Loving Leopold: Amour Encore

By Diane Coia-Ramsay

During their first four years of marriage, the Blakeleys have led an idyllic life of love and devotion, passion and romance, and considerable financial success. Their son, Leon, is now three years old and twenty-four-year-old Amalie is restless. Now that she has completed renovations on the rooms in Blakefield Castle as well as its gardens, she feels life in her blue ivory tower lacks purpose and enterprise.

Weary of afternoon callers and idleness, Amalie complains to Leopold, whose moodiness has seemingly disappeared now that he has everything he wants and needs. She is desperate for an occupation that will help her feel useful, not just decorative. But everything is about to change when Leopold’s sister and her partner bring a travel companion from Texas to spend the summer at the castle. Although he is practically engaged to her cousin, Malcolm McFadden makes no attempt to hide his infatuation with the beautiful Amalie. While Amalie revels in the attention, Leopold’s dark side reemerges as their good fortune, passion, and perfect existence is threatened.

In this continuing historical saga, a newly married couple’s loving relationship is challenged when the summer of 1902 brings an unexpected house guest to their castle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665711319

Diane Coia-Ramsay

Diane Coia Ramsay spent her formative years in UK where she discovered a great love of social history from the late Victorian era through the First World War, and the changes it brought about to forever change the pre-war classs system and sense of social values. She is the author of the Loving Leopold trilogy. Bernadette Barrymore is her fourth novel.

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Copyright © 2021 Diane Coia-Ramsay.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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ISBN: 978-1-6657-1130-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1129-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1131-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021917202

Archway Publishing rev. date: 08/23/2021

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Love and Marriage

Chapter 2 The Upper Hand

Chapter 3 Letters from America

Chapter 4 The Visitors

Chapter 5 Love and Happiness

Chapter 6 A Capital Idea

Chapter 7 Full House

Chapter 8 The Shoot

Chapter 9 After the Shoot Was Over

Chapter 10 Did Something Happen?

Chapter 11 London Town

Chapter 12 A Better Understanding

Chapter 13 Breakfast in Bed

Chapter 14 They Never Learn

Chapter 15 All’s Well That Ends Well

Chapter 16 Beside the Seaside

Chapter 17 Invitation to Dinner

Chapter 18 Entertaining the Duchess

Chapter 19 An Unexpected Treat

Chapter 20 Bliss and Sorrow

Chapter 21 New York

Chapter 22 It’s the Holiday Season

Chapter 23 Together Again

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CHAPTER 1

Love and Marriage

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I’m thinking of moving to London for a while.

Amalie Blakeley spoke to her husband without looking up from her beef Wellington, her husband’s favorite dish, and one that she had quite grown to detest.

Leopold Blakeley did not look up at his beautiful, adored wife, who had grown even lovelier at twenty-four than when they first met, since at that time she was still an innocent girl. He believed that marriage and motherhood suited her, as did country life. Their passion certainly never waned, and he still felt that he couldn’t have enough of her. She had seemed the same, and he often caught her looking at him as she did when they first met. Be that as it may, he had noticed that she had been a little distant of late. This much he could tell, yet he wasn’t sure of the reason. He had even contemplated asking Bridgette, who knew Amalie better than anyone.

He now considered that quite possibly the problem was him, and it did currently appear that she was expecting him to ask her why she should feel so inclined. He therefore determined that a different approach might be better suited to her current mood, especially since he had grown tired of trying to cajole her.

I see, he said. Are you planning to move into our London house, or are you purchasing one in another part of town?

His wife looked up and glared at him, but he was now on a roll.

So, my dear, it seems that at last you have grown tired of life in the country, or with me, anyway. Can’t say that I blame you. Of course, your life may have taken quite a different path had you chosen one of those dandified gentlemen you once found so abhorrent. I realize that some women are fond of parties and dancing every night. You, my dear, just never seemed to be one of them.

Amalie had been intending to goad her husband into a passion or even into anger, but instead, he resumed eating his dinner, and she wanted to hurl her plate at him across the table. She put down her silverware and said she intended to have Bridgette tell Cook not to serve this dish again, this side of Michaelmas.

