Chapter 2

7th June 1838 

Cadogan Square, London

It was a truth universally acknowledged by all young ladies (and many not-so-young ladies) that Mr. Adrian Campbell, son and heir of Viscount Newham, was currently the most handsome man in London. At twenty seven, he cut quite a striking image walking down Cadogan Square at a very brisk pace. The style of his midnight-blue coat did little to hide the vast breadth of his shoulders and his top hat wasn’t succeeding in preventing the bright summer sun from making his blond hair look even blonder.

But there was nothing bright about his expression and the set of square jaw. His eyes, the colour of ripe blueberries, were hooded and broached no interruption to his purposeful walk. But there was nothing foul about his temper that afternoon. He just didn’t want to be stopped by idle strollers or stared at by giggling girls. At first, the attention he had received from women had been quite amusing, but as time went by it became painfully obvious that Mr. Campbell had no talent for conversing with complete strangers and the amusement of the attentions soon wore off. Unfortunately, he had inherited his father’s shyness, which he covered in a mask of arrogance, as it would not do to have it publicly known that he was a complete nitwit when it came to polite conversation.

By now he was walking up the front steps of the red-brick Streatham House, the London home of the Earl of Farnsworth. Well, he supposed the house now belonged to the Countess, Lady Clarissa, as the Earl had passed away recently. It had had been quite a scandal actually, because the Earl was neither young, but nor was he old. Probably in his forties, the prime of his life in fact. However, as much as the gossips of London wanted to suspect Lady Clarissa of foul play, they couldn’t as she had been in Farnsworth Estate at the time of the death. But still, it was well known that Lady Clarissa and the Earl did not get on well. And there had even been rumours that the Earl was … well … It didn’t signify anyway. He was not here to enquire after a dead Earl but to see the young and pretty Lady Clarissa.

Mr. Campbell knocked on the door, which was almost immediately opened by the butler. He gave his hat to the butler as he was shown into the drawing room, where he usually awaited the arrival of Lady Clarissa. Out of habit he sat on the damask sofa-chair because, despite the old and expensive furniture, it was all rather dainty and only the sofa was big enough for a man of his size. He relaxed and gazed up at the intricate plaster design of the ceiling; it was a better option than to look at the walls. They happened to be adorned with portraits of about ten generations of Earls, that gazed down at anyone in the room with identically disapproving frowns. If only Lady Clarissa would deem to remove those painting, this room would reveal itself to be quite luxurious and of an elegant style. But she wouldn’t. He knew she thought of Streatham House as belonging exclusively to the late Earl. No, she only thought of Farnsworth Estate as home.

It surprised Mr. Campbell that he knew Lady Clarissa so well. Though, on second thought, he shouldn’t have been so surprised, after all, they had been good friends for almost three years now. Mr. Campbell didn’t usually make good friends with a great amount of ease, he seemed to lack the social charm for that. And besides, Lady Clarissa didn’t spend much time in London either. But he and Lady Clarissa had become friends by accident. Quite literally, in fact.

It had been a lovely summer’s day, just like this one. Anna-Marie had only been married a few months when Mr. Campbell had received a letter from her, implying that his new brother-in-law had beaten Anna-Marie. Angered beyond comprehension, of course, Charles Adrian Campbell had saddled his horse immediately and rode hell-for-leather for Caterham Abbey, where she was staying with her husband. He decided to take the direct route and was riding through one of the southern fields of Farnsworth Estate, when his horse reared up suddenly and he fell off. Lady Clarissa, who had been visiting a tenant near-by at the time, heard his yell of surprise and ran out to see what had happened. She offered him help, but already embarrassed for losing his grip on Strom, his Arabian horse, Mr. Campbell had refused any assistance. He had tried getting up by himself and found that he had, somehow, managed to sprain an ankle and a wrist. Only the kindness of her heart had stopped Lady Clarissa from laughing out loud.

Humiliated enough and not one to put his pride before his health, Mr. Campbell had accepted her offer to assist him back to Farnsworth Manor, where she had successfully tended to his injuries. So in return, he had told her about his mission to rescue his sister. She sympathised quite emphatically and soon sent him on his way. But the damaged had been done. By the time they had said goodbye to each other that afternoon, they were already verging on a friendship that would last forever.

When he had finally reached Caterham Abbey, at a much slower pace, he had found his sister and brother-in-law quite … reconciled. It had turned out to be nothing more than a small marital spat among newly-weds. He should have known better, Anna-Marie had always been more on the melodramatic side. But he hadn’t been too furious with her, despite his injuries. Because of Anna-Marie’s letter, he had met a wonderful women and a good friend…

Mr. Campbell’s further reminiscences were interrupted by the entrance of Lady Clarissa, dressed elegantly in her usual widows-black-and-lilac day dress. Her auburn hair was piled neatly on her head and her grey eyes, which had been so filled with apprehension and worry of late, warmed up slightly at seeing him. He rose from his seat out of courtesy; even though she had told him many times that he need not bother. They exchanged pleasantries and sat down opposite each other.

