The Rake's Progress - Chapter 7

The Rake’s Progress - Chapter 7

Welcome back to the world of Regency romance and continue the story of a Regency Rake by Miss Louisa Ayling.

Now the summer season of 1809 has become a faint memory, both Matthias and Horatia are looking forward to the festive season and a New Year of 1810, in their respective homes. With a new season looming, this is where we find them both in Chapter 7.

So, what do their futures hold? Will they move further apart or will fate push them together? Is the boredom for them both pushing them into decisions they would not usually make.

Transcript

0:00

The Rake's Progress. Welcome back to the world of Regency Romance and continue the story of A Regency Rake by Miss Louisa Ailing. Now the summer season of 1809 has become a faint memory. Both Matthias and Horatia are looking forward to the festive season and a new year of 1810, in their respective homes. With a new season looming, this is where we find them both in chapter 7. So, what do their futures hold? Will they move further apart or will fate push them together? Is the boredom for them both pushing them into decisions they would not usually make? The winter of 1809-1810. Stanwyek Hall. The house was quietly preparing for the festive season. Horatia had attended the Gordon's Tartan soiree with her mother and brother, but her mind kept drifting. She had danced twice, but her heart was not in it. A tall dark gentleman kept seeping into her thoughts, day and night, but she felt that he would not be marrying very soon, whatever his intentions were, they did not include her and matrimony, he had said so, in no uncertain terms. Anyhow, there had been several occasions for Horatia to be entertained, several visits to other local families, or the families visited the Stanweeks, parading their daughters in front of the young gentlemen of the house. Then there was a Christmas ball and musical concerts at the Chichester Assembly Rooms, that allowed her to meet her old friends, some last seen at the assembly rooms at the previous Christmas Ball or the Cathedral Christmas service. Yes, fun was to be had. So why did she feel no joy on any of these occasions? Christmas was a time of religious and family celebration, the sharing of good fortune. She had spent hours making gifts and putting together parcels to be distributed to the household staff and the local tenants' families, but she was just going through the motions, knitting scarves, socks or mittens, embroidering handkerchiefs or making mob caps or chemisetes or fitches. There had been much to achieve in the months up to Christmas, but now it was over and a new year was commencing. Lady Stanwyek sat in her favorite small drawing room, overlooking the rose garden, although there were just the skeletons of the pruned rose bushes in view. She was sitting in her favorite chair placed by the light of the double doors that led out to the garden, thumbming through a most recent copy of the La Belle Assemblée, deciding which new gowns were to be added, and which existing gowns could be altered to give them the most up-to-date look. She had decided that Horatia's coming-out gowns had cost a small fortune, and she was not one for waste, so a few amendments, additions or new overdresses would be sufficient, with only a few completely new gowns for specific pulls. Horatia, would you ask Peggy to place your existing ball and evening gowns around your room, as this afternoon I would like to ascertain what we can use again, alter or discard? Yes, Mama. Horatia placed her embroidery hoop carefully on the rose-patterned brocade sofa, then left the room to return to her bedchamber and summoned her maid. Once Peggy had arrived, it did not take long for them to remove the gowns from her armoire to display them in colour groups, many being in white or ivory, with a few in pastels of various shades. Well, that's it, Miss. What do you think her ladyship wishes to do? Select ones we will keep and discard others, apparently. She's planned for some to be altered to the latest fashion, ready for the coming season, I believe. I do not think she plans to dispose of any at this stage. She will not wish me to wear any of her chosen gowns before the season. It is just that she can control her preference for elaborate decorations, I will surely amend them as I do not wish a further disaster as I was as the pink pee hen. Ah. I see what you mean, well it is a good idea to remodel. Some gowns were very expensive and pretty, wearing them only a few times is such a waste. I agree. Horatia ran her fingers across the soft silk fabric of the notorious pink gown with an affectionate smile of the partner who had been dared to dance a waltz with her, and her heart cracked just a little bit more. She swallowed down her emotions and turned to Peggy. Let's check the dancing slippers, I'm sure they will all need replacing. Left to their tasks, they were both surprised to hear the luncheon bell. The cold of the first months of 1810 moved towards the next season, with its frost, fog, bitter winds, and freezing rain. Horatia wanted nothing more than to be outside, walking or riding. Being imprisoned by the weather was frustrating. There was only so much embroidery or mending she could do, especially