Constance

By Suzy Stewart Dubot

A charitable heart may lead to a passionate one...
The war against Napoleon has left wounded ex-soldiers littering the streets throughout England. Unable to work, they beg.
In memory of her young military brother, Constance Trubridge, a wealthy twenty-eight-year-old spinster, sets out on a mission to help the defenseless men. Little does she suspect her own defenses are about to be breached.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzy Stewart Dubot
• Release date: Sep 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465934901

Suzy Stewart Dubot

An Anglo/American who has lived in France for nearly 40 years, she began writing as soon as she retired. She moved to London in 2012 and spent more than a year there with family. The spring of 2014, she returned to France, Her laptop has never had any trouble following her.Before retiring, she worked at a variety of jobs. Some of the more interesting have been : Art and Crafts teacher, Bartender, Marketing Assistant for N° 1 World Yacht Charterers (Moorings), Beaux Arts Model, Secretary to the French Haflinger Association...With her daughters, she is a vegetarian and a supporter of animal rights! She is also an admirer of William Wilberforce.(If you should read her book 'The Viscount's Midsummer Mistress' you will see that she has devoted some paragraphs to the subject in Regency times.)PLEASE BE KIND ENOUGH TO LEAVE A REVIEW FOR ANY BOOK YOU READ (hers included).

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Constance

(Previously published as Capturing Constance)

Suzy Stewart Dubot

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 Suzy Stewart Dubot

Re-edited in Jan. 2024

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

This is dedicated to my father,

Russell Lowell Stewart

21 May 1919—11th December 2001

If the majority of the heroes in my stories have black hair, it is more than likely due to the fact my father had black hair too.

I would like to dedicate this first book of all my published works to him, with love from his only daughter.

He was a hero for me in his own way.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For their encouragements and friendship, I am grateful to a group of indie authors who go by the name of Top Writers Block (TWB).

It is a wonderful feeling to share a passion with people of like minds—those having plots and people in their heads waiting to be transformed into the written word.

Author’s note:

Whenever I have visited a castle or an old mansion, I’ve wondered how the people of that time managed with their daily body functions. Sometimes, the primitiveness of waste disposal and lack of hygiene in those bygone days have made me shudder.

Consequently, I have taken the liberty of including water closets in the Trubridge home. Although they were invented before the story takes place, they were not of common usage (as early as 1592, Sir John Harrington, godson of Elizabeth I, invented a water closet with a raised cistern and a small downpipe through which water ran to flush away the waste).

Forgive me for offering this convenience to people I have created. I worry about them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 - Trubridge & Son

Chapter 2 - War is Hell

Chapter 3 - Good Can Come from Bad

Chapter 4 - ‘Can You Spare a Penny?’

Chapter 5 - A Celebration of Life

Chapter 6 - Taking Charity Home

Chapter 7 - Captured

Chapter 8 - The Apathetic Patient

Chapter 9 - One Surprise after Another

Chapter 10 - Christmas Eve Revelation

Chapter 11 - The Best Christmas Yet

Chapter 12 - ‘Breakfast for Two, Then?’

Chapter 13 - Serious Business

Chapter 14 - ‘How Rich?’

Chapter 15 – Chemistry

Chapter 16 - Life Goes On

Epilogue

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

Trubridge & Son

Late spring 1813

Thomas Trubridge was a big, blustery man with a body padded from good food and a face ruddy from hard work and good wine. He boasted a fine head of dark hair with sideburns framing his face without quite reaching his jaw. Hazel eyes drew one’s attention to his face, which was all the more interesting for an aquiline nose.

The hard work allowed him to be served at the table with foods and wines normally reserved for the upper classes, and it was the moment of the day which he cherished, far from the noise of his factory, the smell of dye and wet wool or the forced smile in his shop. It was when he relaxed with his small family and had complete control. He was master of all he surveyed. The only blight might be the slight pang he felt thinking of his deceased wife, Margaret. The number at the table was odd and not even, leaving her place vacant.

She had been a diminutive woman, quiet, self-effacing so that he hardly thought of her, except at meals, and then it was more for her absence than for herself. He had to admit, however, that she had done him right with the two surviving children she had produced, before fading away.

Thomas was proud of both his children.

The girl was how he would have been (heaven help him!) if he’d been a woman. He gave weight to her opinions and let her know he valued their discussions.

