a lengthy account of the game plan Mr. Jones would have used had he been at the table.
''Lost the lot, put up his house and his land in the last hand and lost it to the Duke.''
''But, surely,'' she gasped, ''surely the Duke could see that Captain Landsborough had an affliction. Why did he take the estate and not tell Captain Landsborough not to be so foolish.''
Mr. Jones looked across at the Inn again. It was time for his daily ration of rum, and he was eager to cross the road. ''The old Duke was a mean man, quite different to his wife. Why she married him, nobody knows.'' His voice got louder, to the point where Acheson went and stood next to the door. ''No, the Duke took the estate and Landsborough disappeared with his wife, who I seem to remember at the time was expecting a baby.'' He stood up and looked at Victoria. His demeanor softened when he noticed how young she was. ''We did the transfer, and if Mr. Acheson would care to look, the file will be in the archive room under L for Landsborough. I wish you a pleasant evening.'' He walked past Acheson and tutted.
When Acheson had retrieved the file, he put it on his desk and opened the lid slowly as if he was afraid the contents would jump out and frighten him. He pulled out a large document with a red seal on it.
''This is the contract of sale. Here are the signatures of the Duke and Mr. Landsborough.'' He turned the paper to Victoria, who stood up and looked at the signatures.
''It's the same signature as that on the unsent letter I found in my father's room,'' she said. She sat down with a thud.
''It says here that Captain Landsborough was in the Irish Guards. Did you find any evidence of that among your father's belongings?'' Victoria reached into her travel case and pulled out the medals. Engraved around the edge of each were the words, Irish Guards.''
*****
Roberts was a tall man who over the years had gained a significant stoop. As a young footman, he'd been expected to carry heavy coal scuttles to the fireplaces in the house. The old Duke had enjoyed having guests to stay, and most weekends the house had been full, and each bedroom had had a fire than needed providing for.
''My Lord, there is a young lady to see you, she says her name is Lambert.'' Edward put down his newspaper and peered at Roberts, who seemed to be getting closer to the ground by the day.
''What does she want, I'm not expecting anybody?''
''She won't tell me, my Lord.''
''Really, what time is it?''
''Gone eight, my Lord.''
Victoria had spent a long time discussing the estate, and its transfer with Mr. Acheson. Kind Mr. Acheson had offered her a lift in his carriage and she'd gratefully accepted. His motives were not entirely honorable and when she'd stepped down from the carriage he'd put his hand on an inappropriate place, in the name of assisting her. Victoria had something of her mother's temper, and it soon became clear to him that it hadn't been a good idea.
''Then, show her in,'' Edward said.
Victoria hadn't managed to see much of the house from the outside; it was quite dark. If the interior were anything to go by, it would have been a magnificent sight. Her cottage could have fitted into a third of the entrance hall. Roberts took her bonnet and coat and hung them on the coat rack behind the potted palm. It wasn't a palm plant, more a palm tree that reached up the side of the grand staircase to the first floor. The drawing room was to the left through an impressive mahogany double door. She followed Roberts.
''Miss Lambert, my Lord.'' Roberts left the room and closed the door.
The Duke stood up and walked towards Victoria, his black hair bouncing. ''I'm Edward, Duke of Haslemere. How may I be of assistance?''
Victoria was instantly taken by his looks. His father may have taken the family estate in a beastly way, but his son was a fresh looking young man with a continental look to him.
''My Lord, please forgive me for intruding into your evening. I come on a matter of great importance to myself, and I fear I will be obliged to throw myself upon your kind nature.''
Edward took pity on her. She appeared cold, and she looked tired. ''Please, come and sit by the fire. I will have Roberts bring us some tea.'' She sat down gratefully and held her hands out towards the warmth. ''Tell me what I can do for you.''
