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The Three Colonels' Ladies
- A Vignette (1835)
Buford Manor,
Wales - July, 1835
Caroline Buford
(for twenty years she had refused to use her title Lady Caroline)
walked out of Buford Manor with her sister-in-law Rebecca Buford,
the mistress of the house, on a bright summer's day. Handsome,
slim and healthy for a woman of six and forty, her dark hair
was turning a becoming salt and pepper. Due to the fineness of
the day, Caroline wore a white blouse over her dark grey skirt
and shawl, rather than something darker, with her customary regimental
pin with ribbons of black and Dragoon Blue.
It was an astounding
transformation in the eyes of those who only knew her as Caroline
Bingley. Never again would she wear her customary strong colors
of red and orange, and never again would anyone behold feathers
in her hair. She no longer wore a certain orange cameo - that
was preserved lovingly in a glass case on the dressing table.
For she was in mourning, and only those who did not know her
late husband could marvel at it.
She and her companion
sat at a table on the patio at the rear of Buford Manor, which
had a fine aspect of the grounds and lake below. "It is
a fine day, upon my word, Rebecca. When do the guests arrive?"
It was a grand afternoon party for no particular reason - the
Fitzwilliams and Brandons were visiting the estate.
"They should
be here at any time, Caroline. Ha, ha. I think Edward has caught
something. Look!"
Caroline gazed with
affection at her generous brother-in-law - he had indeed caught
a trout - when she spied another person.
Rebecca saw what
caught her sister's attention. "She is very pensive today,
do you think?"
"Yes - he
is coming today."
"So that is
how the land lies. Are…are you comfortable with that, Caroline?"
"I think so…after
all, he is…"
A footman interrupted
their discussion. "Mrs. Buford, the Fitzwilliams have arrived."
"Excellent,"
said Rebecca. "See to their baggage and have them brought
here, if you please. Yvette!"
"Yes, Mama?"
"Go and fetch
Bea. Your Aunt Caroline asks for her."
"Yes, Mama.
"There they
are - you see, wife?' came a booming male voice from the door
of the estate. "No standing on ceremony for the Bufords!
We could learn a thing or two from them, eh?"
"Richard Fitzwilliam,
you say that every time we come here, and every time I reply
in the same manner."
"And how is
that, Mama?" asked a girl walking beside them, while her
brother only rolled his eyes. He knew better than to open
his mouth.
"Never you
mind, Miss Cassie!" scolded Lady Anne Fitzwilliam.
Miss Barbara Albertine
Buford gracefully walked across the grounds of her family's home.
Bea, as she was known to her family and close friends, was overlooking
the estate's lake, watching her Uncle Edward fishing with his
sons. A young lady not yet one score in age, she was tall, slim
and lovely with dark hair. Her pale complexion was offset by
a pair of bright blue eyes. Her countenance was of a lady raised
with all the advantages that wealth, education and love could
bestow.
Her dowry was not
unsubstantial. True, she was raised by her widowed mother in
the dowager house of the great manor, but her uncles had been
exceedingly kind to her. Land they owned, in Wales and Scotland.
By great chance, the mines underneath the properties yielded
more than the crops or livestock above. This would have been
as nothing to the girl had not her relations, at her birth, settled
a small percentage of the lands' income to her in trust. That,
and judicious investments in her name in the trading firm of
Gardiner & Harville, had insured that the lucky gentleman
who could secure the lady's favor would be enriched by over thirty
thousand pounds.
Miss Buford was
a very sharp dresser (with a mother like Mrs. Caroline Buford,
that was to be expected), with a tongue to match (see previous
note). She could hold her own in conversation or argument in
five languages: English, French, Italian, Spanish and German.
Her accomplishments were many: she played the piano like a master,
read prodigiously (fiction, history and poetry), and studied
some higher mathematics. Drawing was her only failure - she could
never develop the patience. She was rather learned by the standards
of the time - her mother was greatly influenced by her good friend,
Mrs. Tucker, who took a rather unorthodox view as to a lady's
education. She had also traveled far more than many young ladies
of her acquaintance; she had just returned from yet another trip
to Vienna with her mother.
If it could be said
that any house in Britain overflowed in love, it would be Buford
Manor. The late Dowager Mrs. Albertine Buford raised her children
- and her children's spouses - very well. Like the ripples a
tossed stone into a pond makes, the effects of her influence
spread throughout her family. Not many families in the Empire
could boast of such felicity amongst their members. Kindness
to the staff, neighborhood, workers and tenants were paramount
to the Buford family - so much so that they were sometimes ridiculed
by some of their more hidebound contemporaries. Of course, such
comments were made far away from the ears of either Mrs. Buford
or her daughter, if the commentator wished to escape a thorough
tongue-lashing.