Lady Clarissa prided herself on running a smooth, well oiled, household. So it only goes to say that she had already given orders for tea, sandwiches and biscuits to be brought in before she had entered the room. They spoke of nothing in particular significance until the tea had arrived. As she poured Mr. Campbell a cup she broached the subject that had been keeping her nerves tangled up inside of her and didn’t let her sleep well at night.

“There is less than a month left of my mourning period. Do you still intend to marry me?” She handed him his cup.

Mr. Campbell smiled. It was radiant and Lady Clarissa wondered if he knew how much brightness he brought into her typically dismal and lonesome life.

“Of course I do, Lady Clarissa. In fact, that is why I came here. I wanted to tell you that I’m going to my parent’s home for dinner this evening and I’ll bring up our engagement then.”

“They will probably not approve of me.”

“I know it’s not every day that you hear of a young man marrying a widow, no matter how young and pretty she herself is. But I know my mother and father better than anyone. They love me greatly and trust me too, to make my own decisions. Besides, from what I’ve gathered, my mother likes you quite a bit and thinks you’re very brave to withstand all that you have.”

Lady Clarissa took a sip of her tea to wet her mouth and warm her inside, as if such a simple a thing could fortify her and give her strength.

“We have to do everything properly, in its proper time,” she said finally, her voice laced with resolution. “Everything must be done by the hypothetical book. No one should have cause to question our motives because, honestly, I don’t think I could face any more gossip and scandal.”

Lady Clarissa closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Five and a half years ago, Lord Farnsworth had been the first man to propose marriage to her. She always suspected it was because of her incredibly large dowry. But her father, far too excited about his rise in social status by having an Earl as a son-in-law, agreed immediately without once asking her approval. She wasn’t all too happy about the situation but nobody seemed to care about that, after all, he was an Earl. What more could she wish for, right? Even if she was only eighteen and Lord Farnsworth was twice her age.

They’re wedding was fabulous and the talk of the season due to all its grandeur. It all came out of her father’s pocket, of course. But it wasn’t at all long before she realised that her new husband wasn’t interested in her. In fact, he didn’t seem to be interested in women at all. He had married her for her money and to save face in society. Her father made it abundantly clear that should she leave the Earl, she would not have a family or a home to go to.

Within a week of marriage, Lord Farnsworth deposited her at Farnworth Estate and was back in Streatham House, in London where he spent nearly all his time. Farnsworth Estate was only half a day’s hard ride out of London but Lady Clarissa knew where she wasn’t wanted and stayed where she was put. It was a lonely existence. So she devoted her entire time and energy into the renovation and maintenance of Farnsworth Estate, including all it’s land and numerous properties. All her tenants and the servants at Farnsworth Manor adored her. But for three years her life was a constant challenge, a day to day struggle to think of ways to distract her from the emptiness of her vast house, the empty chairs surrounding her at dinner and her empty bed in the silence of the night.

When Mr. Campbell, quite literally, fell into her life more than two years ago, it had felt like a starved person being invited to a banquet. He was an honourable man, a good listener to boot, and over time she had confided in him all the desolate particulars of her situation and all her grievances. He had been like a candle in the dark solitude that was her life. All the more potent because of its rarity. Lady Clarissa watched Mr. Campbell eat a cucumber sandwich. A rather fitting analogy, she thought, given his mane of surprisingly blonde hair. She sighed.

And then last July, her “husband”, Lord Francis of Farnsworth had the audacity to drop dead. And what is worse, is that he did so while in bed with his valet. What ensued was not worth recalling, even in her own thoughts. In the end, it left Lady Clarissa in a very precarious situation. She was still the Countess of Farnsworth but as she had not been able to produce a male heir, the next in line to inherit the title and the Earldom was a cousin of the late Lord Farnsworth. However, nobody knew where he was and until he was found she would remain the Countess. She had no idea how long that would be. And once the heir had taken his rightful place, she would be left destitute with no money, no connection and no home.

Mr. Campbell was the only one who was privy to the exact details of her plight. And in turn she knew that Mr. Campbell needed to marry soon because his father wanted to attend his wedding, and Viscount Newham’s health had declined very rapidly over the last few years. The solution was rather simple when it finally occurred to Mr. Campbell. He had been very gentlemanly about it, when he offered to marry her once she was out of mourning.

She had deliberated a little while before she accepted Mr. Campbell, just so she could relish the feeling of knowing what it was like to decide her future for herself. But deep down, she knew that no matter what their respective flaws were, their marriage would be good one. After all, they were already good friends, got along quite well, in fact, and he obviously did not mind spending time in her company. And this is far, far more than what can be expected and seen in most aristocratic marriages these days, as the majority are based on either status or wealth. Unfortunately, she knew all too well that this was the truth from first hand experience.

“I beg your pardon, did you say something?” she looked up into Adrian Campbell’s face.