''It is a very long and confusing story, my Lord. But I shall try to make it as clear as possible.'' She sat upright and prepared herself for the undertaking. ''My father died recently, and when I was looking through his belongings, I found some documents regarding an estate called Landsborough.'' Edward was listening attentively but was slightly distracted by the grace with which she spoke; It was not in keeping with the way she was clothed. Her dress was not of the most expensive cloth and at some point it had been altered. ''It seems from the documents and the information I was able to gather at Jones, Acheson, and Hopkins, firm of solicitors in Haslemere, that my father's name was Landsborough and that he lost the estate in a card game. The man he lost to was your late father.''
So that's it. That is what the letter was about. He'd won the estate in a card game, felt guilty about it and decided to give it back, except, he never sent the letter. ''As you may or may not know,'' he paused when Roberts arrived with the tea. He smiled at Victoria as he poured her drink into a cup and saucer of the finest quality. ''Sorry, as you may know, my father also passed away recently. I have taken over the running of the estates we own, and I too found out that the estate was won by my father in a card game. Quite extraordinary.'' He shook his head and smiled. ''You introduced yourself as Lambert.''
''Yes, I have always thought our family name to be Lambert, but it now appears that it is Landsborough, and we were wealthy landowners until my father's foolish behavior. Mr. Jones, the eldest of the lawyers in town, told me the story. My poor father had a terrible gambling affliction.''
''Where do you live now?''
''In a village, fifty miles away called Ashworthy. I work in the mill there.''
''Indeed,'' he said. ''I don't know anyone who works in a mill. Alright, we seem to have established that you father lost it, and my father won it, what do you want?''
''My Lord, I understand that my father was foolish. Indeed, it was not only foolish but selfish. My poor mother spent the rest of her life in poverty, far from the life she should have enjoyed.'' She looked at the fire as it spat a piece of coal onto the hearth. ''However, I must add that your father hardly acted in a gentlemanly fashion. He should have realized that my father was not of sound mind and refused to accept the bet.” Victoria looked the Duke straight in the eye. “I would like you to return the estate to me.''
He nodded. He'd expected it, as soon as he had become aware who she was. She was a beautiful woman, and he had no desire to hurt her in any way, but requiring him to give the estate back, after so many years, was a tall order. ''I understand your position. I hope you will allow me time to consider how best to resolve the situation.''
''Of course, my Lord.''
''Miss Lambert, it is late, and I suggest you stay here. I will ask one of our maids to look after you.''
''That is very kind of you. I don't think there is any transport back to my village at this time of the evening, and I don't want to stay at an inn alone.''
Edward asked Rosie, a ladies maid who had no lady to look after, to make up a fire and warm the bedsheets in the green room. They continued to drink tea and talk until Victoria was no longer able to keep her eyes open. When she entered her bedroom, she was astounded at the luxury. A giant four poster bed, a large marble fireplace and the very best Turkish rugs on a polished wooden floor. Rosie was waiting for her with a hot bath and clean nightdress. When she helped Victoria undress, she could see Victoria's was used to manual work. It was slender and the muscles well formed. The bath was warm and as the fire crackled Victoria didn't want to get out. When eventually she did, she fell asleep instantly and slept for ten hours.
The next morning Rosie knocked on the door at ten. Victoria usually rose at five when she had to go to the mill. Rosie helped her to dress, and showed her to the breakfast room. Edward was waiting. Victoria liked Rosie. She was in her late twenties and homely.
''Good morning, Miss Lambert. How did you sleep?''
''Very well indeed, much better than I am used to.''
''I have decided to show you around the Landsborough Estate today if of course you are not in a hurry to return to your home.'' Victoria had no desire to return at all, but she knew she must. One more day wouldn't hurt, though. ''Rosie will act as chaperone if you are agreeable.''
Edward looked dashing as he showed Victoria to their pony and trap. The cold weather had relented, and it was a warm April day. He was wearing a blue tailcoat with a yellow waistcoat and blue trousers. Victoria hadn't thought to bring another dress, but she had packed fresh undergarments.
Edward clicked and the black pony set of at a speed that suggested it would much rather spend the morning in a lush field that pull a trap around. The seat wasn't very wide, and Victoria found her leg rubbing against Edward's. She liked it. Rosie sat behind them facing backward and tried her best not to listen to their conversation.