Her youngest cousin,
Yvette, a girl of thirteen, came running up to her. "Bea!
Your mother wants you! The Fitzwilliams are here!"
Bea kissed the girl
in reward for the news and turned towards the house. As she walked
up to the patio she saw that mother and aunt, who had been seated
at a table, had risen to great their guests. "Sir Richard!
Lady Anne! Hello!" she called. The pair waved back.
Caroline looked
at Colonel Sir Richard Fitzwilliam and shook her head. How
is it that he never seems to age? It was true enough - his
hair was as sandy as ever and his eyes never lost that mischievous
glint of a young boy. In all the changes that had happened to
Britain in the last twenty years - new kings, Catholic emancipation,
railroads, industrialism, enclosure, swing riots - one thing
remained constant: Sir Richard Fitzwilliam.
The eternal youthfulness
of Sir Richard was infectious, it seemed. Lady Anne de Bourgh
Fitzwilliam was a very regal-looking lady, to be sure, but the
only lines on her face were laugh lines. "My goodness, Caroline,
Bea gets lovelier each time we see her!" she cried as she
held out her arms in welcome as the girl walked up.
"And why shouldn't
she, wife, when a certain someone is due to arrive?"
"Oh, Sir Richard
- for shame!" Bea returned as she kissed him. "You
know I love only you!" She then greeted Lewis Fitzwilliam,
a strapping lad of 16, and his 14 year old sister, Cassandra.
"Well, as much
as I would like to bask in this adoration, I spy fishing by the
lake! What say you, Lewis?"
"Shall we,
father? I should like it of all things. Mother, may I be excused?"
Lady Anne tried
to keep a cross expression on her face, but the open longing
on her two men defeated her utterly. "Go on - or I shall
never hear the end of your protesting!"
With a wave at the
ladies, the two gentlemen took their leave and hurried to the
lakeside.
Rebecca Buford rose.
"I must see to the dinner. Lady Anne, welcome to Buford
Manor. I hope your stay will be enjoyable."
"It always
is, Rebecca, thank you."
"Mama, there
is Yvette…may I…?"
"Yes, Cassie,
you may go," said Lady Anne as she took a chair next to
Caroline. "Well, Bea, tell me about Vienna."
"Lady Anne,
I am sure my mother was very thorough in her letters…"
"Yes, but she
says the same things every time," she smiled at Caroline's
mock-offended look, "I wish to see Vienna through your eyes."
For the next few
minutes Bea entertained Lady Anne with her observations of Austria
while her mother and aunt looked on with approval. Finally, as
she was relating a humorous episode involving a maid, a bucket
of water and a small dog, the butler announced the arrival of
the Brandon party. Immediately, Bea's face flushed with embarrassment,
to the amusement of the other ladies, but she met the new arrivals
with tolerable composure.
Colonel Christopher
Brandon, MP, limping slightly from an attack of the gout that
had bedeviled him off and on for the last five years, was in
all other aspects very hale and healthy for a man on the other
side of fifty. He insisted on riding his lands every day, and
attended every assembly and meeting in Delaford. His hair had
gone snow-white but his ruddy face held fewer wrinkles than could
be expected.
The reason for his
apparent youth was, of course, due to the attentions of his doting
wife. Marianne Brandon was perhaps the most youthful-looking
grandmother in Britain (Joy Brandon had married just after her
eighteenth birthday and had safely delivered a grandson four
months ago). Not quite one-and-forty, she still possessed the
figure of a lady half her age.
As much as Bea loved
her mother's dear friends, it was difficult to stop her eye from
falling upon the third member of their party.
"Hello, Godson,"
said Caroline as she kissed John Richard Brandon.
"Hello, Godmother.
You are looking well."
"I am feeling
well, now that I see you again. John Richard, I believe you have
grown at least another foot!"
"Two inches
- no more. Hello, Lady Anne."
"Dickie, welcome."
Marianne bestowed
the nickname "Dickie" upon her son soon after his christening;
she dearly loved him and was happy to honor the memory of Sir
John Buford - but word had gotten back to Delaford that John
Willoughby had been bragging in his club that the child was his
namesake. Christopher at the time claimed that he paid no mind
to the foolishness, but his wise wife knew that hearing the name
"John" manifold times in his house for the rest of
his days might grow tiresome. Christopher never acknowledged
the righteousness of her decision, but it was telling that he
embraced the nickname for his son and heir with alacrity.
"Hello, Bea."
"Hello, Dickie."
The two, embarrassed, just stared at each other in silence.