By now, Leopold was quite certain that she was deliberately goading him, especially when she said, I find that I am sick of beef and of lamb, and I positively hate game. I am changing my diet. Four years is quite long enough to put up with your English sludge. Since you will not allow me a French chef at Blakefield, I will hire one when I move to London.

Leopold was still determined not to be drawn in and responded dryly, Surely, my darling, there is no need to go to such lengths if it is only your dinner that is of concern. I’m quite certain Cook can rustle up some lettuce leaves and cucumber—perhaps even some berries from the garden.

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They had been married almost four years. Idyllic ones, for the most part.

During their first trip to New York, the Christmas season was highlighted by Amalie’s happy news, and Leopold’s sister Blanche and Cordelia stated their intention to return to England to attend the birth, and life had returned to normal—or rather, a new normal. Amalie positively blossomed during her confinement, and Leopold had fussed about her so tenderly that even Amalie’s Aunt Henrietta had to scold him several times for being too solicitous.

On the night of his son’s birth, Leopold and Edward March had downed almost a full bottle of brandy between them. Amalie was attended, of course, by Bridgette, but also by her aunt, Blanche, Cordelia, and Dr. Matthews. It seemed to Leopold that her labor lasted for too many hours, although the doctor assured him that everything was going as it should. He attempted several times to go to his wife. He knew that if he lost her after knowing such happiness, he couldn’t survive it. She was his life and the air he breathed. If Leopold thought he knew this on their wedding day, he knew it even more deeply that night, the night his son Leon was born.

Amalie chose their son’s name—almost Leopold’s, but French; a perfect combination, or so it was according to Blanche. When Leopold was finally allowed into his wife’s blue bedroom, which was also now his, although everyone referred to it as hers, she was nursing his son. She looked so lovely and serene, he wanted to hold that picture in his mind forever. His baby boy already looked happy and well nourished, and he felt tears in his eyes. Bridgette, of course, soon returned and started fussing about her mistress, who had just handed baby Leon to his father.

Leopold had never before held a baby, which was blatantly obvious to Bridgette, who showed him how, while saying at the same time, "Nine pounds, ten ounces. No wonder ma petite was screaming."

Amalie was smiling tiredly as Leopold said, So I suppose that is my fault.

And Bridgette retorted, Who else’s fault could it be, Monsieur? She then left with the baby, instructing her master that his wife needed her rest.

After Bridgette closed the door, Leopold laid down beside his Amalie and fell asleep, even before she did. Amalie could tell that although early morning, he was still wearing his clothes from the previous day, with a distinct odor of brandy and cigars.

Long night for you, my love, she whispered as she stroked his hair and fell fast asleep beside him. The whole household, it seemed, was sleeping after such a long night, even Bridgette with the baby in his cradle beside her.

Life proceeded quietly and contentedly after that night; the ladies returned to New York. If Amalie was completely truthful with herself, she knew she was thoroughly spoiled by both her husband and Bridgette, so much so that following Leon’s third birthday, she felt restless. She needed some project or an occupation to stimulate her mind. She had extensively done over the main living quarters at Blakefield (her husband’s study, of course, excepted), and the light and airy rooms had been so admired by Leopold’s friends that they cajoled him about hiring her for their own homes, much to the chagrin of their wives.

It turned out that her husband had a number of friends who had returned to his life shortly after his marriage. Many of these newly regenerated friendships included wives with whom Amalie had little in common.

Amalie had grown closer to her cousin, Judith, who was by then working on her third baby; however, she had not exactly hit it off with the wives of these newly reunited friends. She had found them to be utter snobs or bitter women neglected by their husbands; sometimes, they were both.

These women could barely conceal their jealousy of Amalie’s youth and loveliness or how devoted her husband was; many of them had set their caps for him in years gone by, when he was still London’s most unattainable bachelor. One or two even attempted to openly flirt with him, which only served to embarrass Leopold. His friends knew better than to make similar flirtatious attempts with Amalie, not only due to Leo’s brooding stare, which he never lost, but also due to her French air of superiority, which she assumed when in the company of those she disliked.

Although Leopold was not much for society, he arranged these dinners for his wife’s sake as a diversion to their normal routine. These were held primarily when they were in London, although sometimes they hosted evenings at Blakefield Castle. This was another reason Amalie was feeling the need to go to London alone. No calling cards, no pretend concerns about her health or her son or, most particularly, her husband.

