Forever Remain Read online

  If you will indulge an old man to offer you some advice. While I know you do all in your power and what your wealth can provide to cloak your affliction from society, and I heartily agree with your judgment in this, for it is nobody’s business but your own, when you find a mate, when you fall in love, surrender yourself to her completely, as your father did with your mother. He never hid his true self from her, nor should you hide your affliction from your chosen bride. It is part of who you are and will always be thus. And if she loves you, as she must, completely, as your mother loves your father, then you will have a long and happy marriage, and that is what I most wish for you, love and happiness, and to be loved is nothing less than you deserve.

  You are the kindest, most generous, and feeling man I have had the privilege to watch grow into a fine gentleman. Please do not weep for me, for I am done with this old, tired, worn-out body and, to be truthful, and I keep this from [suppressed], I am counting the days when I can leave this mortal prison of wasting flesh and am free to be reunited with your father, and be by his side once again, and forever.

  With love,

  Martin

  17. Miss Theodora Cavendish to Miss Lisa Crisp

  Miss Theodora Cavendish, Brycecomb Hall via Stroud, Gloucestershire, to Miss Lisa Crisp, c/o M’sieur de Crespigny of Fournier Street, Spitalfields, London.

  Brycecomb Hall via Stroud, Gloucestershire

  July 8, 1784

  * * *

  Dearest, dearest Lisa,

  This is my second letter sent to your Fournier Street address, and I promise you it won’t be my last because I am determined, yes determined, to find you, my Blacklands sister.

  I cannot believe I have left horrid Blacklands behind forever, and returned home to the blissful Cotswolds. I have never been happier to be home with my family, to watch my darling baby brothers grow into boys, and to be able to hug Mama whenever I wish it, and to go out riding about my beautiful, beautiful countryside with my dear papa. All is again right in my world, and I never want to leave here ever again. But I cannot be completely happy until I know you are safe and well, and you send me a reply to one of my letters. I am finding this silence between us unbearable and if I were not with my family and in my beloved Cotswolds, and, as I told you in my previous letter, betrothed to my Jack and making plans to wed him, I think I would take to my bed and never leave it until you came to free me from my melancholy.

  At the very least, here at home I am able to write freely and as often as I like, and both my parents understand that I must write to you, and why it is so very necessary that I find you. For I cannot, I will not, marry my Jack without you at my side.

  I cannot remember if I told you before this letter, but I was forbidden to write to you from school. That isn’t strictly true. I wrote you many letters, it’s just they were never sent because it was thought in my best interests that all ties between us be severed. But I will never ever ever give up on you my dearest, dearest friend in the entire wide world.

  My heart is breaking, Lisa. I still do not understand why you left me without a word of your departure, with no farewell between us. Was our parting all too much for you to bear that you thought it best to up and leave without saying your goodbyes? How could you be so cruel? I do not want to believe you would be cruel to any living thing, and most definitely not to me, whatever others might try to persuade me otherwise. I won’t believe them! Ever. I know they are only trying to be helpful in telling me to forget you, but tell me how that is helpful? We were as close as two sisters who loved each other could be, sharing each day, and our secrets, well, my secrets because you do not have any and are too good to have any, and then one day you were gone, just like that, as if you had never been there at all.

  I thought you had died. No one would tell me. No one would mention you. I was ordered not to ask about you because I was upsetting the other girls with my continual questions. But what about my feelings and how upset I was when you vanished? Did no one think I would be? I am still upset, and no matter how many years go past, I will never stop wondering and worrying and wanting my Lisa returned to me. Others at the school were also upset, so it was not only me you upset by leaving without a word. George, the carpenter’s son, and his father, too. Signore Baldi, and little Daisy, Mrs. Frank’s daughter from the sewing room. But none of them could tell me what had happened to you, and all assured me you were most definitely not dead because no one had been carried out in a casket, and no one had mentioned a death.

  They, I mean Mlle Bromley, Mlle Martin, and the grand dame of our esteemed Blacklands, Mme Girouard, or as I always called her when we were private, and which made you giggle, Maîtresse Grandes Bajoues. They all assured me you were not dead, but said it was for the best that I think of you as dead, because it was not as if we would ever see each other again. And when I contradicted them and said I had every intention of seeing you again once I left Blacklands, and that I would never ever forget you, Mme Girouard sat me down and told me with a perfectly grave face that I was very special, but that you were not. She said, and you must pardon the insult because it is what she said, not what I believe at all, that you were so far beneath me in social consequence that I might as well be living in the clouds, and you in a ditch, for that was how far apart we were and would forever remain. And because of this great gap that would never be closed between us, we were destined to tread very different life paths and lead very different lives. She is an utter trencherfly, all because Uncle Roxton is a duke and mama is the daughter of an earl, and she would have loved to have said as much, but because she was always lecturing us at morning assembly about loving thy neighbour and treating everyone as we found them and showing Christian charity to all, she could not, could she, because she wasn’t being charitable at all. Quite the opposite. She’s such a hypocrite.

