Free A Death for King and Country by Caroline Dunford

beauty. I believe many people at that time in society were overwhelmed by her, and your grandfather was generally accorded to be very lucky to have won her. Especially as it was well known she would have preferred a prince of the Royal blood. Needless to say, she was not happy with her lot as a countess. Having children greatly diminished her beauty, as it does with some women, and she resented them all for this. The boys, who were sent away for school and up to Oxford, entered easily into the society of their peers, but your mother, as was often the lot for girls, was left much at home in her mother’s company. Despite her small frame she was a girl of spirit and considerable attraction. She never equalled her mother’s youthful beauty, but she was pretty enough to remind her own mother of what she had lost. To say that your grandmother was jealous of your mother is akin to saying that the Atlantic is a little wet.
    Your grandfather was fond of all his children, but in keeping with the time spent his time hunting, shooting, fishing, visiting his clubs in London, and occasionally remembering to check that his agent was not running his estate into the ground. He never intervened with how his wife raised his children, and it is not that surprising that your mother, who was continually presented with a series of high-ranking, but elderly, suitors ran off with the handsome local vicar. The scandal was the talk of the country for quite some time.
    Your grandmother never forgave her. She forbade your grandfather from having anything to do with his daughter or her family. Worse yet, on her deathbed, she extracted from your grandfather a promise to never again acknowledge his daughter or her children.
    From this history you will perhaps have guessed your grandfather is not a man of great internal strength. In a man of lesser rank one might have called him hen-pecked or utterly under the thumb of his wife. In his defence I will only say that he is a man who has always taken any promise, from his marriage oath to his deathbed promise to his wife, very seriously. He is a man to whom honour is everything.
    So there you have it. You now understand a lot more about your family background. I am sure you can read even more between the lines. Your personal task, of course, is to find a way to bring your grandfather round to your mother’s side. Your main advantage is that the old man has been missing his daughter desperately for years.
    And now on to your next task …
    The letter fluttered from my fingers. Fitzroy had assumed I knew the details of my mother’s elopement. I had not. I knew her family had disapproved of her marriage, but the thought of my mother running away with the local vicar was so shocking as to render me near to hysteria. Worse yet, the marriage had not proved to be particularly happy. As I had grown up it had become clear to me that while my parents did love each other, my mother could never accustom herself to her new lower status. If her parents had endorsed the marriage I was suddenly sure that both Mother and my beloved Papa would have had much happier lives. I felt a surge of fury towards my grandmother, and contempt for the weakness of my grandfather. Sadness for my parents, who had risked all for love, and not been able to live up to their dreams overwhelmed me. I collapsed on my bed and wept.
    My weeping was not of the lady-like sort of handkerchief dabbing, but the full-on howling, blotchy-faced sort, which I why I did not hear Bertram knock on my door. The first I knew of his presence was being lifted up to sob into his coat. His foul beard scratched the top of my head and for once I did not care. I clung to him.
    I am certain Bertram asked me many questions, but I was too distressed to answer. Finally he gave up and simply waited for me to cry myself out. It took some time. Bertram did not comment, but I quite ruined his jacket.
    When I slowed to hiccoughs, Bertram took me by the shoulders and sat me