‘He is just after your money,’ I lectured as I clambered out of bed to give myself a good talking-to in the mirror of my dresser. ‘He’s just a pretty face who’ll become as boring as the rest, once given an estate and a taste of true power.’
‘He does have a very pretty face though,’ Nanny commented, teasing.
‘I don’t want to be wife to an up-and-coming lord!’ I told myself very firmly in the mirror. ‘I have far more promising plans.’
‘Would her ladyship care to share our future with her dear old Nanny?’ She approached to start dressing me.
‘I would rather marry Lord Hereford and keep him company until death comes for him. I shall be left a Dowager Viscountess-in-mourning, free to take up my husband’s work where he left off.’ This plan was only just dawning on me and it sounded wonderful. ‘You and I would be happy, Lord Hereford would be happy, and papa would be furious, for the family line would die with me.’
‘Why do you want to anger Lord Suffolk so?’ Nanny felt she should speak up for her employer.
‘Simply because Father would be angered if I marry a man of my choosing and not his. Lord Suffolk is no father to me! Lord Derby would be happy for me, because he truly cares about what I think and feel.’
Yes, this was my goal, my destiny! I could hear my father’s voice hollering…
‘No daughter of mine is going to be an archaeologist!’
My father stood in his study at the Granville townhouse in London, holding a letter of proposal in each hand. I’d been dreading this confrontation for weeks now, but I was determined to have my way. After spending much time together in Derbyshire, Lord Hamilton had, with my encouragement, proposed. The viscount had never thought he would marry again and assured me sincerely that he would not impose himself on me, in a marital sense. He’d chuckled at the thought of what his money-hungry relatives would think of him taking a young wife—and begetting an heir on her who might disinherit the lot of them. Still, the simple fact was that he relished my company and also the idea of having a student to pass his knowledge on to. Marriage seemed the very thing, if we were to both get what we wanted.
Unfortunately, Mr Devere was also convinced that I was destined to marry him; hence, the two proposals in my father’s possession.
I had written to Lady Charlotte about the incident of her reading for the young Mr Devere, and she responded thus:
I do have a recollection of reading for one of the Devere boys when I was in Oxfordshire long ago, but in relation to the specifics of that conversation, you know as well as I do that psychics seldom recall prophecy when they come out of trance. Memory, like myth, is unreliable and does not give a factual account of an event, in my experience, as it can be twisted to suit the situation and with a little imagination can become quite distorted over time.
I felt sure this was the case with Mr Devere. I held nothing in common with the man, whereas my connection to Lord Hamilton was ten times more evident to me. He felt like home, and, yes, I suspected I was seeking the father figure I’d always wanted, but I didn’t care to understand the hidden workings of my mind. It just felt too right to be the wrong move to make.
‘Young Devere is a far more suitable match, and has even agreed to link our name to his in regard to the estate.’ Father chuckled, pleased about that. ‘My grandson will inherit my estate and my name.’
‘If that is all you desire, Father, it might be easier if I just stay single, have an affair and bear a bastard for you.’
‘Don’t you get vulgar with me, miss.’ He let loose his frustration as his energy field filled with stormy clouds.
What infuriated me was that it wasn’t my whorish remark that had made him angry; rather, I’d taken the liberty of calling him Father, as only sons were permitted to do.
‘Mr Devere is the only suitor to whom I shall consent,’ he told me, adamantly.
‘I have not needed your consent since I turned twelve,’ was my retort. ‘Disinherit me, by all means.’
‘You stupid girl.’ Father locked eyes with me. ‘Mark my words…it would be a disaster for you to marry anyone but Mr Devere.’
Naturally I took his advice with a grain of salt. ‘Goodbye, Father. I guess if you want an heir, you’ll have to remarry and raise one yourself.’ I left without further ado.
‘Then have your disaster,’ my father uttered in my wake, ‘but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
This did not sound like a threat made in anger, I thought, but more like my father knew more than he was prepared to say.
