Bertrice Small - The Duchess

A somewhat younger version of Quinton Hunter rode up, sliding easily off his mount. While his brother's eyes were a silvery gray, George Hunter's were a light blue. He wore no jacket, and his shirt, open at the neck, offered her a view of his damp chest. "This is Miss Morgan?" he asked, smiling warmly at her. "Why, damn me, Quint, she is even prettier than you said, but then you have never been much for words unless it concerned your horses." He bowed to Allegra. "Your servant, Miss Morgan."

Allegra curtsied. "I am pleased to meet you, brother George," she told him. "I am afraid I have shocked your brother by appearing unannounced, but I think he is over his pique now."

"She rode the twenty miles unescorted," Quinton Hunter explained dryly to his younger brother.

"Did you? Well, damn me, Quint, she's a game gel. You won't always get your way with her, I can see that," he chuckled.

"Behave, youngster," his elder warned sternly. "Allegra has threatened to purchase a farm for you."

"She has?" George Hunter's look was one of astonishment. Then he said, "You are gulling me, Quint, and it isn't fair."

"No, he isn't," Allegra told the young man. "Have you some place in mind, George? What do the owners want for it? Is it good land? Arable, and well watered?"

"Do you mean it? Having my dream come true cannot be this easy, can it?"

"I am not your fairy godmother," Allegra said seriously to the young man. "If you have a farm in mind, George, I will purchase it for you, but you will only own a half interest until you pay me back for the other half. It is business, plain and simple. I provide the capital for this investment, and you provide everything else. Papa's lawyers will write up an agreement for us, if indeed you do agree."

"Yes!" he told her without hesitation.

"We shall have the lawyers do the negotiation, lest the price of your heart's desire be inflated when it is learned that the monies come from Lord Morgan's daughter. Now, have you any income other than what you will earn from your lands?"

"One hundred and thirty pounds a year from my grandmother," he said.

"Then, with lands to farm, and your income, you can certainly ask Squire Franklyn for his daughter's hand. It is unlikely, unless she is a great beauty, that she will receive a better offer," Allegra said sensibly. "We shall have two weddings in the family instead of one!" She turned to the duke. "Does that suit you, my lord?"

He was amazed at how she had just taken charge of everything, and rendered all of their lives smooth and trouble free. "I am no longer fearful that you rode here unescorted, Allegra," he said to her. "Any highwayman who accosted you would have found he had met his match, for your wits are far sharper than any weapon a robber could carry." Yet despite his flattering words he could not help but wonder if her no-nonsense ways were suitable behavior for a Duchess of Sedgwick.

Allegra smiled. It was a well-satisfied smile. "Thank you," she answered him simply. She had, she believed, in these past few minutes gained his respect. That respect meant far more to her than any cloying sentiment of love would have meant. Yes, it had been a most successful London season, and it would be a most successful marriage as well.

SUMMER AND AUTUMN 1795
A MOST PERFECT COUPLE

Quinton Hunter sat alone of an evening in the small room that served him as a personal billet, and from which he conducted the business of his estate. It held an ancient desk and a rather battered tapestried chair. There was a double leaded pane casement window to his right, a paneled door to his left, and a fireplace before him with narrow bookcases built in on either side of the stone hearth. The fire blazed merrily, taking the damp chill off the July evening. The house was quiet now. The workmen had gone for the day. His betrothed wife and her saucy maid were upstairs in the duchess's new apartments. Honor had arrived two days after her mistress, sitting atop a cart that was filled to overflowing with some of Allegra's belongings. The rest, the duke was told, would follow. And they had. He had not thought such a young girl could have so many possessions.

The duke's thoughts were troubled. He knew he had to marry. He knew he needed a rich wife. He was committed to marrying Allegra Morgan, and yet now he was questioning the wisdom in that decision. She wasn't at all the sort of girl he felt would make a suitable Duchess of Sedgwick. The women before her had been deferential young ladies, yielding to the wishes of their lords even when those gentlemen were patently wrong. Allegra, he already knew, was not such a lady. What kind of a duchess would she make him? Perhaps it would have been better to have not married at all. To have allowed his proud line to die with him, and with his younger brother, George.