  I pretended not to understand her at all and pulled that face I used on Mlle Martin when she would ask me if I knew what had happened to the extra slices of cake, and I would shake my head and ask her whatever did she mean? When all the time the cake was in my pocket. And who could blame me for taking what was rightfully ours anyway? She certainly did not need anymore of our cake. Poor Lisa, you found stolen cake hard to swallow did you not? But we still ate every crumb because they never did give us enough to eat at supper!

  I had some satisfaction in watching Mme Girouard tie herself in knots as she tried to explain the differences in our social consequence as the natural order of things, and God’s will, until I had had enough of her squirming and her Janus-faced explanations and just burst into tears to get her to stop. Though, my darling Lisa, the tears were very real, as was my frustration, because I miss you so very very VERY much that my heart hurts.

  Dearest Lisa, I mean to persist in writing to you until there is no ink left in the whole wide world and you write to me and tell me you are well and safe and that you miss me too.

  For now I shall close this letter by kissing the page, and telling you that I have not forsaken you! Papa is traveling into Stroud for a meeting of clothiers or some such, and I want him to carry this with him and send it from there with the coach.

  Love you to bits, my darling dearest Lisa. I remain your best friend in the whole wide world and your Blacklands sister forever,

  Teddy

  18. Lord Henri-Antoine Hesham Diary Entry

  November 6, 1784

  [Translated from the French]

  * * *

  Dearest Papa, I lost another part of me today. We received news (which surprised no one because we have been waiting for it any day now) that Martin passed away peacefully in his sleep two days ago. He was not in bed but outside on the terrace in his favorite chair, tucked up snugly and enjoying a café au lait. Jeremy thought he was dozing, he looked so peaceful. I am glad he went this way, and pray he is already with you, and you have embraced your confidant and friend and welcomed him into Heaven to be at your side. I cannot see for my tears and I fear I will splash my words, but I do not care. I
am bereft. It is as if you have died all over again and I must again endure the pain and heartache of that loss. I know I shall feel this way until he is brought here to be interred. That at least will bring me some consolation, having him near, with you, and with us.

  I go up to London at the end of the month, after Martin’s interment, to meet with the medical men Bailey recommends I appoint to the board. I think you will be pleased with his choice for our foundation, which goes on apace with many more applications for funding than we can possibly satisfy. Such is the sorry state of the medical care in this country.

  Today I accompanied Julian over to Alston, and Freddy came with us. We showed our faces at The Swan. The locals do like to see their duke and his heir out and about. You would be proud of your grandson, who is turning out to be a fine young man aware of what lies ahead of him. He is almost as serious as his father, though no one could be as serious as that, could they?! But I predict Freddy will follow in his father’s footsteps and be an exemplary duke, which will please you. I, on the other hand, spend my time when I am upright and capable of it, in frivolity, so I, too, am doing my bit to keep your legacy alive! Ha! Was that a raise of your eyebrow in displeasure? Surely not! I kiss you and leave you, my health no better or worse than it was yesterday. xo

  19. Miss Theodora Cavendish to Miss Lisa Crisp

  Miss Theodora Cavendish, Brycecomb Hall via Stroud, Gloucestershire, to Miss Lisa Crisp, c/o M’sieur de Crespigny, Fournier Street, Spitalfields, London.

  October 28, 1785

  * * *

  Dearest Lisa,

  Yesterday the most marvelous idea sprang from my head! I am exceedingly excited and think myself very clever to have had such a thought. I confided in Mama and she thinks my idea might just work! She has encouraged me to write to see if it could be done. I hugged her so tightly both of us almost lost breath. I am happy to have a plan, but I am also happy for another reason, and must tell you our family’s news before I continue on to tell you of this plan of mine.

  Last evening at dinner, Mama and Papa made the most marvelous announcement imaginable. We are to welcome an addition to the family in the new year! Not a person, silly. A baby. A baby brother or, if I could keep my fingers crossed for the entire time to ensure the outcome I would, though Mama suggested I pray for the outcome too, and that’s to have a baby sister join our family. Indeed! Mama is enceinte and is due in the new year. It was a surprise to her and Papa as much as it was to Granny Kate and me. My brothers are excited, of course, but have no notion that the baby will not be here until February, which for them might as well be a hundred years from now. I predict that every day they come down to breakfast, they will ask if the baby has arrived. And when my baby sister does finally make her entrance into the world, her crying and fussing will have them running out of doors as fast as they can manage it.

  But just because we are to have another baby in the family, and, if wishes can come true a girl, does not mean I will ever forget my Blacklands sister. Which is why I have come up with the most marvelous plan to have you found.

  Do you remember me telling you at school that I have powerful relatives who love me? I am sure you must. It is these powerful relatives I will enlist to find you, for what is the good of powerful relatives if they cannot help me? And Mama assures me they will help, and not deny me my wish.