Constance Elizabeth Trubridge had a head for business and management. She ran the house and servants with nary a false note and at twenty-eight-years old, she was a force on her own. Nevertheless, she managed to remain feminine while encompassing a solid character which was not to be contradicted without good reason. Although of average size, average brown hair and eyes and average features, she was endowed with an enviable figure which she managed to hide behind average clothes. She was devoted to her father and her younger brother, Tobias, who loved her mutually, having so few memories of his mother. She had not yet met any man whom she felt to be her equal or whom she desired, so consequently, she was now considered a spinster, keeper of her father and brother.

The boy, if Thomas were to be honest, was how he would have liked to have been himself. There was nothing he would change about his son and heir.

Tobias Thomas Trubridge, twenty-three-years old, was exceptional. He was big without being blustery. He had a handsome head of dark hair, blue eyes and fair skin. Having had the benefit of a good education and earning everyone’s approval, he had also gained an insight into the manners, clothes and culture of the upper classes. He passed easily and without pretension as a gentleman, and many were the sighs of young ladies who happened to catch his blue-eyed attention. He was the natural, charming representative of Trubridge & Son, Purveyors of Fine Foods (English and Oriental). He was considered by his peers a damned nice fellow. His father happily and proudly left him in the fore-front of their businesses appreciating his commercial savoir faire, know-how, in both the wool dyeing industry and the distribution of fine foods.

Although both the Trubridges and his wife’s family, the Aslows, were considered to have accumulated their fortunes through ‘trade,’ the Aslows had had far more than enough money, polish and contacts from their time in India to smooth their way in society. Thomas, Constance and Tobias hardly cared. They knew their own worth morally and were happily established within their own circle of acquaintances, considered middle class.

-o0o-

From the time that Thomas and Margaret were first married, they’d lived in a house outside of the City of York. It had formed part of Margaret’s dowry which her parents had been only too happy to offer as a wedding gift. One could almost hear the sigh of relief that came with the house when the elderly Aslows gave their only daughter away in marriage. They had long despaired of her ever finding a husband because she was so nondescript and introverted that she was rarely noticed. But Thomas had been too busy working, making a place for himself, to have applied himself to searching for and courting a woman. So, Margaret had suited him well enough as she managed the house and gave him no resistance whatsoever. The only real time he spent with her was at meals and when, quick as it was, he relieved himself with her sexually, not wishing to intrude more than necessary in her intimacy. Perhaps if he thought about it, he was a little sorry that he hadn’t made more of an effort to know her. She had kept to what she felt were her wifely obligations of managing a house and children and had never engaged him in conversation beyond those particular duties.

So no, time would only be wasted on regrets which one could do nothing about.

There was no doubt that ‘Trubridge House’ was an impressive piece of property for a ‘tradesman.’ Situated on 20 acres of parkland that backed onto the River Ouse, it boasted a double set of stone steps leading up to the front entrance and the double oak doors. The large entry hall had a glass cupola over part of it which allowed light to bathe the flagstone floor with sunshine, bringing out warm nuances of colour that one didn’t usually associate with stone.

The large square house was extravagantly appointed with rooms hardly used by the Trubridges. Off the entrance were two adjacent drawing rooms which could be opened up to form one splendid reception room, which in bygone days had hosted wonderful events—of which the Trubridges were totally unaware. The dining room and library were on the opposite side of the entrance hall next to a wide staircase leading gracefully to the seven bedrooms on the second floor. The entire house was decorated pleasingly with many light colours and furnished in good taste. However, for all its gracefulness, spaciousness, luxury, it felt empty to Constance. Both her father and brother spent little time in the house, being taken up by businesses. This left only Constance and the servants…

Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Gray, the butler and cook/housekeeper were the undisputed holders of the ‘below stairs’ territory. Even Constance acknowledged their governing influence once the invisible line was crossed. It suited everyone that they were a married couple with grown children, because they had had much experience of many kinds and were also particularly agreeable people. Constance liked them both and had a perfect ‘entente,’ understanding, with Mrs. Gray, who was a buxom blond with rosy cheeks.

Betty, the maid, Jules, the groom cum handyman and old Walter the gardener were people she saw most days but they had their jobs and didn’t fill the emptiness. She was especially grateful to have Skipper, her black and white, Water Spaniel who followed her around faithfully and whom she took with her on outings.