''Tell me about your life, Miss Lambert. What is it like to work in a mill?'' Edward was genuinely interested. All his tenants were employed on the land, and he'd never met anyone working in industry.
''It is hard, my Lord. Fifteen hour days for little pay. My colleagues are pleasant enough, and there is a camaraderie among us, but it is backbreaking work. On Sundays, I go to church, and the rest of the time I sleep and work.''
''You don't make it sound very attractive at all. I must, one day, go and see these things for myself. I'm stuck here in the countryside all the time.''
''You are lucky, my Lord. If I were you, I would be happy to be so.'' What was he going to do with the estate? If he refused to give it back to her, she had no choice but to accept his decision. She was totally at the mercy of his sense of right and wrong.
''Perhaps you are right. I love rural life.'' As he spoke the trap fell into a deep run in the road, and they lurched to the right. Victoria gasped and held onto to him until the pony managed to pull them upright again.
''Excuse me, my Lord,'' she pulled her arm from his.
He looked around and saw Rosie was looking in the other direction. ''No, please leave it there. I hope you don't think me forward when I tell you it is a nice feeling.''
''No, my Lord, I do not.''
The view from the lane they were driving down was magnificent. Down the hill, in front of them, there were green fields full of cows grazing. Beyond the fields, Victoria could see a church spire surrounded by cottages. When they reached a gate, Rosie jumped down and opened it.
''We're entering the Landsborough Estate now,'' Edward said. The village below us is called Wendsbury. Most of the houses belong to the estate. There are five farms in all and most of the villagers work on the farms.''
Victoria noticed how enthusiastically he spoke about the place. She'd heard his father had been a difficult landlord, but she was sure Edward was a kinder man, by far.
''It is much larger than I thought.'' Why had her father gambled so much away? Had he been so unwell that he had lost all clarity of thought, and what about poor mother? For her, it must have been awful.
''I will show you the village and then take you to meet Mr. Jepson, at Manor Farm.'' The fact he was showing her all this, and introducing her to a tenant farmer was a good sign, and Victoria was suddenly a thousand miles away from her life in Ashworhy.
Edward noticed how her expression had changed. She'd lost the pained look of someone downtrodden, and gained a smile that made his heart race. He had never been with a woman before, and he was surprised when he began to have thoughts that made him afraid he would embarrass himself when he had to get down from the trap.
''It's beautiful,'' she exclaimed as they drove through the village. It was a linear village, with a strip of green running between the road and the houses which lined it. The church was at the end of the village, and there was a quaint thatched inn called the Lamb and Flag opposite.
''Yes, it is very beautiful. In all, there are sixty-three tenants here.'' Victoria had no idea how much a tenant was expected to pay in rent, but sixty-three times what she paid to Mr. Pickford was a lot of money each week.
They left the village and took a left turn at a fork in the road. Signposted Manor Farm. This was an arable farm, and there were two teams of shire horses plowing the land to the right of the narrow road. At the end, they reached a farmyard. It was probably the tidiest farmyard in the land. Mr. Jepson couldn't stand a mess.
Edward stopped and got down. He walked around the other side and helped Victoria to the ground. As he did so, he caught her scent. It made him want her more.
''Mr. Jespon, allow me to introduce Miss Lambert,'' Edward said proudly.
Mr. Jepson was dressed in a check shirt and a pair of very baggy trousers, held up with a pair of yellow braces. On his feet wellingtons. ''You mean Landsborough, my Lord, not Lambert.''
''No, Lambert,'' Edward reiterated.
''Well if ever anybody had a face like Mrs. Landsborough it is the young lady standing here.'' He pointed to Victoria, who smiled.
''It's a long story, I'll tell you about it sometime. Will you show us around the farm, please?'' Jepson nodded and motioned them to follow him.
*****
After their excursion, Victoria retired to her room to rest. Far from resting, her mind was churning. What she'd seen had been idyllic, and beyond anything she had seen before. She knew if the Duke would see his way to giving her the estate back, she would remain there for the rest of her days, quite happily.