“Wool-gathering?” he asked as an indulgent smile spread across his lips. She nodded since there was no use in denying it. “I just asked whether you intended to attend Queen Victoria’s coronation at the end of this month?”

“My late husband, whatever his faults, took a great interest in the running of parliament. He had been a strong and vocal supporter of the Duke of Wellington and all his Tories. I think he was even a great friend of Sir Robert Peel. And as you well know, the young Queen is heavily influenced by Lord Melbourne and his Whigs. So given that everyone assumes that a wife’s opinion is one and the same as her husband’s, I am hardly likely to be bosom-buddies with the new Queen, despite being a wealthy Countess. I don’t think I even received an invitation to the coronation.”

“Lady Clarissa, when we are married, you will be completely entitled to your own opinion. You have a brain in your head, that’s probably far smarter than mine.”

“Oh come now Adrian, you are far from daft. And as far as I know, you pay very close attention to the running of this country and its politics; aren’t you often seen in your father’s seat in the House of Lords?”

Mr. Campbell knew that she was paying him a great compliment. Not many people thought much of his intelligence because of his inability to properly vocalise all his brilliant ideas to the general public. He gave her a grateful smile.

“So will you be witnessing the grand coronation at Westminster Abbey?”

“My family has been invited and I doubt I could refuse even if I wanted to. Not that I do. But don’t worry, I’ll come here the next day and give you all the gory details.”

“You say that as if you were going to attend a hanging.”

“I don’t see the difference,” said Mr. Campbell with a shrug and Lady Clarissa laughed. It was a quiet, breathy sound. But it was good to hear it nonetheless, because Lady Clarissa couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed. It must be Adrian. He always did make her feel lighter whenever he was around.

***

A few hours later, Mr. Campbell was smartly dressed in his formal evening knit and was in his carriage, driving down the newly re-named Queen’s Gate Road in Kensington. His great-grandfather, the first Campbell to be appointed Viscount Newham, had rather pretentiously named a five story building Arthur Campbell House, after himself of course. It was here, in his family’s London house, that Adrian Campbell had spent his childhood winters before he went to Eton. But as the heir to Viscount Newham, Mr. Campbell had been given the deeds to his own beautiful, detached house on Hamilton Terrace for his twenty-first birthday. And that’s where he planned to stay once he was married.

He was rather glad that he had decided to marry Lady Clarissa. She was intelligent and kind, and he knew that, given time, he could come to love her. This sort of marriage had worked quite well for his parents and he saw no reason why it wouldn’t for him. Thus, it was even more important that he inform them of his plans so that they may get to know Lady Clarissa as he did.

His carriage came to a halt and he alighted, marching purposefully up the steps to Arthur Campbell House. In his mind, he went over the speech he had painstakingly perfected to present to his parents. The door was opened by the butler – good old Clarkson – who, for many years, had let him sneak sweets before dinner when he was younger.

“Master Adrian,” Clarkson greeted as he took Mr. Campbell’s top hat and coat. “They are in the Mint Parlour…”

“Thank you, Clarkson. No need to announce me, I’ll just make my own way in.”

“As you wish, sir” said the butler with a sly grin on his face. Mr. Campbell would have said something, except that Clarkson had always been rather strange and had had a soft spot for him, despite all his childhood pranks.

The parlour door was open, so he entered without making a sound. Inside he found that his parents were not alone as he had hoped they would be. The sofa was occupied by his father and a well tanned elderly gentleman in military uniform. Opposite to them, in a chair, was an equally-tanned younger gentleman, also in uniform but with his back to Mr. Campbell. In the corner sat a pensive looking boy of no more than sixteen. And beside his mother, on the Persian divan, sat a young woman examining her hands. He hadn’t been told that his parents were expecting company tonight. It rather annoyed him. He had planned to speak to his mother and father about Lady Clarissa during dessert, when his father was the jolliest and most statis…

And then she looked up at him.

His breath was snatched away from his lungs. Her hair was coal black, tied up and twisted into a single luscious curl that fell over her left shoulder and hugged her long neck. Her silky evening gown, which was the blue of a sky just after sunrise, only enhanced the sun-kissed glow of her skin. Her full, alluring lips had an obvious tendency to spread into a smile. But more than any of that, it was her eyes that caught hold of Mr. Campbell. They were large, round and innocent, and their colour matched her hair exactly. They were like doe eyes. No, a doe was far too common. This enchanting creature, sitting just a few feet away from him, was far more unique and striking. Thus, it was far more prudent to think that her eyes were like … like a gazelle’s eyes. Never before in his twenty seven years of life, had he been so enraptured by a pair of eyes.

And suddenly, those mysterious black eyes were scrutinising his. Adrian Campbell’s heart began sprinting a hundred meters inside his chest. Any thoughts that he might of had of such a person as Lady Clarissa existing in his life, flew out of his mind and out the window. The centre of his physical world was now focused entirely upon this single, exotic young woman…

***