her daughter Estaria to the London Conservatory to study music. Her granddaughter, Annabelle, was crawling now and she would hardly recognize her grandson when she saw him next. He was sorry they would not come to see her soon, but Parliament was keeping him in town and it looked as though Katherine might be in the family way again. He missed her and hoped she would return to town for a visit soon. All his love, etc. Stephen.
Ammie dropped the note to her lap and pulled a knitted shawl more closely about her shoulders. She saw in her mind's eye her cousins and best friends when they were all young and newly brought to her grandmere's home from France. How pale and frightened they had all been, caught in the turmoil prior to the Treaty of Paris of '63, smuggled aboard a neighbor's yaght to be ferried to England and the dowager duchess of Maitlin. Their parents had followed for brief visits, but the court at Versailles held more intrigue than the court of the German George as Ammie's mother called him. So she and her cousins grew up under the watchful eyes of their grandmere, their governess, and their neighbor and benefactor, the Marquess of Barrington. How they had, as young mothers watched the horrors unfold from across the channel. The letters that reached them from their imprisoned parents. The news brought by Eleanor's father when he and Elle's brother had fought their way to the coast and with the help of the Marquess and Edwin to freedom aboard a smuggler's boat.
Belle sighed and broke the seal of the black edged parchment which could only mean one thing; the Marquess had finally succumbed to his long illness. Edwin wrote that they would bring him home shortly for burial, weather permitting. She wondered when the weather had ever blown chill and stormy without the permission of the former and current Marquesses. Edwin requested her presence at the great house and asked that she help prepare the house for the family. She sighed again, knowing that he had no one else to do the duty for him, his mother having died of cholera the year after Belle married and his married daughter Eleanor would come with him.
She sat at the desk and wrote out the instructions to Mrs. Darling, the housekeeper at Barcloe House, and rang for a messenger. Then she picked up Stephen's letter once more and considered whether she could go back to bed and pull the covers over her head. There had been too much bad news, and surely bad news came in threes. A mattress was truly the softest place to land when the next blow came. At least that was the way she thought it should be.
++++++++++++++++
Edwin watched his daughter pace the room. "Papa, this is not the time to be away from London. There are too many important negotiations with our allies going on and Lawrence cannot afford to be away. I know what I owe Grandpere, but do I not owe my own husband more?
Ammie dropped the note to her lap and pulled a knitted shawl more closely about her shoulders. She saw in her mind's eye her cousins and best friends when they were all young and newly brought to her grandmere's home from France. How pale and frightened they had all been, caught in the turmoil prior to the Treaty of Paris of '63, smuggled aboard a neighbor's yaght to be ferried to England and the dowager duchess of Maitlin. Their parents had followed for brief visits, but the court at Versailles held more intrigue than the court of the German George as Ammie's mother called him. So she and her cousins grew up under the watchful eyes of their grandmere, their governess, and their neighbor and benefactor, the Marquess of Barrington. How they had, as young mothers watched the horrors unfold from across the channel. The letters that reached them from their imprisoned parents. The news brought by Eleanor's father when he and Elle's brother had fought their way to the coast and with the help of the Marquess and Edwin to freedom aboard a smuggler's boat.
Belle sighed and broke the seal of the black edged parchment which could only mean one thing; the Marquess had finally succumbed to his long illness. Edwin wrote that they would bring him home shortly for burial, weather permitting. She wondered when the weather had ever blown chill and stormy without the permission of the former and current Marquesses. Edwin requested her presence at the great house and asked that she help prepare the house for the family. She sighed again, knowing that he had no one else to do the duty for him, his mother having died of cholera the year after Belle married and his married daughter Eleanor would come with him.
She sat at the desk and wrote out the instructions to Mrs. Darling, the housekeeper at Barcloe House, and rang for a messenger. Then she picked up Stephen's letter once more and considered whether she could go back to bed and pull the covers over her head. There had been too much bad news, and surely bad news came in threes. A mattress was truly the softest place to land when the next blow came. At least that was the way she thought it should be.
++++++++++++++++
Edwin watched his daughter pace the room. "Papa, this is not the time to be away from London. There are too many important negotiations with our allies going on and Lawrence cannot afford to be away. I know what I owe Grandpere, but do I not owe my own husband more?