Brandon started
to grumble. "Ah, this blasted gout! Excuse me, ladies, but
I must try to walk it out. No sitting for me! Come along, Dickie
- let us observe the fishing. Miss Bea, if you would be so kind
to accompany us?"
"I would be
pleased to do so, sir."
"Christopher
looks very well, Marianne," Caroline remarked as the colonel
limped down to the lake while the young people lagged behind.
"His gout is
not getting better. I think we shall stop at Bath when we return
to Delaford."
"Is John Richard
still for the Army?" Caroline insisted upon calling her
godson by his full name.
"For a short
time, perhaps. Sir Archibald will keep him under his wing until
Christopher needs him back at Delaford." Marianne spoke
of General Sir Archibald Denny, who was now posted at Horse Guards
at Whitewall after his and Lydia's return from India. "Christopher
thinks all young men should learn of the discipline that the
military life teaches, and Dickie agrees. He wants to start at
the bottom - subaltern."
"I pray to
God that there will be no war," said Caroline. The other
two women affirmed her wish. "Lewis starts University soon,
Anne?"
"Yes - he goes
to Cambridge."
"Cassie is
a love - so vivacious!"
"'Flirt' is
more accurate, Caroline. She is too much her father's daughter.
But enough about that - tell us of the grandchild, Marianne!
How is Joy?"
Dickie and Bea strolled
slowly across the green of the lawn of Buford Manor, never once
glancing at the lake.
"So, you are
to the Army, Dickie?"
"Yes, Bea -
as soon as I finish my studies at Cambridge."
"How shall
you look in a red coat, I wonder?"
"Like anyone
else, I suppose."
"You are to
join the cavalry, like your father?"
"No - actually
I will be more involved in logistics for the infantry. Someone
must move the stores and ordinance about, you know."
"I take it
you will not be riding or shooting?"
There was a pause.
"Not unless there is a war."
"Any news from
Meryton?" Marianne asked Caroline after filling the two
ladies heads with stories of her beloved grandson.
"The last letter
I received from Mary before she and Thomas left for the continent
with the Darcys was that Mr. Collins was strutting about the
town as if he were a country squire of long standing." Mary
Bennet Tucker was mistress of Netherfield - her husband's success
in business and government had earned him the money to purchase
the estate.
Anne sighed. "Only
Charlotte could keep him in his place. You know, I believe Mother
truly pined when the Collinses removed to Longbourn; she never
got over it. Is Miss Elizabeth Collins to keep house for her
father?"
"Yes, poor
girl. I am afraid she is a confirmed spinster. At least the eldest
daughter Catherine married - there is hope for grandchildren.
The other girls…who can tell?" Longbourn was a good
enough property, as long as there was a sharp mistress; but with
Mr. Collins' penchant for purchasing the embellishments of respectability,
it was uncertain how much was left for dowries for four more
daughters.
"Poor Charlotte…Mr.
Collins so wanted a son…" Charlotte Collins had died
in childbirth.
Caroline nodded.
"It is strange indeed how life works out. Mr. Collins will
have no son to pass Longbourn to, should he not marry again.
And my family - Father so wanted to build a great legacy. Louisa
and I have but a daughter apiece while dear Charles and Jane
have five girls. The Bingley line ends with us." It matters
not - I have been a Buford for twenty years.
"Does Charles
feel it, do you think?"
"Charles?"
Caroline snorted. "With six Janes in the house to adore?
Marianne, the man is beside himself!"
Dickie asked, "How
was Austria?"
"Much like
the other two times I was there."
"Ah, but then
you were but a girl, while now…uhh…"
"Yes, Dickie?"
"Now…you
are…not a girl…"
Bea smiled but remained
silent.
"I…I am
glad you have returned, Bea…"
"I am glad
to be home."
"Are you…are
you to remain in Wales?"
"For some time.
We do not expect to be in Town until next Season."
"I am sorry..."
She turned to him.
"Sorry? Forgive me, but I do not understand your meaning.
What is it you are 'sorry' for?"
"Well…I…ummm…"
"Allow me to
correct any apprehensions you may have, John Richard Brandon!
Wales may not be London, but it is not the wilderness of the
world!"
"Uhh..Bea…"
"The way you
speak one might think I live in Darkest Africa!"
"Bea! Wales
is lovely, I agree. It is just…well…I will be in London…for
some time…"
"Oh."
Her blush returned. "I apologize for my outburst, Dickie…"
"Bea…"
"It was unladylike…"
"Bea!"
"Mr. Brandon!
There is no cause to speak in such…"
"May I call
on you when you do come to London?"