Her greatest distraction was riding with her brother early in the morning. She loved to see how well, how naturally he sat. He seemed to meld with his gelding, Flash, and whether he was galloping or jumping hedges and walls, she felt an exhilaration by proxy just watching him. She herself was better than fair but her pleasure came from simply accompanying her brother, participating in the joy which riding brought him. Skipper too loved these escapades. From the time he was big enough to follow, he’d done just that. He knew to keep well away from the horses’ hoofs, scampering off in search of game but always knowing when it was time to go home.

It had been more than a week since they had spoken at any length, let alone ridden together. Tobias was extremely busy with work, leaving early in the mornings before Constance came down to breakfast. He appeared to be preoccupied, but this morning he was obviously waiting for her in the dining room. Her first thought was, ‘I wonder what this is about?’

The morning sun had begun to make the garden shine brilliantly. Everything was fresh, free of blemishes, probably because Constance felt happy to have breakfast with Tobias again. He stood and smiled as she entered, then helped her to be seated.

Tea, toast? he enquired, seizing the teapot. From habit he began pouring tea while placing the rack of toast within her reach. He did not find it beneath himself to serve his sister in this informal way. Constance took her first sip as Tobias sat again, a wry smile on his face. Turning to him, she smiled…then palled.

A shiver stopped her from swallowing her tea, constricted her throat. Some primary instinct had alerted her to be on her guard. She gulped the tea.

Not looking at her face as he placed a hand on hers affectionately, he spoke.

Connie, I haven’t told Papa yet, but I’m leaving.

Leaving? What do you mean, leaving? I can’t believe you’ve just said that, she replied in an accusatory tone. Her voice rose as she tried to hold back panic. What’s wrong? Have we done something to upset you? Why would you want to leave?

So many thoughts rushed through her mind faster than she could express them. She made a concentrated effort to be silent, waiting for his explanation. He raised her hand and kissed the back of it, then while still clasping it, absent-mindedly stroked it with his thumb. Her hand seemed quite small held within his large agile fingers. In that moment he looked much older than his twenty-three years. He gave a lop-sided smile before continuing.

I’ve just enlisted with the 13th Light Dragoons and will be joining the war against Napoleon. He paused.

She gasped.

Connie, I can’t blissfully go on with my life here while all my friends are leaving. Don’t worry though, it won’t be immediately. You’ll have time to come around to the idea.

Are you mad? No. Never! she shouted as she stood and began flapping her hands at his shoulders in a desperate measure to make her feelings known. The chair had fallen back with a crash onto the parquet with her rash movement, and tears were already blurring her vision.

"How can you do this to us? What will Papa do without you? What will I do without you?"

Pushing away from the table and then standing, he pulled Constance into his embrace. He spoke in unrehearsed sentences that tried to justify his decision.

Connie, sweetheart, this isn’t just about us, it’s about resisting a tyrant. If everyone found an excuse not to fight Boney, we’d be having snails for breakfast right now. We can’t let the man continue. He’s blown himself up into something evil that is out of all proportion. I’ve had a good life until now and I feel I owe something. Mounted, I’ll be in a privileged position. You know I’m good on a horse. Think of all those Englishmen who come from poor homes who haven’t shirked their duty and are now in the forefront of it...

He stopped, not knowing how to attenuate the situation, afraid that by adding more would make it sound worse.

Constance was lost. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her throat was once again constricted. She threw her arms about her young brother’s neck and sobbed like a young girl. He hugged her and patted her back while making a shushing sound.

Please don’t cry, Connie. I’ll be back before I’m gone, you just wait and see.

If only I had known how you felt, I’m sure we could have come to some other arrangement, she said thickly.

That is precisely why I said nothing, Tobias explained. It would be too much to have you and Papa and all sundry trying to talk me out of what I feel is right. Please, Connie, try to respect my decision?

She couldn’t speak but went on her toes to place a warm kiss and then a caress on his cheek before turning and leaving the room, breakfast forgotten. As if to condole with her misery, a cloud passed in the sky blotting out the sun and turning the garden dull. Tobias’ gaze was turned in that direction, but he was seeing far beyond the garden, or even England.

CHAPTER 2

War is Hell

Thomas took Tobias’ departure particularly hard. It wasn’t so much Tobias’ abandoning the family businesses that affected him but the pure loss of his son. Working daily in close contact with his son had been a source of immense pleasure and pride. He had looked into the future and seen Tobias taking over the reins from him, living with a wife and children nearby to brighten his latter days. Why ‘living nearby? Indeed, living at home with him and Constance. The house was large enough.