No! I would not allow him to undermine my confidence. This was my life and I would do as I saw fit with it; to hell with the family name and estate. I was to be the Viscountess of Hereford, Lady Hamilton, and I liked the sound of that—it would look quite impressive on a book, I imagined!
Clearly, I was no longer welcome in my father’s house, and it was out of the question for me to move my belongings into Lord Hamilton’s townhouse before we wed. Alas, I found myself in front of the Cavandish House on Mayfair—this was one of the most sought-after addresses in London.
‘I didn’t survive one day without you.’ I told them my troubles as I was greeted first by Susan, Lord Cavandish and then the rest of the household.
Thankfully, I was greeted with open arms and, fully appreciating my predicament, they invited me to be their guest until my wedding to Lord Hamilton. I don’t think any of the Cavandish family truly understood our attraction, except for maybe Lord Derby.
Bless that whole family, for not one of them ever tried to dissuade me from my decision. My word was gospel so far as the Cavandish family was concerned and if I thought Hamilton was the right choice, then he was. I felt it a crying shame my father did not have the same respect for my good sense; from what I could tell he did his best to deny I had any sense, psychic or otherwise.
I was taking tea with the family, who were lending their brain power to help sort out my affairs, when the announcement of the arrival of Lord Devere and his relatives sent me into a panic. I rose immediately to retire to my room, saying that I needed to write a letter to Lord Hereford at once.
The family, of course, understood my need for a quick departure, and excused me as requested.
I didn’t escape the Devere family’s acquaintance completely, but I had managed to make it to the hallway stairs before they were led past me. I hoped I might escape their notice altogether, but Mr Devere, who was trailing the party, spotted me before he entered the sitting room and changed his course. ‘Miss Granville,’ he called.
‘Good day, Mr Devere.’ I looked back but continued to slowly ascend. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stop to talk. I have an urgent letter to write.’
‘Is it to me?’
The hopeful and amorous note in his question made my heart ache and I stopped my ascent. ‘No,’ I replied, as gentle a rejection as could be delivered.
He sighed and took a second to gather his thoughts. ‘So, you are determined to marry Lord Hereford?’
‘Word travels fast.’ I couldn’t believe how fast. I took another step forward to escape this conversation.
‘No.’ Mr Devere shook his head to assert he had heard no rumour. ‘I can tell by the way you regard me as an enemy, to be avoided.’
I immediately refrained from braving another step. ‘Truly, you deserve better than I could ever give you as a wife. I will never make you happy.’
‘You do make me happy!’ he retorted, then his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Goddamn it!’ He shook his head to collect himself. ‘Why should Lord Hereford be more deserving of your affection than I, if it is truly not about the title? What can he grant you that I cannot?’
‘In a word, freedom,’ I replied, and Mr Devere looked at me dumbfounded. ‘We both know he is not a well man. Lord Hereford just wants my company for what time he has left, and in return he will supply me with ample funds to indulge my travel ambitions once he has departed this world.’ I paused and as Mr Devere still seemed to be at a loss for
words, I added, ‘I did tell you my agenda was unique to my gender.’
Having pondered my words a moment, Devere replied, ‘You’re not a romantic then?’
I smiled at his jest. ‘No, romance is for those who do not have the stomach for non-fiction.’
‘I like a little of both, myself.’ He bowed out of the conversation graciously, and moved to join his family in the next room. ‘I wish you all the very best for your future, Miss Granville.’
‘And you, Mr Devere.’
I dashed to my room to gather my sensibilities.
I had my letter personally delivered to Lord Hamilton by Nanny Beat and my betrothed visited me at the Cavandishs’ residence on Mayfair that evening.
