Hunters

The Duke and Duchess of Cambria and Martisine had fallen in to a comfortable routine. An antechamber of the Lord’s apartment had become an informal dining room where the couple would take meals; the Lady would retire to her own study to conduct business—and entertain the dog—while her husband finished his own work or met with associates. They had unwittingly turned visits to the forest sanctuary into a weekly affair, and, no matter the weather, neither would take supper without a hack around the park.

By October’s end, though, summer had been entirely banished from memory. There were far too many days with rain accompanied by excessive chill, thus trekking through the woods for a picnic seemed irresponsible. Lecia insisted, however, that they continue to ride before sunset even if it meant she needed to wear three coats. Vaughan relented.

Regardless of change, the couple was contented. Ezekiel had visited once and brought his puppy at Lecia’s request. She had settled for naming her dog Harry—homage to Herasymenko, though Vaughan often called him Harold—and the Marchioness had named her grandson’s dog Pepper. Reunited, the pups were a riotous pair that had entertained the entire house before they collapsed into a pile of twitching dreams.

As it was, the present day was nearly over. Lecia had already had her post-riding bath and combed through her hair as well as dressed for bed. Vaughan, however, had last minute business, so while he sat at his desk fervently writing and calculating, his wife was draped over the chaise with a book in her hands and Harry tucked under her arm.

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know. I’m not sure how much longer this will take,” he said without even lifting his eyes from the page just as a knock came at the door.

Both Lecia and Vaughan glanced to identify Izzy as she curtsied respectfully and then rushed over to the Duchess while the Duke went back to work.

“This letter arrived for you, my Lady,” said the maid.

“Thank you Izzy,” Lecia smiled, noting that the missive was from Zora. “I should be set for the evening. Go on to bed.”

Once the maid was gone, the Duchess discarded her novel and cracked open her letter. Harry was none too pleased to be jostled nor was he fond of the vociferous paper. The small dog groaned and let out a long sigh of hot air.

Her Grace, the Duchess of Cambria & Martisine
Martis Palace

27 October 1885

Madam,

I write you today so that you may hear from my own stationary that God has blessed Henry and me with a son, Henry Reuben Fenner II. The physician and midwife both agreed that he is much too small and should not have arrived this morning as he did, but also that he is quite healthy despite his size.
Mother sends her regards. She is beside herself with joy, which is a welcomed sight after so much grief. I hope that you are faring well, too. I have heard that your life at Martis is quite charmed and your husband is quite dear.
Anyhow, Henry and I would like to invite you to spend Christmas with us. We will be leaving Forneford in a fortnight to spend the holidays in London. My husband would prefer that we be safely positioned in town for any unexpected ailments that may befall me or my child—though you should not worry, as I am quite splendid.
We are aware that the Duke’s London home is currently occupied, so nothing would make us happier than to receive you at the Earl’s. Christmas should be spent with family, after all.
I cannot wait to see you again!

Your sister,
The Honorable Zora Agnes Fenner, Baroness of Lekenbourgh

After reading the letter, Lecia let out a sigh that mimicked Harry’s.

“What is it, fy cariad?” Vaughan asked. He set down his pen and lifted his chin, though he could only see the back of her head until she finally twisted her neck to eye him back.

“Zora’s had her son,” she said. “Henry Reuben Fenner II, future Earl of Forneford.”

“Well, that’s excellent news, I’d think,” the Duke ruffled his brow. “He is all right, is he not?”

After a moment of expressionless contemplation, Lecia nodded with a small smile. “Oh yes, he’s doing just fine. A little small, she said, but healthy just the same,” the Duchess relayed.

When her husband relaxed his frown, she slid out from under Harry and got to her feet. Vaughan watched as she floated toward him, her silken dressing gown shimmering with every step. She swept around behind his desk and cloaked him in her arms.

“They’re headed to London for the holidays and she wants us to join them,” she said, resting her chin in the crook of his neck.

“That certainly could be arranged,” Vaughan shrugged. He grinned when he spotted Harry peeking at him and Lecia from across the room. “Your dog seems to be feeling quite abandoned,” he laughed. From the corner of his eye he noticed her upturned lips.

“Would you be comfortable staying with the Earl?” she asked. “It would delay matters, as we’d have to wait until Zora and Henry arrived before we could, but we could just impose on Zeke or live at Buckingham.”

“The sooner we leave, the better,” Vaughan admitted. “The weather can only get worse. I’m not fond of the Countess, which does make the possibility of living with her an undesirable prospect. Wee Harold might not be so well received there, either, and I can’t imagine we’ll be going away for two months at least without the little devil.”

Growing uncomfortable with her position, Lecia removed her arms from Vaughan’s shoulders, but his torso followed her limbs and he turned himself around to look upon her.

“Where shall we go, then?” she asked.

“The rooms at Brahmsboro aren’t as accommodating as others, but it is somewhat close to the Fenners’ place. Lodging elsewhere would also spare us overhearing the colic of an infant, though I’m sure the boy is pleasant enough,” Vaughan said.

“And Zeke would permit Harry to come,” Lecia smiled, knowing that despite his frequent grievances about the dog, her husband was actually quite fond of him.

“Yes,” he grinned, “the dog may join us.”

“And you could work,” she added, shifting on her feet.

“Perhaps,” he sighed. “I should be able to take a decent break for the holiday.” It was a time for celebration and family, and celebration of family. Vaughan dejectedly thought of his own siblings for a moment and grimaced. Prompted by the concerned expression of his wife, he said, “We might also go to see my sisters and William. It has been months since I’ve seen them.”

“Of course!” she understood. Yes, the dowager was a loathsome woman, but her children were not so bad. The discussion had clearly turned sour, though. The Duke turned back to his work and Lecia pouted. “Won’t you come to bed now?” she asked, demurely resting a hand on his back. He was tense.

“Not just yet,” he grumbled. “The more I do now, the more time I’ll have in December.”

“Fine,” she bemoaned, and glided to scoop up the dog and carry him off to sleep.

This time, Vaughan did not watch her cross the room, and he did not ever join her for bed.



I’m too tired to write words.