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A/N: Please, keep in mind that this is fiction. Any titles or names that seem familiar (Earl of Warwick, Greville) have little or no bearing on what actually happened around this time period; though, I will do my best to not completely fuck this up and give you a little useful information.
‘Little Duke’
Chapter Three
Miss Rutledge had been Amelia’s governess for two weeks, before the accident occurred, though, Amelia would have sworn up and down to anyone who had asked that the time felt like longer-a lifetime.
…To be truthful, every little minute spent under the watchful eye of Miss Rutledge felt like an eternity with the most devout believer of the Anglican faith-no, the Puritan faith, Amelia decided: Puritans were much more hard-nosed about things like modesty and-Amelia cringed-obeying one’s elders. Since Amelia took impish joy in disobeying her elders as often as she could, having her livelihood curtailed, even for a moment…
Was awful. It was truly awful. Or it would have been had TNG been a Puritan and not a member of the Church of England.
And Puritans liked to call themselves ‘Friends.’
Amelia shuddered. She didn’t know how anyone so concerned with how the Lord viewed them as to become all but lifeless in their daily endeavors could ever be considered a friend by anyone. One’s friends weren’t supposed to be dull.
But Amelia was off track; she was supposed to be thinking about Miss Rutledge (Or, ‘TNG’ as Amelia and consequently everyone else except Amelia’s step-mama insisted on calling the governess in their minds), not the Stuffy Puritans.
‘Blegh.’ Amelia had a visitor arriving today, and would you believe her luck, but she was ill in her bed; and all because TNG had never learned how to swim; Amelia had to fish her out of the river and smack her on the back a couple times just so the older woman would live. ‘…Blegh,’ Amelia said again. ‘I…grgh…grgh…’ Breaking down into coughs was seldom a good thing; especially when one’s coughs hurt one’s chest and throat so much that the flesh inside was rubbed raw by the friction and phlegm was brought up onto one’s handkerchief-Amelia supposed the disgusting phlegm existed better outside of her body, but it was still hard to overcome the inclination to swallow everything back down.
Amelia’s skin was also clammy and her body was sweating buckets.
This was the repayment the Marchioness of London got for saving her governess’ life.
Of course, it had been partly Amelia’s fault in the first place that TNG had fallen in-shaking the swing rope hanging over the river so vigorously wouldn’t have yielded any other results-; but it had been so funny in the beginning that one could almost forgive Amelia for pulling her prank. Especially since the Marchioness was currently holed up in bed, suffering for her transgression so effusively.
‘Grgh, grgh.’
‘I’ve brought in some cooler water for you, lamb.’ Biddy entered the dark, stifling domain that was Amelia’s bedchamber and helped the young girl to sit up. ‘It should help your throat, I feel,’ Biddy said confidently.
‘Th-think, do not feel,’ Amelia reprimanded, though she started sipping at the fresh water anyway. It was delightfully cool, but Amelia felt so awful that the momentary respite on her burning organs hardly made any kind of difference at all. ‘Close the door, will you?’ Amelia asked, squinting past her nurse at the hallway bright with daylight shining into her room; it was hurting her eyes to look at it. ‘I don’t like the light. It makes my head pound something fierce.’
‘Oh!’ Biddy hurried to obey. ‘So sorry, my lamb. So sorry. Is that better?’
Once the door clicked shut again, Amelia felt no different, though she wouldn’t admit this small fact to Nurse Biddy. ‘Marg…grgh…marginally, Biddy. Thank you.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Nurse Biddy sighed, coming back to sit at Amelia’s side on the bed. ‘You shouldn’t be speaking. It’ll only ruin your voice all the more for this afternoon.’
‘How hope…’ Amelia’s present comment was waylaid by another series of hacking coughs, and she had to take two minutes to compose herself to speak again-two minutes of which Nurse Biddy spent scurrying hither and yon around Amelia’s nightstand, trying to unsuccessfully locate the tonic the family doctor had sent down just only this morning for Amelia’s use. By the time Amelia had pointed out to Nurse Biddy that the tonic was resting in the top drawer and not on the table, the moment for snippy comments was up. Amelia sagged back against her pillow. ‘How hopeful you sound,’ she said despite it all anyway.