There was great cause for celebration in the Cavandish household that night, for Lord Devere had proposed to Susan that very afternoon and Lord and Lady Cavandish had blessed the couple’s plans to marry. Susan was especially excited that her betrothed had suggested that they be married by a special licence granted by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Such a licence cost the huge sum of twenty-eight guineas and was quite often used by the well-to-do. I daresay I had never seen my dear friend more beside herself with excitement, joy and pride, for she was to be a countess, just as her mother before her. Quite apart from the prestige of the affair, Susan was very taken with Lord Oxford, James Devere, and he with her—everyone agreed it was a fine match.
Due to a falling out between Lord Hamilton and the Church of England over his research, a marriage by special licence was not a route the viscount and myself could take. The risk of my father—or Lord Hamilton’s extended family—objecting was too great for a marriage by the banns to be an option either. So it was decided that it would be a civil licence for us. We only needed to be residents of London for fifteen days and a licence would be granted, whereby we would be permitted to marry in a church or a registry. As neither of us was very religious we decided on the latter option.
Five days later I was visiting with Lord Hamilton, whom I had taken to calling Mr Hamilton. Nanny Beat had accompanied me on the visit to avoid gossip and she was quietly doing needlepoint at the other end of the room, whilst Mr Hamilton and I discussed our wedding plans.
Not that there was too much to discuss. As soon as we were married, we planned to do the frightfully unfashionable thing and leave London for the duration of the social season. We would retire to Lord Hereford’s estate in the Midlands, which housed his extensive reference library, and get to work on my further education.
I enjoyed discussing our plans and I thought Lord Hamilton was also, but as I began speaking of our future together, the man’s good mood ebbed. His light-body clouded over momentarily and I knew that something was bothering him.
‘Why are you so distressed?’ I asked. ‘Is it the objections to our marriage that your relatives have expressed?’
‘Hardly. We both know they have nothing to fear, and if they wish to get all sweaty over the issue then…so be it.’ He grinned to hide his worry. ‘I am distressed because I have a gift for you.’ He reached down behind his comfy chair and handed me two heavy, bound locked books. ‘Like you, Miss Granville, these are very precious to me and therefore I want you to have them.’
‘Oh, my lord!’ I was stunned. They looked intriguing, and had locks on them, yet neither of the books had titles or authors on the cover. ‘What amazing texts are these?’ I looked the curiosities over as I accepted them from my betrothed.
‘What is within is too secret to be named,’ he explained. ‘Here are the keys.’ He held them out to me on a fine piece of deep green ribbon which was tied in a bow to stop the keys escaping.
I placed the books aside and, leaning forward to take the ribbon from him, my lips brushed his cheek fondly. ‘Another man might have given me jewels to win my favour…and that is why I love you, Mr Hamilton.’
As Nanny cleared her throat, I took the hint and sat back to investigate my presents further.
‘Open them later, my dear, when you are alone,’ he insisted, rather awkwardly, and I knew there was something underlying the unsettled mood of the viscount this evening.
I smiled. ‘You know that I know there is something amiss with you?’
Yes, I had told my intended of my extraordinary abilities and how my father had made me suppress them for fear of me ruining his reputation or embarrassing him. To this Mr Hamilton had replied that he had already ruined his reputation in the House of Lords and that no matter what I did with my life, I would never bring him anything but joy and utter delight. Now you see why I couldn’t but adore the man.
‘You promised you wouldn’t use your hocus-pocus on me.’ He defended himself lightheartedly.
‘I don’t have to look past the expression on your face to know that something has upset you…is it me? Are you having second thoughts?’
‘No,’ he stated resolutely. ‘You are not the problem.’
‘Is it my father? Your relatives? Mr Devere?’ I kept trying to guess, while Lord Hamilton shook his head, smiling.
‘All of the above,’ he joked, ‘and none.’ His humour evaporated.
I had promised Mr Hamilton that I wouldn’t violate his mental space, and if I broke that vow now there would be no hope for me during our married life together.
‘Are you ill?’ I became worried, although I noted that his light-body was much healthier than when we’d first met—especially his heart.