  If there is one person in this world who can grant wishes, it is my Mama’s cousin, Mme la Duchesse d’Kinross whom I like to think of as my fairy godmother. It is her eldest son who is the Duke of Roxton, and it is his wife, the Duchess, who is my aunt. Mme la Duchesse d’Kinross will find you. I know it. She would do anything to aid in my happiness, and she will apply to her son, my Uncle Roxton, to employ what methods they have between them to discover your whereabouts.

  How difficult can it be when I have your last known address? Mama believes, like me, that the Duchess will do everything in her power to assist in finding you, particularly as I have told her I want you, and only you, to be my bridal attendant. How can I marry Jack without having you there by my side?

  So confident am I that the Duchess will find you, that I am less melancholic and much more hopeful. Mama says it has brought out my smile. For although the thought of having a baby sister did make me feel so much the better, I won’t feel myself until we two are reunited.

  I leave off writing now, my darling dearest friend, because I must turn my concentration to writing to Mme la Duchesse d’Kinross. Unlike my letters to you, which I can keep private, I will have Mama read my letter to Her Grace, because I want it to be perfect, and I want her help.

  I mean to also give Mme la Duchesse your invitation to my wedding, which can be delivered along with this letter when she finds you, and she will find you!

  Your dearest most special and everlasting friend and Blacklands sister,

  Teddy

  20. Deborah, Duchess of Roxton, to Sir John Cavendish

  [Undated but delivered on the night before Her Grace’s nephew’s wedding to Miss Theodora Cavendish in July 1786]

  * * *

  Dear Jack,

  I wanted to write you this letter about my thoughts on this the eve of your marriage so that you may keep it always. Know that, even as you embark on this the next chapter in your life as a married man, with all the responsibilities and joys that entails, and in the not too distant future, adding to that of being a father to your own family, you never lose the love and worry of your mother. For that is what I have essentially been to you since your own dear parents were taken from you at such a young age.

  I have always strived to do my best for you and to show you the love and protection of a mother, even when still in my teens I had no real idea of what it was to be one. But, do you know, giving birth to my first son, and with every subsequent birth, I am still learning what it is to be a parent. I have always thought of you as mine own and included you in that number.

  For you are, in many ways, my first-born, even if I did not give birth to you. I have loved you, protected you, given you shelter and guidance, and worried over you, and you have never disappointed me, or any member of our family. I am so proud of you, of the boy you were, and of the man you have become.

  You have a great capacity for compassion and for love. And as a fellow musician, I can hear those feelings conveyed in your compositions. It is not surprising that your pieces often move your audience to tears. Those feelings are not only revealed in your music, but in how you treat others.

  You are the greatest friend Harry could ever wish for, and you are as close as brothers could ever be. I know his parents, and his brother, are so thankful that you came into Harry’s life when you did, for I do not doubt they feared he would never make friends, such is his self-absorbed and melancholy disposition. But given his affliction, that is understandable, is it not? Still, you have been a most loyal friend and his champion, and I greatly admire you for it.

  And as we are speaking of self-absorption, I must ask your forgiveness for my own distraction. I have the excuse of pregnancy and the birth of eight children in ten years, as well as the responsibilities that are attached to my position as wife and as duchess to your Uncle Roxton. But that does not make me any less aware that upon my marriage I let slip my mothering duties where you were concerned and allowed you to drift along in Harry’s company, the two of you with intermittent supervision, particularly in the transition period between the death of M’sieur le Duc and when your Uncle Roxton became duke.

  I hope you know that I was and I am here for you, always.

  You have from time to time asked for my advice, and I hope I have always given you sound counsel. I hope too that you will continue to seek me out when you require the opinion of someone who is detached from your household but who will always provide you with honest opinions within a framework of love and guidance. You are your own man and I respect that. But even men are still worried about by their parents, particularly their mothers, who will always see them as their little boys. S
o do forgive me if upon occasion I wish to receive a hug and a kiss from my eldest boy. I do not think I will ever not want that, therefore you must show your dear Aunt Deb forbearance. I trust you will hug and kiss your children long into their adulthood, too.

  I am so proud of you, Jack. And I say without reservation that your parents, particularly your father, who was the most wonderful brother a sister could have, loved you beyond words, as I do. I see a lot of your father in you, and I do not mean just his musical talent. He, too, had a great capacity for understanding and love. It has always been my great privilege to be able to watch over you, to love you, to see you become your own man, and a gentleman my dear brother Otto, your father, would have been so proud to call son.

  I know you will make Teddy a wonderful husband, that you will be a loving father, and that you both will live a happy and fulfilling life. If I can offer you one piece of advice about marriage… At the end of the day, when candles are snuffed and you are alone together, it is as if only the two of you exist in the world, and that is as it should be. Be kind and loving with one another; nothing else truly matters.

  All a mother’s love,

  Aunt Deb

  21. The [Fifth] Duke of Roxton to Lord Henri-Antoine Hesham

  His Grace the Most Noble [5th] Duke of Roxton’s letter to Lord Henri-Antoine Hesham, on his decision to marry.

  [Believed to have been written in December 1772, seal broken July 1786.]