‘Oh, puss, don’t look so melancholy,’ Nurse Biddy cajoled. ‘You have a friend coming today after all! Oh!’ Biddy sprang up like a woman on a mission and headed towards the curtains hiding Amelia’s large window from view. ‘And we must make sure to open the curtains and windows and air out the room for him. I doubt his young Lordship would appreciate spending the day in a sickly-smelling room when he didn’t have to.’ Biddy stared Amelia down to make sure the young miss knew that her time of almost complete darkness would soon be at an end. To add to her point, Biddy’s fingers hovered sinisterly in front of the hangings.
‘I,’ declared Amelia quickly, before any more coughing urges could start to tickle her throat, and Biddy could act on her bluff, ‘do not understand why his young Lordship has to come at all. And step away from that window, if you please.’
‘The date has been set,’ Biddy began.
Amelia interrupted. ‘-I am sick-.’
‘-Yes, my lamb, but-.‘
‘-It is most…grgh-.’
‘-Your Step-mama arranged it-.’
‘-Most distressing to me that I have to pander to a boy I don’t even know,’ Amelia finished, getting the last word in as was her habit; though this time she was lying-she knew the boy very well. ‘Most distressing,’ she stressed. ‘And most improper.’
‘Perhaps you should take a rest?’ Biddy suggested. ‘It will do you well.’
‘When is he coming?’ Amelia asked instead.
‘You have time for a short nap,’ Biddy continued. ‘I really do think it’s best that you take one.’
‘I do not want to,’ Amelia said obstinately. ‘I want to…grgh…want to t-talk to you about that boy. Now, t-tell me…grgh, grgh, grgh!’
‘Dear!’
‘Grgh, grgh!’
‘Oh, dear!’ Biddy fluttered back to Amelia’s side anxiously.
‘W-water,’ Amelia choked. ‘G-give me w-water. Pl-please.’
‘Of course, dear, of course!’
‘N-now, please tell me,’ Amelia said throatily, once her fit had been beaten down by sheer will and the industrious use of lubricating fluid, ‘why Step-mama cannot ch-change the date of this…’ Amelia paused to gather her resolve and her thoughts. ‘This meeting.’
‘Well,’ Nurse Biddy said. ‘To my knowledge, it has been in the works ever since your party-.’
‘-My party!’ Amelia exclaimed woefully, completely play-acting; covering up the joy she felt inside in knowing that her fried would soon be with her. ‘Oh, I knew I should have…grgh…never been so accommodating to that boy! He followed me around the whole time, it was most-!’
‘-Lamb,’ Biddy said, hoping it would calm Amelia down. ‘Lamb. It is the genuine hope of this entire household that you and his young Lordship shall be the best of companions.’
‘Oh, it is all his fault anyway that I am in this mess,’ Amelia declared haughtily. She was never one to follow anyone’s wishes just because they were directed at her; Amelia had her own agenda in all things.
‘I am confused,’ Biddy said. ‘I took Miss Rutledge’s accident to be all on you.’
‘You are wrong,’ Amelia said. ‘Again.’
‘How am I wrong?’ Biddy asked. ‘I saw the entire episode. And I do not remember seeing his young Lordship anywhere in the vicinity.’ Biddy paused for a moment. ‘Unless he was hiding,’ she added.
‘He was,’ Amelia confirmed, and then coughed up some more phlegm into her handkerchief. ‘…I took it upon myself to watch him after Step-mama told me that he would be visiting, and let me tell you…’
Amelia’s childhood nurse frowned. ‘I think I should like to have the full story out of your mouth, missy, and now.’
‘Oh, very well,’ Amelia replied; because it was what she had planned to do straight from the beginning.
May 26th, 1811, the day of Amelia’s party for her 10th Birthday.
Three weeks prior to Miss Rutledge’s accident/great fall in the river.
‘You’re that Duke’s daughter, aren’t you? Or one of them, anyway.’ Amelia glanced momentarily at the boy standing in front of her and then negligently turned her head to stare at the teeming crowd filling the small ballroom. ‘The one who pretends to be a boy.’ Silence, and then: ‘Well?’ the voice said imperiously. ‘Are you going to answer me?’
‘I didn’t know you were asking a question,’ said Amelia. ‘Except for that first time. You really must learn to enunciate your words when you speak, otherwise-.’