It was George's situation that had brought about these second thoughts. He had felt so bad for his sibling, and then Allegra had come along, solving George's problems in a trice. Quinton Hunter had to admit to himself that while he was delighted for his brother, he was frankly irritated by Allegra's actions. It had been so easy for her, and damnit, life wasn't that easy. But mayhap it was for the daughter of the richest man in England. And there was the other fact that gnawed at his pride most of all. He had compromised his family's name by making a match based solely on his bride's financial resources. What kind of a man of honor did that? A desperate one, he admitted to himself.

Yet Allegra was a great beauty. She had perfect manners, and a kind heart. But she was also outspoken to the point of rudeness on certain occasions. While patient with her inferiors, she was totally lacking in that virtue where her betters were concerned. She had absolutely no tolerance for fools. And she was so deucedly independent, particularly where monies were concerned.

"I will," she had already informed him, "oversee all the household chits without interference, Quinton. Some servants are apt to become light-fingered when tempted. Best not to tempt them."

"The Crofts have been with this family for centuries," he had haughtily told her.

"I am not speaking of the Crofts," she returned. "I shall have to hire a full staff, Quinton. You cannot expect dear old Croft, and his good wife, to run such an establishment as we shall soon have. I shall, of course, pay the servants myself out of the allowance that Papa has given me. The monies you receive are yours to do with as you please. A wife runs the household; a husband the estate. Or so Aunt Mama had instructed me. Is she wrong then?"

He had grudgingly admitted that the new Lady Morgan was most correct in her assessment of a couple's home duties. But it had irritated him to do so, though he knew not why. And Allegra had blithely gone her way then, tightening her hold upon him and his household by virtue of her wealth. He hated the ostentation of her fortune, yet neither Allegra, nor her exquisite taste could be called flamboyant, or even pretentious. Her father's wealth had saved him and his estates, he well knew, an admission which only seemed to cause him further resentment.

But his home was coming to life as he had never known it. He had to admit to himself that he liked what he was seeing. The exterior of Hunter's Lair was unchanged. It was built in the shape of an H, which had been the fashion in the year 1500 when the first Tudor king, Henry VII reigned, and the house had been reconstructed after a devastating fire. The brick was warm and mellow where it could be viewed beneath the dark green ivy. It had high stone chimneys, and a number of slate gables and roofs. Where the slates had been damaged, or gone entirely, they had been replaced. Every one of the leaded paned windows had been repainted and washed.

His beloved hall, the only part of the original house to have survived the fire of 1498, had been left basically intact as he had requested. But Allegra had put her new band of maidservants and footmen to work cleaning and polishing the stone and paneled walls, scrubbing the stone fireplaces and the window wells enclosing the windows. He entered the hall one day to find footmen on great tall ladders washing those windows. To his amazement he realized there were stained glass designs in each of the windows that he had never even known were there. The tapestries and the silken banners in the hall were taken down and repaired, the dirt and the dust beaten out of them before they were restored to their places. When all was done, the furniture glowed. The highboard as well as the sideboards held bowls of flowers that perfumed the air of the Great Hall in a most pleasing manner.

The once narrow entry of the house with its several small and useless rooms on either side of it had become a spacious and elegant rounded foyer with staircases sweeping down on either side of the room. Six days a week the workmen swarmed about the house. There were buckets of plaster everywhere. A new dining room was being constructed, its walls to be covered in red brocade and hung with fine paintings. Chandeliers had been ordered from Waterford in Ireland, although they would not be ready until early the following year. New furniture had been commissioned from Mr. Chippendale's workshops in London. It would be in place by their wedding day.

The first floor of the house also contained the duke's library, the duchess's morning room, the duke's small office, and a drawing room. The second floor of the house was devoted to the new dining room with its pantry, a magnificent ballroom, and another small drawing room for the family's use. The tiny rabbit warren of rooms that had previously existed had been demolished. They had been of no importance. The third floor of the house held the ducal and guest bedchambers. The fourth floor was given over to the servants' quarters.