Her thoughts turned to the Duke. He was handsome, and she was taken with him. It could be a perfect alliance, she thought.
At six, Rosie knocked on the door. She'd come to dress Victoria for dinner.
''Miss Victoria, I have brought two dresses for you to try. They used to belong to Mr. Edward's grandmother.'' She put them on the bed. ''They are very fine evening gowns, and I am sure you are the same size as she was.''
''Rosie, how considerate of you. I'm afraid I have never worn anything this grand before; perhaps you will help me?''
Rosie bathed and dressed Victoria in a silver gown made of the finest silk satin in pastel green. When Victoria looked in the mirror, she was shocked to see almost all her bosom protruding from the low square neckline. ''Mary, I can't wear.....''
''Miss Victoria I have seen the way Mr. Edward looks at you. If you want to impress him, I urge you to wear this dress.''
''But it's far too low, ‘Victoria complained.
''If a Duchess saw fit to wear it, I'm sure it is fine,'' Rosie said wisely.
Victoria accepted her argument and turned her attention to her hair. When they were finished, Victoria looked magnificent. Her dress flowed elegantly to the floor, covering her silver shoes. Rosie had managed to find a necklace of pearls and a bracelet. The piece de resistance was her hair. It seemed Rosie was a master hairdresser, for Victoria's hair was curled to perfection in tiny ringlets down the side of her face.
On the way down the grand staircase, Victoria suddenly remembered the mill. This was her second day off, and if she didn't return soon, she would be cast out of her home. But strangely she didn't care. Rosie had noticed it, and she had noticed it. The Duke wanted her, and she was sure nothing would come in their way.
When she entered the library for pre-dinner drinks, Edward almost dropped his glass. He'd told his mother about Victoria and the story behind her visit, and she'd been eager to meet the young lady. Edward's mother smiled and nodded to her son approvingly.
''Victoria, it is quite improper, but I fear we have no alternative,'' the Dowager Duchess began. ''It has been splendid to meet you and now that dinner is finished, I would like to retire, but that would leave you alone with my son. Perhaps I should escort you to your room.''
Edward quickly intervened. ''I would like to talk to Victoria for a few moments mother. I will ask Rosie to see her to bed.''
His mother wasn't much of one for the English stiff upper lip, and she nodded in agreement. When she was gone, Roberts came and cleared the table. He left some brandy and brought tea for Victoria.
Edward cleared his throat as if he was preparing to address the Queen. ''Victoria, dear Victoria. I have been thinking about the estate and indeed about you.'' Victoria daren't lift her tea cup fearing her tremoring hand would spill some over her borrowed dress. ''You are a very beautiful woman, and I am enormously taken with you. I have been able to think of nothing else but you, since the moment you walked into this house.'' He looked at her trying to gauge what her reaction mighty be, but her expression remained passive. ''It would be proper for me to ask your father if I may approach you, but your poor father is no longer with us, and I am unable to do so. Victoria, I would like to know if you would be amenable to the idea of becoming my wife.''
Victoria was stunned. So soon? Was it too early? She felt something for him, but did she love him? Did she love him like she knew her mother had loved her father?
Before she had a chance to say anything, he spoke again. ''If we were to marry, you could manage the estate.''
Victoria could not believe what she was hearing. ''Was it not your intention to hand it back to me as the rightful owner? You led me to believe you would,'' she asked.
''I wouldn't need to hand it back to you if we were joined.''
Victoria exploded. She stood up and threw her teacup into the fireplace. ''If that's what you think, then you can keep the estate, you're welcome to it. Marry me and make me the manager, indeed,'' she scoffed. ''I can see you're not better than that father of yours. He was dishonorable and dishonest, and you are worse because you are taking advantage of a lady's delicate situation.''
*****
''Who is it?'' the innkeeper shouted. ''I'm coming, stop hammering on the door.'' He unbolted the door and looked outside. He was surprised to see a young woman carrying a travel bag. ''It's awfully late for you to be out alone, miss.''
