When the Duke Returns(16)

“Do you suppose,” Godfrey said tentatively, “that we could possibly have a proper water closet? Do you remember the Oglethorpes in the next county? Rupert showed me their new water closet. It’s all marble. I mean, we couldn’t afford anything like that, but perhaps running water?”

Simeon backed out of the privy. “Godfrey, we can have the whole house kitted up in marble if you wish.”

Godfrey was at the stage where his legs were almost as long as the rest of him. He trotted along beside Simeon. “What do you mean?”

“We have a large, thriving estate,” he said, glancing at his little brother.

His eyes were round and his mouth was open. “Mother said we should never discuss the question of substance.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not proper.”

“It’s not proper to have a house stink like a pigsty in summer,” Simeon said witheringly. He couldn’t criticize his mother to her face, nor yet to her child’s. But he could point out the facts. “This is an extremely profitable estate. My wanderings resulted in a second fortune. We can have running water piped into every room, though I wouldn’t know why we’d want to.”

Godfrey stumbled and almost fell over.

Simeon stopped. “Why aren’t you at Eton?” he said, something finally clicking in his brain.

“We can’t afford it,” Godfrey said. “I’ve been teaching myself since mother dismissed my tutor.”

“Aw…shit!”

Having left Godfrey wide-eyed at the idea that he would be attending Eton in the fall, Simeon walked back into the study and sat down. In front of him was a letter from a Mr. Pegg, requesting to be paid for the work he did between 1775 and 1780. Mr. Pegg had shoed the duke’s horses, as well as kept the carriages in good repair. And while the Peggs had long served the Dukes of Cosway, he was afraid that he would no longer be able to…

Simeon picked up the letter and walked upstairs to his mother’s parlor. He went through all the elaborate rigmarole that prefaced a simple conversation with her: the bows, the kisses, the request to sit, etc.

“Your Grace,” he began.

But his mother raised a hand. “A lady initiates the subject of conversation, Cosway.”

He gritted his teeth.

“I want you to promise that you will be on your best behavior so that your wife is not frightened away by your oddness.”

“I shall do my best,” Simeon said woodenly. “I intend to travel to London tomorrow and beg her pardon; I’m afraid that our wedding celebration must be delayed.”

“I shall send a letter with you,” she announced. “I shall inform her that you suffered a brain fever. You will do me the great courtesy to confirm this account.”

Simeon blinked. “A brain fever?”

“Indeed. Everyone knows that brain fevers are common in foreign parts. It could explain so much.” She leaned forward. “Your wife is a kindly woman. It is true that she and I had some difficulties living in the same house; she was a headstrong and sometimes impudent girl with an odd habit of song. I found it onerous to have her about me. But I’m sure all will be different now that she has reached an advanced age.”

“A brain fever?” Simeon repeated.

“To explain yourself,” she said. Then she added, obligingly: “You.” With a wave of her hand.

“Me.”

“Look at yourself, Cosway. You don’t look like a duke. You look like some sort of minor accountant. You have none of the easy carriage of a true aristocrat. There are dark circles under your eyes, ink on your cuff. You wear no wig and no powder, you are inappropriately dressed, and although I have managed to coerce you into an appropriate level of manners when approaching me, I am not such a fool as to think you would be able to carry off such a trained dog show in front of others.

“In short, I need a story to present to the ton.” She leaned forward again with an audible creaking of whalebone. “Are you sure that you didn’t suffer a brain fever, Cosway?”

Simeon wished that Valamksepa were in his place right now. It would be interesting to see whether the guru could maintain his composure. After all, now that Simeon thought about it, Valamksepa sat about in a tent doing his teaching. It was a nice, clean tent, without a duchess in sight. Easy to banish anger in those circumstances.

“No, Mother,” he said through clenched teeth. “I was lucky enough to escape brain fevers. This is simply the way I am.”

“Indeed, so I thought.” An ominous pause: “The brain fever will explain everything.”

“There was no brain fever.”