‘I know how to enunciate my words,’ the boy said. ‘It is you who obviously do not know how to speak. …Though, I can’t say as I am surprised…’
Amelia glared the boy into submission. ‘Do not,’ Amelia warned, ‘finish that sentence.’
‘Or what?’ the boy asked, getting hold of himself again-he had never met a more annoying girl than the one in front of him-and returning Amelia’s glare.
‘Or I’ll tell my Step-mama you’re being mean to me,’ Amelia told him.
‘I see. So you would go tattling-.’
‘You think I’m above it?’ Amelia asked scornfully. ‘Oh, child-.’
‘-I am not the ch-!’
‘-You don’t know me at all,’ Amelia said. ‘In fact,’ she finally turned outward from her musings on the growing number of attendees to her party-the number of strangers was almost intimidating; the number of little girls staring and sneering at her was even more so-and presented her companion with his first full look on her face. ‘You will never know me, because I am walking away right now.’
Amelia proceeded to do just that.
‘Wait!’ the boy called, in a different, much kinder, much more open voice than he had been using previously. ‘You’re pretty,’ he said softly, stunning Amelia into place with her back turned to him. For an instant, Amelia stared wide-eyed in front of her, not knowing what to do or how to respond. ‘…Why won’t you wear dresses?’ he asked.
‘I hate them,’ Amelia said, and hurriedly walked towards the shelter of her Step-mother.
The boy followed.
‘Step-mama,’ Amelia began, but was interrupted.
‘Charles!’ Her Grace greeted, halting all conversation in the room for an instant-much as it was what with people looking at Amelia’s eccentricities for entertainment-, and sweeping past Amelia with only a pat on the head. Amelia watched in horrified fascination as the boy who she had put it into her mind not just two seconds ago to thoroughly dislike was attacked by her Step-mama and bombarded with kisses.
‘Oh! Godmother! Oh! Please! Desist! Desist!’ The fact that the boy was embarrassed by the attention wasn’t as much as a balm to Amelia as it should have been.
‘G-godmother?’ breathed Amelia haltingly. ‘Oh, not good. Not good at all.’
‘Sweetheart,’ Her Grace said, addressing Amelia, arm still around Charles, ‘I would like you to meet your cousin, Charles Archibald Greville, son of the Earl of Warwick, and my god-son.’
‘Oh,’ breathed Amelia; belatedly she sank into her finest bow. Charles Archibald Greville stared at her, and then imitated it.
‘A pleasure,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Amelia.
June 1st, 1811, two weeks prior to Miss Rutledge’s accident/great fall in the river.
Amelia was watching from a high perch on an oak tree as Charles, the son of the Earl of Warwick took riding lessons with his horsemaster. Amelia was most envious of the horse the boy was riding, for she did not have one half so fine. Charles’s colt appeared, from Amelia’s vantage point, to be all gray with an Arabian-type conformation: long neck, strong body, deep chest. A wonderful horse, though to be honest, Amelia would have preferred to ride a mare.
‘But I do ride a mare,’ Amelia remembered. ‘An all-white one.’ Amelia then proceeded to smile superiorly down at the boy and his servant, for no young mare in England was as fine as Amelia’s horse, Julia.
Aside from why an obviously inferior boy should have such a magnificent horse, the question foremost in Amelia’s mind was why Charles Greville and his family were in Gloucester to begin with. Warwickshire lied to the northeast by the River Avon-actually around the birthplace of Shakespeare-and was some kilometers-though not a spectacular distance-away.
Had the family purchased a property nearby? Or were they just staying with other friends? Amelia wondered also at the fact that the Grevilles were not staying at Farrowhead since such a close relationship with their respective families apparently existed.
A horsy whiney brought Amelia out of her thoughts, and she focused on Charles once again, inadvertently slipping a little in her purchase on her branch, and exposing a slip of white through the foliage for Charles to view. Charles wasn’t a sturdy boy-quite skinny actually-but he appeared to be holding his own and sitting well on his beast, so Amelia grudgingly gave him a little credit; the boy could ride tolerably-though, Amelia had to admit it would have been more fun to see Charles fall from his seat.