Now he couldn’t bear thinking of him, because the dreadful images of war drained every shred of optimism he had. He took it as a punishment. Although not an especially religious man, he couldn’t help feeling that Proverbs had it right: Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

Constance kept abreast of reports of battles won and lost on the continent through newspaper articles. The letters they received from Tobias were months arriving so they were happy to receive them, but there was always the nagging thought that he might now be dead. Fighting in the Peninsular was by all accounts depressing, even when advances were gained. Portugal and Spain were both poor countries before war, so it was virtually impossible to live off the land as an army battling for supremacy. Spain had been invaded by the French, whose army now had a stronghold there. Indeed, Napoleon had named his brother Joseph, king of Spain, where he had been ruling for nearly five years. Portugal, being a British ally, accommodated them on their territory but it had also submitted to attacks by the French. There was a see-sawing of armies, advance-retreat, that made Constance want to weep from frustration.

Tobias, nevertheless, wrote with humour in his letters. He spoke of a poor straggly chicken they had miraculously found for a meal. They had all benefited from the soup but then had drawn straws to see who had what piece to suck and chew on once the bird had been stewed. He had drawn a foot, which turned out to be quite tasty, although it didn’t bear thinking about too much.

There was ‘camaraderie’ within the troops which gave hope to Constance. The idea that they would each be guarding one another allowed her the tiniest respite from despair. And so it went on, month after month.

-o0o-

The businesses continued, more or less, in the same vein. Constance kept the accounts for both, and the war didn’t seem to affect sales very much. Thomas had promoted two men already working in each business to cover for Tobias and, despite their lack of charm, nothing astounding changed. Except, Thomas lost weight and his full face became haggard. He was fifty-four years old and he began to look older.

One evening when he had missed dinner, Constance went to him in the library. The room seemed a masculine domain as it smelled more of leather than paper. The desk had a dark leather insert and most of the books were leather bound. Thomas sat in a leather chair behind the large desk, papers and books spread before him, but his eyes were fixed on something only he could see. She tapped a second time on the door to draw his attention and saw his eyes focusing once again on the room and then on her.

Papa, you can’t continue to miss meals. You’re beginning to frighten me.

She went behind the desk and put an arm across his hunched shoulders. She rarely showed him a physical sign of affection but now, she bent forward, still holding him within her embrace and kissed his rough cheek. She could see where he had missed shaving whiskers at the back of his jaw and they were white. A deep and sudden sadness clenched her heart. Her brother was gone and her father was getting old. It was all she could do to check her tears.

"I’m sorry Connie if I’ve caused you undue concern. I just can’t bring myself to sit at a beautifully dressed table with a fine cloth, crystal, silver and food fit for a duke when my son is happily sharing a scrawny chicken. What does that say about his conditions? God forgive me, but I don’t care if Boney overruns us, makes us his servants, and conquers the world. I WANT MY SON! I love him and I’ve never told him so. He may be dead. He’ll never know, unless he comes home, now."

It was too much for Constance. She caught a sob in her throat before it could escape. Tears trickled down her face, but there was no way of stopping the flood now that it had started. Her father had only put into words her own sentiments, and by voicing them had released the barrage which had held her steady for months.

Don’t do this to yourself, Papa. Toby knows that you love him. You’ve shown it in every possible way. Words are only that. Anyone can utter them. Actions far outshine words any day. Let me bring you some bread and cheese. You’ll be no use to anyone if you starve to death, and you’ll only bring sorrow to Toby when he returns.

He showed no signs of resisting, so she went to the kitchen to ask Mrs. Gray for a tray for her father.

Mrs. Gray was at the sink but immediately saw the tears on Constance’s face and the nose which was still wet after sniffing. She wiped her hands on the tea towel she was holding and went to Constance. Her big comfortable body wrapped itself around her, something a servant would never do. But now she wasn’t a servant but part of the family meting out solace to someone needing it.

Women have to be strong, lass. I mean our souls. Just remember that out of bad comes good. I’m convinced of it. I’ve seen it time and again when you least expect it. If not, life wouldn’t have much sense, I reckon.

She handed Constance a pristine handkerchief that she’d taken from her apron’s pocket. Constance took it with a bleak smile and a nod of her head.

I suppose you’ll be wanting a bite to eat for your father, then? Mrs. Gray guessed. "I’ll have it ready in a tick. Sit you down while