''Can you please give me a room for the night,'' Victoria asked.
When she stepped into the candlelit hallway, the innkeeper noticed she had mud on her shoes, and that the hem of her dress was wet, and mud splattered. ''Come along now miss, I'll get the wife to help you. Out at this time alone, well I never,'' he restated.
His wife appeared in a dressing gown and a pair of slippers. ''Oh miss, what a mess you're in, come along with you.'' She led Victoria up the stairs and into a small bedroom at the end of the corridor. ''Where have you come from at this time?'' she asked.
''From Easingborough Hall, over the fields.''
The Innkeeper's wife looked quizzically at her. The old Duke was dead, so it wasn't one of his women.
''Is there a coach from here to York tomorrow?''
''Yes, it calls here every day at nine am.''
*****
''Three days, three whole days,'' Mr. Picford shouted. ''Where have you been all this time?''
''Pleas sir, I've been at home. I wasn't too well.''
''Nonsense. On the second day, Mary went to see where you were. You were not at your cottage. Where were you, and I want the truth?''
Lizzie had told Victoria to expect a showdown when she went into the mill but she hadn't told her that Mary had been to the cottage. Perhaps she didn't know. She would have to think of an excuse and fast. ''I have an aunt, in Haslemere. She's gravely ill. I went to visit her,'' she lied.
He was walking around her as she stood in the middle of his office. He leaned into her and sniffed her scent. It reminded her of a dog, and she began to feel faint. ''Well whatever the truth, you have missed three days. You will not go back to work in the mill.''
''But, Mr. Pickford, please.......''
''Today is Friday, on Monday morning, you will report for work in my cottage as one of my assistants. If you refuse, I will have nothing more to do with you.'' He smiled before delivering the rest of his terrifying message. ''You will not work at the mill, and you will not live in one of my houses. You will be on the streets. Is that clear?'' She nodded.
Victoria waited for Lizzie on the wall at the entrance to the mill. Lizzie was covered in dust when Victoria saw her. ''What happened to you?'' Victoria asked.
''Mary had me cleaning out some of the air pipes, they're full of dust and rat droppings.'' Lizzie took Victoria's arm, and she wanted to pull away. Rat's droppings didn't sound too healthy. As they went down the hill towards the village, Victoria told Lizzie all about her trip to the solicitors and then to Easingborough Hall. When she came to the end, Lizzie was in tears. ''You mean, you refused the Duke's offer?''
''Yes.''
''You're mad,'' Lizzie said.
''He's just like all the others. He should have given it back to me, expecting me to be the manager is.....well I don't know, but it isn't honest.''
Lizzie wanted to say that it was her father's fault really, but she refrained.
''Pickford wants me to start work in the assistants house on Monday.''
''Jesus Victoria. Go back to the Duke and accept his offer.''
''No never. He's just as dishonest as his father,''
Lizzie didn't understand. ''You’re bloody headstrong, and it's not good for you.''
At the village green, Jack was waiting. Lizzie kissed Victoria goodbye and went towards her house.
''Can I walk with you Victoria?'' he asked.
''Yes I'd like that,'' she said. He almost jumped in the air, it was a result he wasn’t expecting. They walked together without saying anything until they reached Victoria's cottage. ''Thank you, Jack, that was nice,'' she said.
''It's my pleasure. I was wondering if you would like to walk with me on Sunday, after church? he asked, holding his breath.
''Yes, Jack, I'd like that very much,'' she said. When she closed the door behind her, she slipped to her knees and began to cry.
*****
On Monday morning, Victoria was not dressed in her usual mill workers clothes, but in her best dress. She'd picked some daffodils and put one in her bonnet. It was gone eight, and if she'd been working in the mill, she would already have been at work for two hours. Nine o'clock was her new start time. At eight forty, she was ready to walk up the hill to the first street on the right, Calderdale Avenue. Number three belonged to Mr. Pickford, and she was to report there. She put on her bonnet and took the bunch of daffodils. She went to the kitchen took a carving knife and hid it in the flowers she was carrying.
