Rogeringham

I spent the morning with the house staff - Mrs Ellis, a handsome woman, in her late forties - and Mr Dives - the elderly butler, going over accounts and because it all seemed in good order, I commended them on their efforts. The household was in a fine shape and the accounts were well kept. I had no doubt, that as with most senior servants, they supplemented their wages by helping themselves to some of the profits, but it appeared that it was kept to an acceptable level.

Mr Dives, advised me that the steward had been summoned from Rogeringham Hall, our country estate in Buckinghamshire, so that he could present the accounts. It would take him a day or so, but he would be here at his earliest opportunity. A message had been sent to Thomas Langton, the family's lawyer in Aylesbury, to advise him of my return, it was expected that he would arrive in a similar time.

Then just as Mr Dives and I were finishing, two things happened. Barclay arrived - I instructed the butler that he be given quarters suitable to his status. I also told him that he should take his time to get settled, but that when he was ready, he should attend me.

The second was that my mother asked to see me.

I thanked Mrs Ellis and Mr Dives and dismissed them and sat my mother down on the couch next to me.

"William," she began, "Last night_"

"Yes, mother?"

"You suggested something_"

"What was that, mother?

"I hesitate to say it."

"Why would that be?"

"It was a dreadful thing," She looked flustered, stammering. "You ... you said something, about us."

"I believe I told you that I loved you, mother, that I have loved you for many years. That my love, my passion for you, has never waned even while I was away. Though there have been many women who sought my attentions, your attention was the only one I wanted."

"Well, I love you too William, as a mother should." She would not make eye contact with me, staring intently at some faint mark on her dress, flicking at it with her finely shaped fingers.

"But there was more mother, wasn't there?"

"I do not know what you mean."

"But I think you do." I found her efforts to keep her composure endearing. "When we embraced last night, you did not resist me, but instead clung to me most welcomingly.

"It just added to what I suspected," I informed her, "Married to a man twenty years older than you with a younger man growing up in the house as well. Oh, not at first when I was a child, but as I grew older, then I saw your looks when I came home from college or on leave. I knew mother."

"What? What was it you think you knew, William?"

"That you regarded me as I looked at you. When you played parlour games with my sisters, when you played the piano, when you danced. I watched you move with grace, I heard you sing and it was the sweetest sound I have heard. To make you smile at something that I said, or did, became my greatest joy." I told her, holding her hand in mine.

"And I saw your regard for me, as we walked with my sisters, as I read, as I danced. I know you watched me, mother." I lowered my head as I brought her fingers to my lips.

"I saw your eyes. It is a look I have become familiar with; it is a look that women have when they have love for a man."

"B-But you said you have avoided women!"

My mother was desperate to change the subject. But I held her hand firmly, as I looked in her eyes. "I did not." I told her. "I said that there were many women about but none of them were for me. There were some who wanted my attention, and some who received it, but they were merely lessons, practice, in preparation for the woman I desire most."

"William, I do not think we should discuss this further."

I released her hand and she stood, looking down at me. I said, "Discuss, mother? I do not wish to discuss this. Actions, as they say, speak louder than words, but worry not, I shall not force myself on you. I meant it - mother - there is no woman on God's earth that I esteem more highly than you. I respect you greatly. But more than that, I love you, Helena. And we shall be lovers, if not eventually man and wife. And when it is time, you will come to me willingly."

"Until then..." I took her hand and kissed her finger tips again before leaning in and lightly bussing her cheek. "Until then, mother, I must be busy, there is so much more to do."

After that and before lunch, I went to see how the lame mare was progressing - the head groom had called the farrier. On examining her that morning they had found that the badly fitted shoe had caused a small but painful abscess under her hoof. He was astonished that she had carried me as far as she had. I told him that the mare had enormous character, I had seen that when I bought her. The head boy agreed. She was quickly becoming a favourite with all of the boys in the stable-yard.