Mr Hamilton laughed away that fear. ‘My dear Miss Granville, I haven’t felt this good in twenty years. I just wanted to give you a present, that’s all.’ He sidestepped the whole inquiry. ‘Is there a law against it that I am not aware of?’
‘No,’ I giggled, as he exaggerated his injured pride for my amusement. I wanted to ask why he hadn’t waited until our wedding night to give me his treasured books, but since he’d worked so hard to steer me off the topic I didn’t have the heart to breach it again.
When I returned home that evening and I was alone, as requested, I unlocked the viscount’s gifts.
The silver key unlocked a green volume. Inside was a handwritten text, complete with sketches, of the life’s work of Douglas and Clarissa Hamilton. My eyes immediately filled with tears of gratitude, that he would give me such a personal treasure. On the inside of the thick cover Lord Hereford had written, To my love incarnate—Douglas, and today’s date. I was so moved I could barely breathe and as I was only wearing my chemise, it wasn’t a corset restricting me, but my own heart expanding to fill the confines of my chest.
The thick red volume was far more extraordinary. It had a gold lock and key, and inside was no text at all. The pages had been hollowed out, but it appeared to be a book when closed. It did, in fact, contain a small vial of white substance—it was not a liquid, so I assumed it was a very fine powder, like ash.
‘Such a big book for such a little vial?’ I picked the intricately carved crystal container out of its padded red velvet casing, but I dared not open it until I asked Lord Hereford what it was.
I closed my eyes and focused on the vial to see what history it had to tell me, but apart from a few fleeting glimpses of Lord Hamilton admiring the contents, I saw nothing. It was as if the vessel had been cleansed of all psychic imprints.
I opened my eyes to observe the object once more. Just the exotic design of the vial told me the substance was probably rare or expensive, or both! I placed the vial back in its case and I was closing the cover when I saw that the substance had a slight illumination of its own. My eyes were transfixed by the little glowing bottle for some time. My heart fluttered in my chest with excitement and I was overcome with the kind of warm sentiment that I had only ever felt toward Susan, Lady Charlotte or my dear Nanny Beat: yes, I was falling in love with Mr Hamilton and all his mysterious secrets and knowledge.
This morning I learned that doing the right thing is not always for the best.
I awoke from a lucid dream; Lord Hamilton was dead. I was sure of this, as if it had happened yesterday—onl
y it had not happened yesterday. Mr Hamilton had been in fine health when I’d left him after dinner.
‘What is happening?’ I felt ill, as if I had one foot in two separate worlds. I was clutching my treasure stone, which I had taken to wearing on a chain around my wrist, where the stone was hidden from the public eye by my gloves.
There was a vision superimposing itself upon my bedroom surroundings. I saw Lord Hamilton slouched in a chair in his study, wine glass still in his fingers and white as a ghost.
I rang the bell for Nanny and slid out of bed into the icy morning, the shock of which dismissed the awful vision and my nausea departed with it.
Nanny entered, still in her bedclothes.
‘I have seen something awful, Nanny. I need to see Lord Hereford at once.’
My saving grace nodded and left to prepare.
‘Please let me be wrong about this.’ I moved to the mirror to make myself presentable. ‘If there is a god, then let this be a nightmare and nothing more.’
He can’t be dead! I reasoned to myself. I had seen the vitality returning to his spirit-body and his physical body was following suit. Lord Hereford could simply not have died of natural causes. No, not natural causes. I saw a hole in my reasoning.
When our carriage arrived at the front of the viscount’s residence in London, I was distressed to see much commotion afoot. The front door was open and a policeman stood guard.
I was allowed into the house once I explained my relationship to Mr Hamilton. A Constable Fletcher and Lord Hamilton’s cousin, Mr Fredrick Hamilton, met me in the hallway. Mr Hamilton was the heir apparent to the Hereford estate and titles—he appeared both pleased and displeased to see me.
‘What has happened?’ I beseeched, trying to look past them into the study.
‘I regret to inform you that my dear cousin departed this world during the night, Miss Granville.’