Leopold bought his son his first pony that birthday. Leon was so like his father, from his dark curly hair and dark eyes to his sometimes truculent moods. His aunt Blanche had sent him a cowboy suit, which he much preferred to the expensive riding apparel that Aunt March purchased from Harrods. However, he did very much love his new riding boots from his mama, since they made him look just like his papa, and Bridgette told Amalie that he needed a sibling because he was becoming quite a handful and could do with some competition with regard to his father’s affections.

This conversation was painful to Amalie. She had expected she’d conceive again, since her husband had never lessened in his attentions in that regard. However, as the months passed, she began to fear that, like her mother, she was only capable of producing one child. Amalie dearly wanted a daughter and worried that perhaps that was not to be in her destiny.

It was 1902, and the last few years had seen much change. Queen Victoria had passed away the previous January at the age of eighty-one and was succeeded by her son, Edward VII. The two monarchs couldn’t have been more dissimilar, and along with Edward came a loosening of his mother’s moral standards. His short reign was to herald in many changes in society, not the least of which was the dawn of a changing world for women. Fashions changed too, although little, if anything, had changed in the lives of wealthy men’s wives. Less affluent women were still working in service, while those in factories and cotton mills could barely scrape out a living. Those women who were fortunate to have received an education sought work as teachers and nurses or even as secretarial assistants.

Amalie was, of course, of a class far above these working women; however, she often read her husband’s newspapers when he was not about and thought of the injustices in the world, especially for women, although she herself had been fortunate never to have experienced them.

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Following the lettuce and cucumber remark, Amalie threw down her napkin and flounced away from the dinner table, leaving her husband to finish his beef Wellington alone. She had expected him to follow her or at least seek her out shortly afterward, but perhaps, she thought, she had gone too far this time.

Leopold’s dinner was ruined. He did consider following his wife upstairs to get to the bottom of what was wrong with her, but he was hurt and angry, so he headed out to his new Wolseley motor car instead.

Bridgette berated Amalie as she undressed her for bed. "I have seldom seen a woman loved such as you. However, ma petite, c’est difficile to love a shrew. Your husband has gone out, in that new motor car of his too, and it will soon be dark. I would not expect him tonight if I were you."

Amalie stared at Bridgette’s remark. Oh Bridgette, what am I to do? I’m so sorry. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I just feel so useless here in my ivory tower. I’m bored, and I’m boring, and even my son prefers his father to me. And now what if he crashes into a tree? The roads are so dark. What have I done? I may have killed the only man I could ever love.

Bridgette, accustomed to such drama, once again consoled Amalie, as she had done so often before: Hush, ma petite. He will be fine, probably gone to Monsieur Keaton’s house to teach you a lesson, for I have seen the hurt in him these past weeks. He thinks you are bored with him.

Bridgette left Amalie still crying and returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. For old time’s sake, she said. For the monsieur is not stupid enough to drive back tonight, and it’s been a long time since I have sat with you while you broke your heart over him. Tomorrow, seek him out at the river. I am certain he will be there. But if he is with Mr. Keaton, just ride away unseen.

Amalie eventually fell into an uneasy sleep. Perhaps, it might have been better to talk to Leo like a grown woman, instead of behaving like a jealous, spoiled child. Her last words were, Oh please God, keep him safe in that awful motor car, before turning over and touching his pillow, well aware that his head would not be upon it that night.

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CHAPTER 2

The Upper Hand

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It had just gone half past seven when Bridgette entered Amalie’s bedroom, but instead of bringing in her customary tray and little Leon, she came with a basket. Amalie could smell the freshly baked croissants and fragrant coffee and knew they must be inside.

Bridgette had a way of knowing everything that was afoot in the castle, from the scullery to the nursery. Her eyes were everywhere, and if Amalie needed a spy, she certainly had one in Bridgette. Leon usually came in to his mother in the mornings with Bridgette, and on the days when his father was still abed, he’d sneak in between them, basking in his mama’s cuddles and his father’s roughhousing, which would often end in them both being chased from the room, so that Amalie could enjoy her morning coffee.