The farrier had cleaned and trimmed the hoof back and drained the abscess and when that was done, they had been able to pack it with a poultice and then carefully removed all of her other shoes. It was important to keep the abscess from contacting the floor so they had fabricated a 'boot' to go over the hoof and to keep it clean and out of the muck. The farrier was confident that she would recover fully but that she needed to rest and keep her weight off that hoof. This sounded like a good way forward and I told him to proceed as he was, giving him leave to do anything he thought fit.

Why so much concern for a mere horse?

Well, for a starter she was an elegant lady, with a good gait, and willing too. She had a lovely nature - apparently, she had been most cooperative with the farrier, when another horse might have been skittish and difficult. She was intelligent, a good size, not as tall as a cavalry charger, but not as short as a cob. She had a handsome face and her chestnut coat was like red gold, worth every penny of the price I paid for her.

I am not a great one for aphorisms and sayings, but I do believe that one should never beat a horse or cheat a whore. Both will serve you much better, and more willingly, if you treat them well.

It is a belief that I hold true for so much more than whores and horses, and it guides my life. I have seen officers who treat their soldiers like the scum of the earth - which they are of course, they mostly come from the failed and lowest of our society. However, Wellesley never treats them as such. He cares for their needs, and he ensures that they are fed and watered, clothed and paid as and when they should be. Because of this the ordinary soldiers would move mountains for him. They march and they fight willingly, knowing that 'Our Addy' - as they call him - will look after them. It is an important lesson, and one of many that I learnt quickly. I have seen too many times the soundness of this philosophy not to believe in it.

I spent the afternoon with Barclay as we arranged my belongings, in my dressing room. Between us we cleared out what was not useable or suitable of my father's clothes, and made a list of what I would need. I instructed Barclay to organise a tailor for me, the next day would be preferred. I allowed him to go so that he could set himself up, carry out the tasks I had set and rest from our arduous journey.

It would have been considered quite normal to have let Barclay go and leave him behind in Portugal like my belongings and horses. His qualities were such that I am sure that he would have soon found employment and a new master, but he has been my valet these past five years, and there was no chance in Hell that I would not retain his services in my civilian life. A gentleman's valet is an extension of his right hand, and Joshua Barclay is a particularly good one. Built like a prize-fighter, he has a surprisingly deft touch, whether it is shaving me or making an omelette; he sews, he reads and is well read, and he has the God-given ability to find whatever is necessary at damned-near any hour of the day or night. I look after Barclay because he looks after me.

There might be issues fitting him into the hierarchy of our staff, but I doubted it would come to much - Barclay can be most diplomatic when he has to, besides if needs be, I would release someone else before I would dismiss my man.

That evening, dinner was almost like a small gala to mark my return. Mother looked especially fine, in her close-fitting black dress that pushed her ample breasts up most enticingly, the train of the dress trailed behind her as she entered. Her hair had been arranged in a fashion that I have seen before - inspired by the scandalous Lady Hamilton, where two ringlets fell from her temples and framed her face. The rest of her hair was piled loosely on the back of her head, but it fell, artfully dishevelled, behind her back. The effect took years off her, and one might have supposed that she was no longer my senior but my contemporary.

All of the rest of that evening, I watched my mother, her eyes shone as the discourse went round. As we finished, I walked down the table and took her hand and we walked through into the parlour. My aim in all of this was to accustom her to my presence, to my contact with her, and my role as the chief male of the house, while hers was obviously that of the chief of the women of the house.

Once we had repaired to the parlour, we gathered - as we had when we were younger - around the piano. Charlotte, who is a most accomplished pianist, played and we sang, or rather my sisters did. My sisters and my mother sang, I feigned fatigue from my journey but in fact, I desired nothing more than to watch them all, especially Helena, as they stood in the light from the candelabras and the oil lamps, and raised their voices.

At least that was my plan, until eventually Hermione decided that it was my turn to serenade them, and she shuffled through the sheet music we had collected over the years before passing one to Charlotte. Their sparkling eyes and eager grins were the clue that they had something planned for me, and they all begged that I at least treat them to one verse.

