Chapter 1 Friday, October 23, 1936 Eynsleigh Manor, Sussex, England Dear Diary: My life is absolutely perfect. I'm married to a wonderful man and have the most adorable baby in the world. As Jane Bennet said, "How shall I bear so much happiness!" For once I'm living a quiet life as a normal housewife in my own home, taking care of my husband and our darling son. I feel absolutely content and calm. I broke off from writing this, staring down at the page. Didn't it sound rather pathetic and boring for someone in her twenties? But then I had just given birth to a baby. And it was very nice to feel settled and happy in my own little corner of the world after what had been a rocky few years trying to survive on my own with absolutely no money. (Yes, I know I am related to the royal family and my brother is a duke who lives in a castle, but unfortunately none of that loot has been passed across to me!) I was sitting on the sofa in the morning room enjoying the slanted autumn sunshine coming in through the tall south-facing windows. It was my favorite room in the house, with armchairs and sofas, upholstered in light brocades, set around small tables or, in the winter, around the big marble fireplace. The wallpaper was buttery yellow, enhancing the sunlight. Sounds from the grounds outside made me turn to the windows. Strands of morning mist drifted over the grass tinged white with frost. In the distance leaves lay in brown carpets beneath the woodland. What had been acres of unspoiled parkland where deer and rabbit roamed now saw signs of development. Oh, I don't mean we were turning it into a housing estate or industrial complex. My husband, Darcy, and Sir Hubert, my godfather, who actually owned Eynsleigh, had decided they should put the grounds to better use. We now had sheep grazing in the far meadow. The small kitchen garden had been expanded to grow various fruits and vegetables. We had the home farm up and running again and were raising chickens, also darling piglets. I tried not to think that they would one day be sold for bacon. Life is cruel on a farm. I spotted Jacob, one of our new farmhands, returning to the house with our dogs. Usually I enjoyed walking the dogs in the mornings but I was just getting over a nasty cold and the weather was a little too bleak to be outside much. As I watched, Jacob broke into a run and the dogs bounded beside him, tongues lolling out. I smiled, glad that this was going so well. We had hired several young men from the surrounding area to help with the new farm chores. Three of them now lived together in the small farm cottage, which had been built with a touch of eighteen hundreds whimsy and looked like an adorable house from a fairy tale. Jacob immediately became my favorite. He had had a hard life, growing up in an orphanage, and then working in terrible conditions for a local farmer. In spite of all of this he was always cheerful and willing, loved all animals and had a natural affinity for them. Our dogs immediately took to him, which was a good sign in my opinion. Dogs are good judges of character! "So there you are, ducks." My grandfather came into the morning room. I had persuaded him to come back to Eynsleigh when the weather turned beastly cold and damp. I didn't want him living alone so near to the London pea-souper fogs. He had needed a lot of persuading as he didn't feel comfortable in a big house like Eynsleigh, certainly not being waited on by our servants. Finally he had agreed since we had no posh guests staying. I was also glad of his company as Sir Hubert was away again and Darcy had been coming and going on various assignments. It could feel lonely in a big empty house. I looked up. "Come and sit near the fire." I held out my hand to him. "It's bitterly cold today, isn't it? Is your bedroom warm enough?" "Toasty as anything," he said. "Couldn't be better. And it's nice in here with the big fire. At least you've got enough trees to keep your fires going forever, haven't you?" He sank into an armchair. "This will warm up the old plates of meat." I was about to ask what he meant when I realized he had lapsed into Cockney rhyming slang again. He meant feet. I had become used to "apples and pears" for stairs and "tit for tat" for hat. I found them quite endearing. And in case you are confused as to why someone who lives in a large property with servants should have a Cockney grandfather, I should quickly explain that although my father was Queen Victoria's grandson, he married my mother, a famous actress who came from humble roots (but chose to forget them). Therefore I had one grandfather who was a Scottish duke (whom I had never met since he died before I was born) and the other who was a Cockney retired policeman. He was my favorite person in the world apart from Darcy and James Albert, asleep in his cot upstairs. "How's the little man this morning?" Granddad asked. "Splendid." I beamed. "He's becoming so alert and interested in everything. And every time I look at him he gives me the biggest smile." "He's a lovely little chap," Granddad agreed. "Are you going to bring him down when he wakes up?" I grimaced. "I know I shouldn't. He's supposed to live in the nursery the way Darcy and I did, but I do love having him down here. And I think it's good for him to be exposed to everything that's going on." "You do what you want, my love," Granddad said. "It's your house and your baby. Don't you feel bound by silly old traditions. Your brother only sees his kids for an hour each day, doesn't he? Are they any better for it?" I laughed. "That's because Fig is not the motherly sort," I said. "I suspect Binky would enjoy interacting with them more often but as you know Fig rules the roost there." I put down my diary and stood up. "Shall I ring for coffee?" I tugged on the bell rope. "Do you expect that husband of yours back soon?" Granddad asked. I sighed. "I have no idea. He is never allowed to tell me where he's going. It might be Paris. It might be Antarctica for all I know. But I do think he would have told me if he was going to be away long. Usually it's a quick trip these days, thank heavens. I'd hate to be worrying about him for a long spell, not knowing if he was in danger." Granddad nodded. "He needs to think about settling down, now that he has a family, not go gallivanting all over the globe. Get a proper job. Go up to town on the eight thirty train each day and sit behind a desk." "Oh, Granddad, he'd hate that," I said. "Darcy wasn't born to be ordinary. He was born to do things and live an exciting life. Besides he is settling down in a way. He's officially working for the government now." I didn't mention what as. . . . I had now assumed my husband