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Despite Amalie’s concerns, her little boy loved her and his father in equal measure. He loved his mama because she was kind and beautiful and smelled of roses when she cuddled him, which she often did. She would speak to him in their secret language that only he and Madame Bridgette understood, since he was being raised bilingual. He loved his papa because he was brave and strong, and only he and his mama were ever allowed into his study. Leon would giggle when his father would command, English! because he had no fear of him. Just as his mother had been raised, he only knew love and kindness, even from Madame Bridgette, who was often the one to scold him since he spent the most time with her. Soon he was to have a governess, but not until he was four. He hoped she would be French, like his mama and Madame Bridgette, even though he was to be an English gentleman like his papa and attend Cambridge University when he was much bigger.

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Amalie had a restless night and was aware that, as expected, Leopold had not come home. She had wanted him to come to her so she could apologize and try to explain these feelings she had, how she wanted to be useful and not just decorative. However, her husband was old-fashioned in many ways, and she doubted he would understand, but this need she felt inside to be more than just a wife and mother seemed to grow stronger each day.

As she sat up, she asked, Where’s Leon? She did not ask where her husband was, since wherever he was, he was not with her.

Bridgette responded, Leon is in the kitchen, helping Cook. Your husband just returned that stupid motor car to McBride and has ridden off to the river. I believe he is trying to teach you a lesson, ma petite, and therefore you are going to surprise him with breakfast. Maybe take a swim yourself? I have found your blue dress with the white lace. It will still fit you; no need for corsets this morning.

Amalie was quite elated by the idea; having pushed Leo so far, she couldn’t wait to bring him back to her arms. She jumped out of bed, since she didn’t want to miss him, and washed and dressed quickly, as excited as a schoolgirl. I will need a blanket, she said. I hope he prevents me from going in the water, but I am willing to do so if that’s what it takes.

Bridgette told her that McBride had her horse saddled, with a blanket, and as Amalie rushed out of her bedroom door, she shouted back, Either way, I will need a bath when I return.

In truth, whenever Leopold and Amalie were fighting, as they were sometimes known to do, the whole household knew about it, since their mistress sulked in her room or walked gloomily in the gardens, and their master reverted to the moody, scowling man he was before their mistress brought sunshine and flowers into this once dark and foreboding house.

Everything was different since she came; the house was transformed, and the little master was everyone’s darling. No one had any desire to return to those dismal days before and therefore had all conspired to get Mrs. Blakeley to the river in time. They knew their master had been out all night, and he came into the kitchen like a bear that morning. This seemed more serious than was usual, and a united front was required below stairs to set things back to normal above them.

Amalie knew nothing of all this as she happily mounted Belle and rode off toward the river. She did not push her beautiful mare, who was growing older. She could no longer compete with Leo and his new stallion, Caesar, but in spite of her husband’s objections, she chose to ride Belle until Belle was no longer able; to do otherwise would be cruel, and therein was the kindness that Leopold loved so much in his wife, so he left it at that.

Amalie felt vivacious as she rode, with her hair flying in the breeze, dressed most inappropriately for riding. It was a beautiful summer’s morning, and when she arrived at the river, she was glad to see he was still in the water. He looked as glorious as the first time she saw him there, and even after four years, the sight of him still made her heart beat faster.

She tethered Belle next to Caesar and crept closer to her husband. The trees were such that it was easy to remain hidden, especially when he was not expecting to be disturbed. Amalie carefully laid down the blanket and the basket and saw that Bridgette had thoughtfully packed a large towel. Upon impulse, she removed her dress, took the towel, and walked over to the river’s edge, where she stood completely naked, clutching the towel around her. She had never before been naked outside, even the time she and Leo made love in the wood as newlyweds; she had been clothed, mostly. It felt exhilarating, and as she stood there watching him, he finally saw her. Something akin to a look of shock came over his face as he swam toward her and stopped her from entering the water.

What are you doing? he shouted, and suddenly she felt ashamed and pitiful as she tightened the towel around her and headed back to her clothes, determined to get dressed and leave him, and the river, and all of her dignity behind.

Of course, he quickly caught up with her, still naked and wet, and took her in his arms. As she sobbed, he reassured her that he just didn’t want her beautiful body in the water.

There are all manner of creatures within the water. I just saw my lovely wife and panicked. What did you think it was? I know I have kidded you before, but swimming naked in the river isn’t for you.

