Seek the Stars

chapter one ~ 1878-1

chapter one ~ 1878The Earl of Kensall came down the stairs to breakfast at precisely eight o’clock every morning.

His years of training in the Army had made him a very punctual man. He disliked being late himself or being kept waiting by anybody else.

It would have been impossible for anyone looking at him not to be impressed.

Over six feet tall he had square shoulders and was beyond dispute extremely handsome.

Ever since he had been a boy he had been acclaimed for his outstanding good looks and women had fallen into his arms even before he had asked their names.

He was not particularly conceited, but he was well aware of his own importance and determined that his way of life should be one of dignity and success.

As Head of the Family he was looked up to and revered and indeed it was a large family.

The family members turned to him for advice and, when they received it, carried it out to the letter.

His properties, including his large estate in the country, were run in a methodical manner that made him the envy of every other landlord in the County.

The Earl was now nearly thirty, but in many ways he was considerably older than his years would suggest to even a casual observer.

He was extremely intelligent and, when he spoke in the House of Lords, he always held an attentive audience.

The Prime Minister and other leading Statesmen were known to consult him regularly, especially on matters where the National interest was concerned as well as protection of his country from hostile Powers overseas.

The extraordinary thing was that despite his many affaires de coeur, he had not yet married.

Naturally his older relations were continually begging him and even nagging him to do so.

“You must realise, Norwin,” they urged him repeatedly, “that you need an heir with several younger brothers in reserve to make sure of the succession for your fortune and illustrious title.”

The Earl knew that their anxiety rested on the fact that his father had produced only one child, namely himself.

The whole family had been terrified that, while he was abroad serving in the Army, he might have been killed or severely wounded in battle.

That he had survived was in part due to his habitual good luck, which was the envy of all his friends and colleagues.

He was fully aware that the Betting Book at White’s Club in St. James’s recorded a number of wagers about him, such as whether he would be married before the end of the year or perhaps whether one of the more determined of the ambitious ‘Mamas’ would capture him to the humiliation of the others.

He had, however, managed deftly to avoid a great many traps that had been set for him over a number of years and so had remained a bachelor.

Older members of the prestigious Jockey Club, who he was closely associated with on every Racecourse, had often as a last resort approached him.

First they would congratulate his Lordship on his horse being first past the Winning Post in a hotly contested race.

Then they would comment on what a magnificent stallion he had recently acquired and would exclaim,

“As I have some excellent mares, it seems such a pity that we don’t breed a champion between us!”

“It is certainly an idea,” the Earl would murmur.

Then came the inevitable invitation.

“Why not come down to stay for a few days and see what I have to offer, my Lord? Incidentally, my eldest daughter, who is just eighteen, is extremely beautiful.”

The Earl would realised that this was yet another trap and so he would of necessity decline the invitation tactfully.

Now he crossed the hall to the breakfast room, which was considerably smaller than the dining room.

Kensall House in Park Lane had been in the family for two generations, while Kensall Park in Hampshire had been in the possession of the Earls of Kensall for nearly four hundred years.

Kensall Park was a magnificent Tudor mansion and it had been altered and expanded extensively by generation after generation of the family

The present Earl’s grandfather, who was the sixth in succession, had made it more comfortable and more luxurious than it had ever been before.

The present Earl, however, had added extensively to the Picture Gallery as he had a taste for art that had not been noticeable among his antecedents.

He was thinking now whether he should buy a very fine picture by Holbein, the famous German artist.

It had been offered to him by its owner before being put up for sale at Christie’s auction house in London and it would very certainly be a magnificent addition to his already splendid collection.

However, the Earl had a distinct feeling that, if he bought the picture privately, it might cost him more than if he bid for it in the sale room.

The butler had timed him to the minute.

As his Lordship entered the breakfast room, the butler came in at the other door.

He was carrying in a silver coffeepot which he set down on the silver tray at the top of the table. He then placed carefully beside it the day’s editions of The Times and The Morning Post.

Without speaking the Earl then walked across the room to the sideboard, which was exquisitely carved and gilded and it supported a selection of six silver entrée dishes.

There was a different variety of dishes to choose from each morning and they were kept hot by oil wicks burning underneath each one.

As the Earl was ready to help himself, the butler left the room and he was alone.

He raised the lids of each of the entrée dishes and finally took a plateful of salmon kedgeree with fresh mushrooms that had been conveyed to London the previous day from Kensall Park.

It gave him a feeling of pleasure to know that he was eating his own home produce rather than what had come from a shop.

He wondered if the salmon had come from the river that flowed through his own land.