after the Christmas gifts she'd worked on. It bored her to tears. Reading was another pastime she enjoyed, but with the dull light that filtered in through the windows and the candles that her mother allowed gave her eye strain, leading to headaches. She could not wait until spring, but that has its own issues. She would soon be whisked away from the Sussex downs up to London, denying her the pleasures of good weather in the countryside. Was this to be her life from now on? How she envied her previous youth and her younger sister, how she wanted to be dancing with a certain gentleman, his face swam into view as she closed her eyes, and that devastating smile. She sighed. Oh, well. Life was cruel sometimes, she thought, you just have to continue to survive, as there is bound to be something or someone around the next corner. She hoped. E. Pause. April 1810, Templeton House, Brook Street. Matthias sat in the gold drawing room of the family townhouse in Mayfair, looking around at his mother's assembled guests. His father looked as bored as he did, as their eyes met each other. His father glanced towards the ceiling in defeat, making Matthias smile in his direction, as he lifted his saucer of tea to his lips. Yes, they both wanted to escape, but dared not to. His mother, who was a respected woman in her own right within the ton, and was looked up to, with many seeking her opinions and her advice. So, she sat like a queen surrounded by her subjects, handing out her ideas on various subjects such as the ideal gown for Almux, who is courting who, the latest favoured catch of the season, the latest heir or heiress, and who to avoid. Yes, his dear mother was a font of knowledge, and he just hated these gatherings, as she always put him on the list of the most eligible gentlemen, and the match-making mamas just loved him, whereas he avoided them and their pathetic, insipid offspring. He was not ready to attach himself to a woman in marriage any time soon, and he had a certain face etched in his mind, although whether she would be still free from commitment when he was of the mind to marry, he was unsure. He was bored of this so-called society, and had been discussing with his father about whether there was any contribution he could make to support Britain during the Peninsular Wars, without actually donning an officer's uniform. His father gave him a contact, and directly this group of women left his mother's side, he was off to Whites with his father to be introduced to one of the relevant persons in the government and the Home Office. Arriving in St. James's Street, the carriage soon came to a halt outside the Bastion of Gentlemen's prestigious haunts and ascended the white marble steps. Although it was mid-afternoon, as they entered through the doors, opened by the liveried doorman, Matthias noted that the club was quite full of gentlemen from various parts of government and others with a variety of titles, some of whom Matthias was familiar with, whereas many others, who were more important to his inquiries, he was not. He followed his father as he confidently made his way across the foyer towards the reading lounge, leaving their hats and gloves with the footman. The Duke obviously knew who he was looking for as he took a slight pause on the threshold, his eyes quickly scanned the room, then saw whom he wished to speak to, focused on the man, he abruptly started moving again. He spoke as he approached the upright gentleman, whose name was familiar. Ah. Bathurst, good to see you again. His father bowed, and Lord Bathurst gave a nod in return, then extended his hand, which the Duke gripped and they shook a greeting. Your grace, good to see too. Bathurst replied. They bowed to each other. It's an honor to meet you, my lord. Matthias said. As I am to meet you. Your father has always spoken fondly of you and always proud of your progress through your education and carriage-driving accomplishments. So, your grace, is there something I can help you both with? Well, actually, Bathurst, there is. My boy here was asking me whether there's anything that he could do to assist during this damned war with Napoleon without joining the military. Any ideas, my good man? Well, as it happens, there is. Bathurst turned towards Matthias, and continued. Come to my office at Whitehall tomorrow morning, Templeton. I know of a new team of capable gentlemen being put together which you may find of interest. Thank you, Lord Bathurst. Shall we say ten? Yes, that's a perfect time, and I will be able to advise you of how to go about the support you can give us at this time. Thank you, Bathurst, I'm confident that you will not regret my son's contribution. They discussed a few relevant news topics before departing whites to return back to their Brook Street townhouse. Once they arrived in the hallway, Tomlin took the hats and gloves, but he lingered. What is it, Tomlin? The Duke asked. Ah. Thank you for the warning, Tomlin. The Duke turned to his son. Are we entering as a force or are you leaving me to this? A smile broke out over Matthias's face. Seeing as you have helped me this morning with an introduction, I would not be so cruel as to let you face this alone, even if my instinct is telling me to escape. Thank you, son, most civil of