When she arrived at her new place of work, she was greeted by three other women, all equally well dressed. They showed her to what they called, her room. It appeared each of them had their own room. ''When Mr. Pickford comes, he chooses one of us, and we go with him to our own room. He likes it that way'' a woman called Isabella said.
At nine thirty, Mr. Pickford knocked on the door. ''Splendid, Victoria, you're here. I've been looking forward to seeing you all weekend. Show me which is your room.''
Victoria didn't say anything as she walked up the stairs with him behind her. When they entered the room, the daffodils were lying on the bed. ''Please sit down next to me on the bed,'' she told him.
His breathing began to get faster and shallower, but his excitement was interrupted by a loud bang on the door, and another one. He got out and shouted down the stairs. ''Who the devil is it?''
After a few seconds, one of the girls shouted up the stairs, ''It's a man called Mr. Jones. He says he wants to speak to Victoria.''
''Tell him to go away,'' Pickford shouted back.
''That's not a good idea, he's got a large threatening man with him.''
Pickford went back downstairs closely followed by Victoria. ''Mr. Jones,'' she exclaimed. ''What on earth....?''
''It has taken me a very long time to find you,'' he shouted. Victoria remembered his voice and how loud he had been in Haslemere. ''I went to the mill first, and they were very reluctant to tell me where you were,'' he looked at a chair and sat down to catch his breath. He was wearing the same red breeches he had a few days ago. ''It was only after Mr. Jesop intervened that they were forthcoming.''
''Ah yes, Mr. Jespon, hello,'' Victoria said.
''Hello, Miss,'' he smiled.
''What's all this about. She's one of my employees, and she should be working, so say what you have got to say and go,'' Pickford stated.
''Victoria,'' Jones began. ''There has been a development in you favor. I am here to hand you the deeds to the Landsborough Estate.''
Victoria didn't say anything she just stood there with her mouth wide open.
''Don't you want it?'' Jones asked with a kind smile on his face. “It's yours again if you want it.''
''Of course, I want it,'' she squealed. ''Oh Mr. Jones how can this be happening?''
''You should ask the Duke, Miss. He instructed me last week to make the estate over to you, with no conditions whatsoever. Mr. Jepson here gave me a lift here in his coach, and if you so wish, he is willing to take you and your belongings with us back to your rightful home.''
''Goodbye, Mr. Pickford, you will be hearing from me in the future, I can assure you. Just count yourself lucky you didn't lay a hand on me today.''
*****
Landsborough Hall was in a state of some disrepair. It wasn't uninhabitable, but it had a leaking roof and damp walls. Victoria had no idea what she should do about it, just as she had no idea how to run the estate. When she arrived, she found she had two servants. One of them was Rosie.
''What on earth are you doing here,'' she asked.
''The Duke asked me to look after you. I am a ladies maid, and there is no lady at the Hall, so I am better employed with you. If you are agreeable.''
''Of course, I'm delighted. In fact, a bit overwhelmed.''
''The Duke asked me to tell you that his advice is to hand over the running of the estate to a firm called Stephensons Land Agents in Haslemere. They will do the day to day running for you, leaving you free to make the big decisions and enjoy your new life.''
''Splendid,” Victoria said. ''But why can't the Duke come and tell me that himself?''
''Oh Miss, the Duke is ashamed to come and see you. That's what he told me.'' Rosie shifted from one foot to the other.
''He thinks he wronged you when he didn't just give you the estate in the first place. And if you ask me, Miss, he's love sick. He does nothing but mope around; it is very sad to see.'' Rosie took a deep breath happy that she'd unburdened herself.
*****
When Roberts answered the door, he was delighted to see Victoria. His boss had been intolerable since she had left the house so suddenly a few days ago. ''Miss Victoria, oh how lovely to see you, please follow me.''