In the face of their entreaties there was nothing I could do, and when Charlotte began the opening bars of Mr Handel's 'Have you heard my lady', I realised I could turn the situation to my advantage.

Did you not hear my lady

Go down the garden singing?

I began, fortunately I have been blessed with a passable singing voice, not good enough to sing upon a stage, but neither is it offensive to the ear. As I sang, I sought to engage my mother's gaze. She had sung earlier, a new piece I did not know, but she sang it well in her pleasant contralto. Now I wanted her to know that I sang this entirely for her.

Blackbird and thrush were silent

To hear the alleys ringing

At first Helena sought to avoid my gaze, engaging in fiddling, as was her custom, with something in her lap.

O saw you not my lady

Out in the garden there?

Shaming the rose and lily

For she is twice as fair

Though I am nothing to her

Though she must rarely look at me

Suddenly my mother's eyes met mine and it was as if all of the others had left the room, and only Helena and I remained.

And though I could never woo her

I love her till I die

Surely you heard my lady

Go down the garden singing?

And of an instant we had returned and we were once more stood with my sisters, there in our parlour, but not before I saw my mother's head dip slightly, imperceptibly, in recognition. She knew that my words were for her and her alone.

"Did you have a good evening, Your Grace?" In my room, my night clothes were laid out, then Barclay appeared with the decanter for my nightly rum ration.

"I did. Thank you, Barclay" I told him.

"A tailor has been summoned, Your Grace - he is highly recommended and will be here tomorrow morning at ten."

"Well done, Barclay, you may retire now. I shall not require you again tonight."

"Thank you, Your Grace, good night."

After he had gone, I put my glass down and walked the few steps to my mother's room.

I knocked, and heard her voice call for me to enter.

She sat upon a chaise longue, enjoying the fire before she retired to sleep. She wore her pearl-grey dressing gown, looking relaxed and yet still fully in control of this, her space. Her fine hair fell loose again and I could not help but think that she should wear it that way all the time, but knew better than to suggest so.

"I wanted to thank you for this evening's supper, mother, and to say how much I enjoyed your company." I told her as I seated myself upon a footstool beside her.

She looked at me, her eyes searched my face for something. It was as if she was waiting for me to pounce, as if she expected me to seize her and take her there and then. I felt that perhaps if I had, it would not be unwelcomed but that was not what I had planned, and if I was correct, it meant that the plan was progressing nicely.

"How else would we celebrate your return? I only wish we could have made a greater effort. After all, not only are you returned safe to us from the wars but you are the new Duke of Norton, your accession deserves something at least."

"Perhaps we should throw a grand ball then?" I suggested taking her hand in mine, she nodded. "And I can stand there and watch as all the people there look at me jealously, with you in all of your beauty, by my side, mother."

She quietly scoffed at my suggestion, as I lowered my head to graze her fingers with my lips.

"Would they not remark on the difference between our ages?" She asked, "The new duke. A gallant soldier and his ageing mother?"

"Then I would be busy for days, calling out their honour one by one and fighting duels in defence of your impugned dignity." I told her. "Had it been the first day I met you - when I was a child and you, my father's new bride, fifteen years was an age between us, but now between two adults it is an irrelevance.

"And pffffh!" I snorted, "No one would see me at your side anyway, every eye there would be fixed on the beautiful lady."

Helena pushed against my shoulder. "You are a sweet-talker William!" she told me. "Glib and cunning!" She laughed. But I noted that this time she took the compliment without any rejection.

"In that case, I shall thank you once again mother, and go to my rest."

I think Helena had forgotten our kiss the night before, or that she was trying to avoid it, because she offered me her cheek. Instead, I took her chin gently in my hand and kissed her upon the mouth. It was a long kiss and full, as our lips pressed together. For a long count of several seconds, we remained so. Until at last, I stood.

She was flushed, and slightly breathless. In the open throat of her night-gown, I could see where the flush had spread.

Before she could say anything else, I had returned to my own room.

If my mother had followed me, I would not have been surprised, but she didn't, and I went to sleep that night dreaming of the rise and fall of that flushed bosom, imagining the swell of her breasts and my aching cock planted between them as I shot my spend off across them and her graceful throat.