Amalie, still wrapped in her towel, started to calm down. I couldn’t bear it if you no longer wanted me, and …

Before she could finish, Leo removed her towel and laid her down on the blanket, where he kissed her tears away and made love to her in a way that could never be mistaken for anything but raw desire.

Once they were again dressed and drinking their coffee, Leo asked, So Amalie, are you going to tell me what is going on with you? I remember that blue dress; you wore it the night we became engaged. You looked so lovely and innocent. You are not so innocent now, my love, but you are even more beautiful. At any rate, from that day forward, I have done nothing but love you. I thought perhaps you had grown bored with this old man, but after seeing you standing naked by the riverside, I am relieved that’s not the case.

Amalie also felt relieved, as well as somewhat foolish; she said, I was glad I didn’t have to go in. But I would have! I was just trying to build up the courage, and anyway, I can’t swim. But I do love to watch you in the water.

Leo stopped her. Wait a minute; you would have stepped in that water, naked, unable to swim? Why?

Amalie felt a little silly when she answered him, Because you stayed out all night, and I didn’t know where you were. And in that awful motor car too. I suppose Susan Keaton now knows how horrible I am.

But Leo told her there was no reason she would, even if that were true, because he spent the night in the motor car, under the stars.

Oh, Leo, you did that just to scare me?

And he answered, I needed to know. Was it me or just beef Wellington? Seriously, Amalie, what is wrong? Are you with child, perhaps?

This statement resulted in a resounding, No, and that is part of my problem, but only part. Perhaps like my mother, I am only capable of providing you with one child, and beyond that, I feel useless. Everyone has a purpose, it seems; everyone but me.

Leopold wanted to tell his beloved wife that she was already fulfilling her purpose as wife, mother, and mistress of his home and his heart, but he knew that was not what she was looking to be told. So instead he said, Leon is enough for any man. If we have more, good; if we don’t, so be it. He’s a great little guy, a joy to us both, and our love made him; can you imagine that? What greater gift, Amalie? You have given me a son. Looks just like me too.

Amalie had to laugh at this last remark and say, If it wasn’t for the nine months I carried him and the hours I spent in labor, I would wonder my part in his creation. He looks exactly like you, right down to the moods.

Leopold agreed, saying, Yes, there’s no doubting he’s mine, your son, well perhaps? He does speak French, his mama’s secret language, as he puts it, but you still haven’t said what’s bothering you, my dear.

Amalie said she was cold, and Leo fetched a blanket from his horse to wrap around her shoulders. Away from the house, they could feel free to speak their minds, especially Amalie, who always chose these times outside together to share her revelations, which were often quite interesting.

She decided best to get straight to the point, although once she got going, she realized she was making several points, and they were in no particular order. As I said earlier, Leo, I need a purpose. The world is changing; women are finally playing a larger part than just drinking afternoon tea with other ladies they often dislike. I know I am very fortunate indeed, when I see what many women’s lives must be like, working long hours in factories for a pittance. When we are in London, my role is entertaining your awful friends. There, I’ve said it. I would prefer to make my decisions on how to spend my days. I’m educated, and I’m not a silly woman, but lately I feel like one. A silly, useless woman. And Leo, make no mistake, your friends’ wives don’t like me, either. And there are undercurrents, especially with Anne Radcliffe and Lydia Sutton. I feel at a disadvantage. Like they know something I don’t. In short, I want an occupation. I need employment. And I don’t like your friends.

Leopold merely sat and stared at his lovely wife as she ran through her litany of complaints. He was relieved for the most part, since none of this was so terrible. The friends she mentioned? He could easily do without entertaining them. He thought he was putting up with them for her sake. As for the two women she singled out, that was perceptive, and he knew he could have either one of them, but he wanted neither. But was she seriously thinking that a woman of her status and class could seek employment? He would be a laughing stock. So he considered a compromise.

"My darling Amalie, you are the reason I wake up every morning, ready to face the day. Before you, my life was empty. I played with money. I still play with money, other people’s too. But that is not my purpose. I do it to earn respect, especially yours, and to keep this mausoleum, as Blanche rightly calls it, running smoothly. The upkeep, the servants, and even my tenants who work the land. I think I’m a good