you. The Duke replied, slapped him on the back as he laughed with his son as they strode to confront the family matriarch, or dragon, as they affectionately called her. Matthias soon found out the reason for the Dowager Duchess's visit. The minute his father and himself entered the drawing room, they heard her autocratic words in the last part of the conversation. But as I said, the boy needs stability, he needs a wife, and very soon, from all that I have been hearing. Mistresses Galore. Deplorable behavior. Matthias' brows pulled into a frown over his sapphire blue eyes, darkening in his anger. What had the old dragon heard? He wondered. Well, your grace. A pleasure to see you advising my Duchess about our beloved son. The Duke paused. Who you can see he is standing right beside me. The Dowager Duchess sat her nose held high with not a flicker of guilt at being caught fattlemongering. Henry, you are forever protecting your progeny from the tons fiercest of the Grand Dames. When are you going to realize what his true character is? She continued, as if Matthias was not present. A young gentleman, sowing a few wild oats, is quite normal, at least he does not have the abhorrent tendencies of your old duke. Now he would be an embarrassing son to have conceived. The Dowager Duchess again did not flinch. Fordyce is not here to defend himself, whereas your whelp is. So, what do you say, boy? Are these rumors true? Which rumors are they this week? That within two weeks you have had four different mistresses. Is this true? Why, I believe it to be five, your grace, and I've been told I'm a mathematical genius by my professor at Oxford. Don't be so flippant, boy. You're a scoundrel, a rogue, a rake of the first order. No decent gal would touch you with a barge pole. I'm thankful for that. Just a shame their matchmaking mamas do not feel the same. He slumped down in an uncomfortable, but ornate rose cushioned chair. I've nearly been caught twice already, and the season has barely started. So, I try to stay away from the tons' entertainments and compromising situations, to go find my own entertainment elsewhere. Just to keep myself safe from their unwanted clutches. I'm sure you would not wish to see me leg shackled to some young insipid chit with no wits or family to speak of? No, I would not. But you could at least be careful and not be subject to rumors, Bembridge. You must protect your family as well as yourself. The Dowager Duchess paused, tapped her cane in thought on the expensive Persian rug that lay before her in thought. She took a breath and continued. I have found you someone from a good family that I want you to consider. A pretty little thing but with some spirit. I'm sure you know her. Dear Madam, I am not in the market for a wife at this time, so please leave your machinations at home. I am not interested in anything that is flaunted in front of me, not yet, anyway. I'm happy as I am and plan to have something to occupy me, as I find society so very dull. He drawled, When I am ready to find a wife, I know who I will be able to assist me in the endeavor. Such a shame. The chit will not be around for long, and she is a most excellent match, and I know that you are aware of her, and have danced with her on several occasions, even if one was for a bet. Suddenly Matthias realized who she meant, and just the thought of the little pink pea hen made his loins tighten, swallowing hard, he had moved uncomfortably in his chair as his lustful thoughts now showed far too obviously in his breeches, and his face flushed with embarrassment in this company. I will take that risk, your grace, I will not be forced into something I am not ready for at 3 and 20. I have many oats to still wildly share before I decide upon settling with one lady and marriage. Now, Aunt Agatha, my son is not to be forced into marriage, that's when mistakes happen. I back him fully, allowing him to enjoy life before settling down. That is exactly what my father allowed me to do, and I must say I've never regretted having time to meet my future wife. Matthias noted that his mother looked down at her hands in her lap and blushed sweetly at the compliment. He just hoped he married the woman whom he could love after so many years of marriage. It was not much later that the Dowager Duchess stood in readiness to take her leave. She turned to Matthias. You must be careful, oi, you will not drag your family into another scandal, and that young lady is not someone you should ignore, she's ideal for you, so just remember that. I'll take your advice, your grace, and act on it. The Dowager Duchess hitched an eyebrow up in a touch of skeptical surprise. Bembridge, do not make fun of me, boy, or you will regret it, you can be sure of that. She snapped, banging her cane on the floor, and it continued to echo as she marched like a military officer, with her ramrod straight spine, out of the drawing room, towards the front door and then out to her carriage. A sigh of relief could be heard as the large front door closed behind her. Matthias moved to leave the room but turned to see his father sitting with his mother on the settee, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. It just made him smile and he quietly left them alone to enjoy each other's company.