‘Ho!’ Charles had seen her, Amelia realized, for he and his companion were stopping under her oak tree. ‘Have you been spying on me, boy?’ Charles demanded, sounding affronted and pleased at the same time.
‘No,’ Amelia sniffed. ‘I’ve simply been sitting here.’
‘But why here?’ Charles asked, trying to get a better look at this figure up in a tree on his family’s property. ‘Why not in one of your own trees?’
For that, Amelia didn’t really have an answer, so she said nothing at all.
‘Will you not answer me?’ Charles asked after a minute. ‘It is only polite.’ Charles’s companion-on closer look, Amelia realized he was dressed too nicely to be a servant-politely rode some feet away as to not intrude upon the conversation.
‘I abhor answering you,’ Amelia replied.
‘Where have I heard that voice before?’ Charles wondered out loud.
‘I don’t know-.’
‘-You’re that girl!’ Charles interrupted enthusiastically. ‘I know you! Why are you up my tree? Did you come for a visit?’ Charles looked delighted by the prospect.
‘Of course not,’ Amelia said. ‘Why would I visit you?’
‘Well,’ Charles said. ‘I don’t know. We’re cousins. Maybe that is why. Cousins visit one another all the time. If you’ve come for a visit, I think it’d be best if you got down off that tree; it can’t be very comfortable for you, talking like this.’
‘We are not truly cousins,’ Amelia informed him. ‘You are my Step-mama’s second-cousin once removed, or some posh like that. We are not really related at all. And I will come down when I decide, not when you think I should.’
‘We are family,’ Charles declared, ignoring Amelia’s last statement. ‘And family is always welcome, so,’ he smiled, ‘I welcome you, Cousin, to Hollyknoll.’ Resigned, Amelia started to climb down from the tree-if she was rude to family it would get back to her father somehow. ‘But wait,’ Charles said, because he had just thought of something. ‘Why are you alone?’
June 13th, 1811, two days prior to Miss Rutledge’s accident/great fall in the river.
Amelia could not believe it had come to this, but it appeared she was having fond thoughts of Charles. Why this was so, Amelia did not know, but it was. Charles of course, had fond thoughts of Amelia-that was only right and true-Amelia surmised, but to actually reciprocate some type of caring feeling for the boy was too embarrassing of a thought for Amelia to entertain at the moment. They had been spending everyday of the past week and a half together in some form of companionship ever since that day with the tree and the horses, and Amelia needed some time away from Charles for her peace of mind.
‘Where are we going now?’
But no. Peace of mind was not to be had. Charles followed Amelia around like she was the pied-piper and he the mouse.
‘We are going,’ Amelia said, ‘to the River. I only get an hour of free time an afternoon, as you well know, and to use that anywhere but out of doors is a waste of the time I’ve been given.’
‘But we always go to the River,’ Charles complained, keeping stride with Amelia’s long legs; in fact, he sometimes overtook her, and had to double back, just so Amelia would not glare at him reproachfully…like she was doing right now. ‘Why cannot we, oh, visit the kitchens?’ Charles asked. ‘Your Cook makes the most wonderful muffins…’
‘We are not visiting the kitchens,’ Amelia huffed. Under her breath, she added, ‘as if I would ever take you there again. You left no muffins for me, did you?’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, you dullard, that we are not visiting the kitchens,’ Amelia repeated.
‘No,’ Charles shook his head. ‘You mumbled something afterward. What was it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Amelia said. ‘I don’t think I mumbled anything. And before you open your mouth to say what it is I know you’re going to say, I do not need further lessons in speaking. I am most, most outspoken.’
‘You do not have to tell me,’ Charles said. ‘I know.’
‘As long as you do, we will get on fine,’ Amelia responded. ‘Now, here.’ They had stopped at Amelia’s favorite spot by the river. ‘Look at my swing. See how it sways with the littlest breeze? Isn’t it marvelous?’
‘Oh!’ Charles said. ‘I want a swing for my river!’
‘If you get one then you must always know that you stole my idea and nothing can be as great as the original.’
‘I don’t care,’ Charles said. ‘I want one. Can we try it out?’ he asked eagerly. ‘How much time do we have left before you’re due back to see Miss Rutledge?’
Amelia checked the pocket watch her father had gifted her with a little over two weeks prior at her birthday party. ‘Forty minutes. We’ll have to walk back in twenty, unfortunately.’