Occasionally a salmon was to be found in it and it was, however, more likely to provide him with trout such as he had enjoyed for dinner the previous evening.

Having served himself, he went to his place at the top of the table and sat down.

He then opened his copy of The Times at the page that was usually devoted to European affairs by most of the newspapers.

He was particularly interested in the confrontation that was taking place at the moment between France and Germany regarding the price of sheep.

He propped up the newspaper on a silver stand and, as he ate his breakfast, he read a report on what was happening.

He had just finished the salmon kedgeree and was wondering whether he should sample one of the other dishes, when the door opened.

The butler came in and crossed the room to his Master’s side.

“What is it, Duncan?” the Earl asked in a slightly irritated tone.

He disliked anybody disturbing or talking to him while he was eating his breakfast.

“Excuse me, my Lord,” Duncan replied, “but a lady has just called at the house. She says that it’s extremely important that she should see your Lordship immediately.”

The Earl raised his eyebrows.

“A lady?” he questioned. “Who is she?”

The butler hesitated for a long moment and then, thinking it would be best to be frank, he replied,

“The lady be heavily veiled, my Lord, but I’m almost certain that it’s the Marchioness of Langbourne.”

The Earl shifted uneasily in his chair.

Then he said in a low voice as if he was speaking to himself,

“That is impossible!”

The butler hesitated again and then informed his Lordship,

“I’ve shown the lady into the study, my Lord, and she has asked me twice to inform your Lordship how exceedingly urgent the matter is.”

The Earl put his napkin down on the table and rose slowly to his feet.

He did not speak, but was frowning as he walked across the room.

As the butler hurried to open the door for him, he went out into the hall.

He walked down the corridor to the study which was where he habitually sat when he was on his own.

It was a most attractive room with two long French windows opening out onto the spacious and colourful garden at the back of the house.

The walls were covered with books except where two fine portraits of previous Earls hung, one of them painted by Van Dyck.

A footman opened the door and the Earl walked in.

He could now see that Duncan was right.

It was indeed the Marchioness of Langbourne who was waiting to see him.

She had removed what the butler had described as a heavy veil from her face and it was now thrown back over her hat.

An exceptionally beautiful woman, she had not at first been so publicly acclaimed in Society in the same way as she was now.

The ‘professional beauties’ as they were often dubbed had come into being owing to the enthusiastic attention they received from the Prince of Wales.

The Marchioness had at first escaped his notice and then His Royal Highness had started including her amongst his intimate circle of friends.

The public, informed naturally by the newspapers, hastily appreciated her loveliness and wrote enthusiastic articles about her.

With dark hair and a magnolia skin, quite a number of fashionable artists had begged her to sit for them.

She was also watched for when she drove in state through Hyde Park.

Her husband, the Marquis, had hastily forbidden photographs of her to be published and sold over the counter as were those of other London beauties.

Nevertheless there was a daily clamour at stationers and booksellers for photographs of her.

The Marchioness had been elusive where the Prince of Wales was concerned and this had caused him to pursue her rather more vigorously.

She made him laugh and would flirt coquettishly with him and, because of her witty conversation, she was invariably included in every large party he gave at Marlborough House.

At the same time she managed subtly without offending him to ward off any suggestion that their friendship should be of a more intimate nature.

Then as was perhaps inevitable she met the Earl of Kensall at a smart dinner party hosted by another admirer.

At first glance she was aware that he was exactly the man she had been waiting for with an increasing eagerness.

She was, at the age of twenty-six, at the very height of her beauty and allure and she was quite confident that any man who received an invitation from her dark blue eyes would find her irresistible.

She was the second wife of the Marquis of Langbourne, who was very much older than she was.

In fact he had celebrated his fiftieth birthday a few months before they met and in this he had more than emulated his predecessor.

The Marchioness’s first husband had been well over sixty when she married him. Lord Granton wanted an heir and was looking round for an attractive young woman who would give him one.

He was scrutinising the young women in London when quite by chance, when he was at home in his own country house, he met the daughter of a neighbour.

Daphne Wareham had never thought to contract a marriage of such social consequence and she had, of course, heard Lord Granton talked about ever since she was a child.

When his wife died, there had been a great deal of genuine commiseration for him from his friends and family. He was a kindly landlord who contributed generously to many diverse Charities in the County.

Daphne’s mother had decided that now she was eighteen, she should appear first at the local Hunt Ball and next at various other County festivities.

Then she would then go to London the following year for the Season.

“I shall be too old, Mama, to be a debutante,” Daphne protested.

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Wareham replied. “You will simply be a little more sophisticated than the other girls and that will be an advantage for you.”