I slept well.

3. The re-discovery of my sisters ...

The next morning, I looked about me. It had always been my father's habit to breakfast behind his newspaper - the Times of London.

Not I. The chatter of my sisters as they breakfasted - eggs and bacon from our own farms, meant that I was home again, in the bosom of my family, and I was enjoying it immensely.

Henry appeared, to announce the arrival of the tailor.

He had been shown into the drawing room, the footman said, and Barclay waited with him.

"Mother? Charlotte?" They both looked at me. "As I am new back in town, perhaps you would attend me and advise on what would look good?" I asked.

I think that they were surprised, but only for a moment, as they both agreed quickly, much to the annoyance of my other sisters, who obviously felt left out.

I offered them both an arm and we proceeded through into the drawing room. Helena leaned into me and her arm in mine felt like it was supposed to be there. Charlotte, on my other side, also felt comfortable, as her arm laid along mine, and my hand wrapped hers. We had always been close when we were younger, though I was away from home much of the time. There was no difficulty between us as step-siblings; she always treated me very much as her older brother.

I ensconced the two ladies on a couch to one side while the tailor and his assistant took measurements. He showed me samples from his pattern books and materials. I referred them to Helena and Charlotte often. My reasoning being that they were familiar with current styles for a man of my new found status, and I was not. I warned them that I was not a fop or a dandy to be seen in extraordinary stripes or brocades, I wanted plain coloured materials - except for waistcoats - but with a sharp cut to the clothes.

My mother and my sister billed and cooed over swatches of material, discarding those they did not like and keeping those they did. With their advice, I would not look foolish when I stepped out. I also referred the patterns and styles to Barclay as well, he had an unerring eye for what looked good.

In the end, as well as the items that I had ordered, I purchased some of the clothes that the man had made previously and brought with him. They included a very nice great coat, of a dark wool, almost black in colour. My own soldierly great coat was acceptable but this was longer, to mid-calf, cut with more fullness in the skirt and the back seam was parted almost to the waist for riding. I also had a jacket and some breeches off him. He and his assistant left us with a promise to have the first items delivered in a week.

After the tailor was gone, the weather closed in again. November in London - windy, rainy and cold.

I ensconced myself in the sitting room with a book, the initial plan being to catch up on my reading in peace and quiet.

That was until my sisters found me.

I learnt several things that afternoon as they quizzed me about the Peninsular, Sir Arthur Wellesley, the Art of War, soldiers in general and Portuguese ladies and their fashions (that was a particularly short conversation) - in short, everything and anything.

The first thing that I learnt was that although I was now the 6^th Duke of Norton, properly styled Your Grace, when being addressed, I was still just plain William to my sisters. In theory I was a man of wealth and power, second only in rank to a prince of the royal blood, but in actual fact I was still just their 'big brother'. So much for the dukedom, and being God's Appointed within this house!

The second thing I learnt was how much they had all grown. Hermione, in particular had suddenly blossomed. She had celebrated her eighteenth birthday in the summer but the shy, quiet child I had known had grown into a tall - easily my height, elegant and confident woman. Oh, she was still my darling Hermione, with her mother's grey eyes and my father's dark hair, but whereas before she would have probably sat at the back and listened, now she was one of the chief interrogators.

The twins were just as inquisitive, but their questions were less about the fighting, and more about the society that had grown up around the army. I tried to answer these questions as best I could while still trying to shelter my siblings from the more lurid details - the bed-hopping and adultery and so on. Even with my slightly vague answers, Margaret and Louise seemed to enjoy this window into my old world.

Caroline - dark-eyed, slim and the tallest of my five sisters, said little but one felt that she heard everything that was being said, and having heard it, noted it all, somewhere. She watched the play between us, her eyes darting between the speakers, sometimes frowning, sometimes pulling a face if she thought the talk was too gruesome (I was careful to avoid the goriest details because of their sensibilities), and sometimes clapping in appreciation of a joke or witty remark.