‘That’s plenty of time.’
‘Yes.’
Charles grinned at Amelia. ‘Race you to it?’ he proposed.
Amelia was already running.
Biddy’s brow was wrinkled with age, and it wrinkled even more at her confusion. ‘You left out the entire story of Miss Rutledge falling in,’ Nurse Biddy said. ‘I still fail to see how it is his young Lordship’s fault at all.’
‘Oh.’ Amelia’s flushed face showcased a blush. ‘I’ll explain then.’
June 15th, 1811, the day of Miss Rutledge’s accident/great fall in the river.
‘Do not go far, my lady,’ Miss Rutledge called. ‘You are only to collect plants from by the waterbed,’ she added, referring to the assignment Amelia had been given for botany. ‘Do not, I repeat, do not, venture into the forest.’
‘Yes, Miss Rutledge,’ Amelia droned. ‘I will stay by the river.’
‘That is good,’ Miss Rutledge said. ‘When you are done, and please try to not take more than fifteen minutes, come back to the tree with your findings wrapped up in your extra handkerchief, and we shall discuss them. And do not take off your gloves for any reason,’ Miss Rutledge reminded. ‘A lady’s hands should never get dirty.’
Biddy nodded in concurrence like she knew from her own clean hands how a lady’s hands were meant to look.
‘Yes, Miss Rutledge.’ Amelia rolled her eyes and walked as far off from the river as she dared; still staying in TNG and Biddy’s line of sight. ‘Charles!’ she whispered. ‘Pst! Charles! Oh, where are you?’ When no answer was forthcoming, Amelia rolled her eyes again, and submitted most of her attention to collecting various plants. Charles was supposed to be waiting in the bushes so Amelia wouldn’t be as bored during her lesson, but the child had apparently forgotten. It was no matter however. Amelia couldn’t be bothered with people who forgot their appointments.
‘Amelia!’
‘Wherever have you been?’ Amelia snapped softly, careful that TNG did not overhear their discussion. ‘I called you and you did not answer.’
Charles stuck an arm out from behind a tree and beckoned. ‘Well, that was because I did not hear,’ he replied. ‘I have only just arrived.’
‘Obviously,’ Amelia said.
‘Well?’ Charles asked. ‘I am here now. What will you have me do?’ As disinclined as Amelia was not to think about her step-cousin in a cheerful manner, she was hard-pressed not to feel some kind of feeling for a creature who was so patently enamored of her. Still. Did Charles Greville always have to sound so…slavish?
‘Just stay there. No!’ Amelia changed her mind. ‘Go bother TNG. She needs a bothering. I have been digging in the grass for plants like some gardener all week, and for what? I will have no need for plants in the future, because I will be living in the city.’
‘Maybe we should tip her over the water…’ Charles suggested.
Later on, the two scandalous misbehaviors did exactly that by tricking Miss Rutledge into viewing a piece of fauna only viewable from atop the swing swaying over the river-Biddy did nothing to stop it, for she was almost as intrigued as Miss Rutledge about the plant. And that is how TNG fell in.
Biddy swallowed her frown, because the young miss did look exceedingly unwell, and sighed. ‘Well, I am sorry that you have to meet with him today, then,’ Biddy said. ‘But from what you have told me, it sounds like you should enjoy it.’
‘Biddy,’ Amelia whined, and then coughed. ‘H-he is seeing me in my bedchamber.’
‘Well, we will move you out of it, if it means that much to you.’ Biddy gestured to one of the two silent maids that had been standing in the corner throughout the story. ‘Help me move the young miss-.’
‘Oh, Biddy,’ Amelia said, put-out that she was showing so much weakness in front of someone who knew her so well. ‘Just…shoo.Shoo. Leave. I will have my nap now, after all.’
‘Fine,’ Biddy grumbled, nodding to the two maids that they should follow her out. ‘But, I will be going to Her Grace with a report on your health directly. …And, if you were wondering, my lady,’ Biddy added in a lecturing tone of voice, ‘Miss Rutledge is doing nicely and sends her wishes for a swift recovery so you might soon continue your lesson on botany.’
‘Pox on Miss Rutledge,’ Amelia muttered, watching the door close behind the women.