"…a manner
- pardon? OH! Oh, my…" Her mind was a whirl as dreams
and reality collided in a most agreeable fashion.
"Well, Miss
Buford?"
"Dickie - I
mean, Mr. Brandon… That would be…yes, I would like
that very much."
The two continued
their stroll, knowing that the world had changed for them.
Anne was speaking.
"…the last letter I received from Elizabeth and Darcy
said that they and the Tuckers should return from their diplomatic
mission to Constantinople in… Caroline! Marianne! Are you
not attending?"
Marianne's eyes
glowed of mischief. "Forgive us, Anne - our attention was
called to something else." She pointed at the two young
people.
Lady Anne looked
at Bea and Dickie. What is she talking about? They are just
walking…together… My goodness - something has changed!
"Marianne…does this mean what I think it means?"
"What say you,
Caroline?"
"Perhaps…Bea
and I shall be returning to London earlier than planned."
"I feel as
though I ought to say something, but my tongue is stilled, lest
I sound like Mrs. Bennet, God rest her soul."
"Anne, you
could never sound like Eliza's mother!" cried Caroline with
a laugh. Perhaps like the late Lady Catherine, when Sir Richard
is particularly vexing. "Well, Mrs. Brandon."
"Well, Mrs.
Buford?"
"Are you to
gain a daughter and me a son?"
"It appears
thus."
"Is he a man
of high moral standards? I shall settle for nothing less, you
know!" Caroline said in mock severity.
Marianne sputtered.
"How…how did you know that?"
"What are you
about, Caroline - he is your godson!" Lady Anne watched
as Caroline laughed. "All right, apparently I am lacking
in some vital information. Would anyone care to enlighten me?"
"Anne - those
were the very words Christopher uttered to Joy's future
in-laws!"
Caroline smiled.
"John Richard tells his godmother everything."
"Ohhh…that
boy! He was listening? He will make you a fine son-in-law, I
have no doubt!"
"Ladies,"
warned Lady Anne, "we had best refrain from this line of
conversation, lest the children overhear."
"Yes,"
grumbled Marianne, "We know how good Dickie's ears are,
in any case!"
Lady Anne took advantage
of the lull in the conversation to observe Caroline. As she had
done so many times in the past twenty years, she marveled at
the woman's tranquility. Look at her. There is her only daughter,
probably sealing her fate with Marianne's son, and Caroline has
no reaction save this look of serenity. Bea is a wonderful girl,
to be sure, and no one can say anything against John Brandon.
It is a fine match - predestined? Ha! As if I should have any
thoughts of predestined marriages! But I can not for the life
of me understand Caroline's composure. I certainly will not be
so peaceful when some man comes to ask for my Cassie - God forbid
anytime soon! How can she do it?
John?
Yes, Caro?
What think you of
our godson?
He is a tall,
well-formed young man. Strong of body, mind and morals. Brandon
and Marianne have done very well, indeed. But you had a hand
in that as well, my dear.
Thank you, John,
but what little I did was due to your guidance. John?
Yes, Caro?
Will he make Bea
happy?
Who can say?
The game of love is a game of chance - what man was luckier than
I?
Oh John…It
was I who was fortunate…
Let us not argue
as to who was the most fortunate, love… But as to Bea…I
think…yes - yes, I believe John Richard is the man for our
Barbara Albertine.
It is not as if
she will have to decide today - it will be at least three years
before John Richard can support a wife…
Do not keep them
apart, Caro…
Oh, no, John…
he is our godson, after all - we will be meeting constantly,
I should think.
That is good.
She loves him, you know.
I know.
And we never
know how short our time on Earth can be. I love you, Caro.
I love you, John.
Oh, how I miss you.
Miss me? How
can you miss me? Am I not always here when you call on me?
You have been. Oh,
John, I do not know how I could have gone on without your presence.
As if something
as small as death could keep us apart. Caro, I am proud of you.
You have done well with our Bea.
She reminds me of
you.
Me! With that
tongue? She is another Caroline!
I wish she could
have had the chance to know you.
As do I. But
I will be watching over her, as I do you.
Do I need watching
over, husband?
Constantly, my
Caro…
Oh, John, don't
make me laugh…
The sound of
your laughter is one of my great treasures, my love.
Sometimes...I wish
I were with you, John.
All in God's
time, Caroline. You still have much to do…
What, pray tell?
You are now the
heart of the Buford family, now that Mother is here with us.
You must help raise our grandchildren and nephews and nieces
in the Buford way.
Perhaps…I will
use the Bingley way?
No you won't.
No, I won't. Never
leave me, John.
I am with you
until the end of time.
The End
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