Edward was in the library, staring into space. When Roberts announced Victoria, he jumped off his seat and almost ran to her. At the last second breeding took over and he gently shook her hand.
''My Lord, thank you for the great act of generosity you have shown to me. You have made me happier than you know,'' she said.
''I'm very pleased. I'm sorry about the first time I.........''
She stepped towards him and put her finger to his lips. ''Shh, it's alright, I understand. Any man who is able to see the error of his ways and change direction without being too proud to do so is a brave man indeed.''
He looked down at his feet and contemplated an answer. He was afraid to ask for what he really wanted, but Victoria was not.
''Will my Lord please kiss me?''
*****
''I left Rosie at home,'' Victoria said as Edward walked with her up to his bedroom. We are both adults and no one need know what is about to take place. Need they?''
''No quite,'' he answered. ''Once we are married it won't matter, will it?'' She shook her head.
In the bedroom, Edward was suddenly very unsure of himself. Victoria had been around enough earthy women to have picked up a few tips, and she took the initiative.
''Get out of your clothes,'' she commanded. He did so eagerly. When he pulled his trousers and underwear down, she gasped at the size of him. It was the first time she had seen a penis and in his, she was impressed. When she touched it, she remembered what Mary and the girls had always said men enjoyed. When Edward felt her hot mouth on him, he moaned and pulled her hair. He felt long and smooth, and it turned her on.
She was eager to feel his body on hers, and he looked on, as she stood up and began to undress. When her breasts fell free, he sucked greedily on her nipples, making her gasp. She stepped out of her garments and stood before him, ready.
He pushed her to the bed and lay next to her. His hand caressed her breasts and stomach, hardly daring to go where he most wanted it to. ''Touch me there,'' she whispered. It was all he needed to hear and his touch electrified her. She played with him as he stroked her. The texture of his manhood fascinated her. The coarseness was totally alien to anything on her body.
When she could bear his strokes no longer, she opened her legs and pulled him to her. When he lay on her, she rubbed her hands over his back and buttocks, down to his hairy thighs and up again. His hard angular body felt strong on her, and she liked the feeling of giving herself to him. She felt his penis prodding at her, trying in vain to find her opening. She helped him, and when his penis was at her entrance, he thrust hard into her, making her cry out. He wasn't gentle; he was passionate. She took his pounding body and even thrust back at him, urging him on. She felt her body begin to tighten and had no idea what it was except it felt pleasurable. Every time he made a down thrust, she felt a wave coming from her womanhood. The longer he thrust, the more the pleasure until she could stand it no more. She exploded. She cried out his name and dug her fingers into the skin on his back. The sight of her breasts shaking uncontrollably at her orgasm excited him so much. He came immediately after. The warm surge she felt inside her was the best feeling she had ever known, and she clung to him and kissed the side of his face until his breathing returned to something like normal.
*****
''What the hell are you doing here,'' Mary asked as Victoria walked into the mill. ''I thought we'd seen the last of you.''
''In two minutes you will have,'' she answered. She walked along the line of bobbins that were spinning at a terrifying rate, and past a pool of women working on sewing machines. She had almost forgotten what a noisy place it was. She walked down past another row of women and into the next building. It was the packing department, and it was always cold. The machines in the main mill kept people warm but in the packing area, there was no warmth. Lizzie was standing at the end of a line of women, packing thread into boxes.
She looked at Victoria and screamed. ''What are you doing here?''
''I've come to get you. You're never setting foot in this place again. I need someone to help me run my house and the estate.''
******
On the twenty-first of June eighteen hundred and fifteen, Victoria Lambert/Landsborough, became the Duchess of Haslemere. Lizzie was her bridesmaid, and Mr. Jones gave her away. Mr. Jepson was the Duke's best man.
Lizzie lived in Landsborough Hall when Victoria moved to Easingborough Hall. Lizzie married Lieutenant David Wilkinson. She had three children, all boys. Victoria had four children, two girls, and two boys.
Mr.Pickford was attacked by an angry father three years after Victoria's wedding. He died of his injuries a year later.
****
THE END