was a spy but he wasn't allowed to tell me. Our conversation was broken off by the sound of rattling crockery from the hallway outside. The sound grew louder, accompanied by rhythmic thumping, and Queenie made an entrance, carrying a tray. "Whatcher, missus," she said. "Chef told me to bring up the coffee on account of everyone else being busy." Queenie put the tray down on the low table between the armchairs. She had poured the coffee into two cups and a rather large amount had slopped into the saucers. I thought it wiser to say nothing. I also kept quiet that she called me "missus," when my correct title was "my lady." Either she was too thick to learn or, I suspected, knew quite well but chose to ignore it in a passive way of showing she was as good as I was. Either way she was exasperating but I was fond of her, had owed her my life at one point, and she was turning into quite a good cook, under Pierre's tutelage. "So what is Chef preparing for dinner tonight?" I asked. "Another of them Froggy dishes," she said, giving a sniff of disgust. "I told him there was lamb left and it would make a perfectly good shepherd's pie, but instead he's doing some sort of fricassee with mushrooms to use up them leftovers." "That sounds good," I said. "I hope you are taking notes and learning how to cook these dishes, Queenie. Then you'd be able to get a good job as a chef yourself one day." A look of dismay came over her face. "'Ere, you're not giving me the boot, are you? Not after what I've done for you?" "Of course not," I said rapidly. "I'm delighted to have you as our assistant cook, but one day you might want to spread your wings." She gave a throaty chuckle. "I think I'm spreading enough as it is, missus. My uniform ain't half getting tight. Although I suspect it shrinks every time in the wash." This was true. Queenie worked in a kitchen where there was a lot of good food, and she did love to eat. It showed. "Perhaps you could start walking the dogs," I said to her. "A little more exercise would do you good." "Me? Walk them bloody great things? No thank you," she said, and made what she thought was a dignified exit, only marred by tripping over the edge of the rug. I looked at Granddad and grinned. "That girl will never learn," he said. "I don't think she wants to." I took a sip of coffee. Queenie had already sugared it and it was much sweeter than I liked, but it wasn't worth the effort of calling her back. I knew I should demand the best from my servants, run my own household, but I didn't enjoy bossing people around. And in Queenie's case it would be a waste of time. She'd simply say, "Bob's yer uncle, missus," and then do exactly the same thing again. We finished our coffee and I went up to the nursery to see how James was doing. He was awake, lying in his cot and trying to eat his feet. When he saw me he broke into a full body-wiggling smile and made lovely little noises. Of course this was too irresistible. I scooped him up. "Oh, sorry I wasn't here, my lady." Maisie appeared in the doorway. "I was just bringing up his clean bedclothes from the laundry." "Nothing to apologize about," I said. "I just thought I'd come up and see if he was awake. I think I'll bring him downstairs for a bit and let you get on with other things." "Very good, my lady," she said. As we went downstairs I compared her mentally to Queenie. Maisie was always willing, always cheerful and loved to take care of James Albert as well as her duties as my personal maid. Queenie was . . . well, she was Queenie. When she had been my maid she had lost my shoes, ruined my evening gown and done all manner of horrible things. But she had been brave and worked for no money when I couldn't afford to pay her. So now all was well. Maisie took care of my son and me. Queenie was happy in the kitchen. "Well, there he is, my little man." Granddad held out his arms and I passed the baby to him. James gave a toothless grin and grabbed at Granddad's bristly face. We were just settling down when there was the sound of galloping feet on the parquet floor outside and into the room shot two large bundles of furry energy, one black and one yellow. "I hope you've had your feet wiped," I said as our two Labrador puppies, Holly and Jolly, tried to cover me with kisses while I tried to fend them off. Sure enough Mrs. Holbrook, our housekeeper, appeared behind them, quite breathless. "There you are, you naughty things," she said. "I'm sorry, my lady. Someone left the door open just as they arrived back from their walk." She tried to grab at their collars. "You two will be the death of me." The dogs had now spotted the baby and if they loved anything more than me, it was him. He was now getting covered in doggy kisses. I'm sure it was most unhygienic and my sister-in-law Fig would have a fit, but James seemed to be loving it. "It's all right, Mrs. H," I said. "Let them stay. They'll be tired after their walk." "If you say so, my lady." She sighed. "And might we expect the master home soon?" "I really don't know, Mrs. Holbrook. I hope so." "Chef was wondering whether to use up leftovers if it's just the two of you." "Whatever he cooks will be perfect, Mrs. H." I smiled at her. She bobbed a little curtsy. "I'll tell him." And she went. As I had predicted the dogs soon lay in front of the fire. I took James from Granddad and propped him among pillows on the sofa. Then I sat back with a sigh of contentment. Life was calm, simple and good. All I needed now was my husband home again. Almost on cue I heard the front door slam. Voices in the foyer. The dogs were instantly alert and dashed out, barking. Then I heard a deep voice. "Down, you brutes. Down. Anyone would think I'd been away for years." I gave a big sigh of relief. Darcy was safely home. A few minutes later he came into the room, his cheeks still red from the cold wind. "Well, that's a sight I've been longing to see," he exclaimed, pausing in the doorway. "My perfect family." Then he bent to kiss me before scooping up James. "I suppose I should ask why the baby is out of his nursery when it's not teatime," he said, an amused grin on his face. "What rules of polite society are we breaking here?" "He's awake and alert," I said. "What's he going to learn alone in a nursery? I want my son to grow up to be a genius who is also at ease in society. So sit down. Do you want some coffee? Queenie only brought us cups and not a pot but I could have Mrs. Holbrook bring more." "It's all right. It will be luncheon soon," he said. "And I did have a cup at the station, if it could loosely be described as coffee. So how are you?" Excerpted from We Three Queens by Rhys Bowen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
