Affair of Pretense

Twelve

"All in all, there are two hundred and fifty rooms at Stanfield Court," Mr Charles Langford told his cousin as they started to walk around.

"Two hundred and fifty—!" gasped Georgie, unable to contain her astonishment.

"Yes, it's enormous! You see, the dukes of Montmaine were monstrously wealthy, and I'd say probably bored, so they spent the bulk of their fortune in rebuilding this home." This drew a slight giggle from her.

"Stanfield was originally built by Lord Edward Morston, first Earl of Stanfield in Tudor times," Charles continued in a compelling voice, encouraged by Georgie's undivided attention. "Half a century later, with no sons to inherit the title, the lineage died out, and Stanfield Court was at a standstill, having no owner for a decade or so. It was almost left to wrack and ruin until Queen Elizabeth bestowed it to one of her leading courtiers, Sir Ralph Leighton Dresdenham. He amassed an enormous fortune by slave trading and venturing to the Americas. Later, he was made the first Duke of Montmaine."

"He also was a womanizer, and one my brother would refer to as 'loose-screw'," supplied Miss Julia helpfully. "I heard he died terribly."

Charles added reflectively: "Yes, I'm afraid he'd had too many larks kicked up in the Americas that the natives, quite vexed with his meddling, decided to get rid of him."

"But how did he die?" inquired Georgie, momentarily diverted.

He shrugged. "As to that, no one really knew. He died when he was only five and thirty, barely a decade after he was made a duke." By this time, they stepped into the long gallery, showing the fascinated Georgie rows of gilded portraits of their ancestors. Charles, with a remarkable knack for storytelling, told her various tales of each of them. For one, Lord Gelvase, the third Duke of Montmaine, a handsome, dashing young man who was a staunch Royalist, tried to sneak into Oliver Cromwell's army, disguising himself as a peddler. His dissemblance was soon discovered, but he made a narrow escape by hiding himself under a stack of hay on a farmer's wagon.

It was perhaps small wonder that the previous dukes of Montmaine, whose lives were fraught with adventures and perils, had the tendency to die young, so the title was passed in a matter of every ten to twenty-five years. "Grandpapa is the eighth duke, and he is the only one among them who has made it to very old age," Charles said. Not surprisingly, he added, the Dresdenhams were also known to be notoriously extravagant.

"Grandpapa's father was the most frugal of them all," Julia told Georgie. "You see, he didn't care much for spending money."

"But isn't that a good thing?"

"And I'd say, the most sensible of them all," Charles remarked and nodded to the portrait of a stern-looking gentleman in periwig, clad in sombre black silk jacket with golden buttons and white lace. "This is Lord Mortimer, our grandpapa's father. His own father was a madcap and a notorious spendthrift and made it his life's passion to expand and renovate Stanfield Court. Not that it was a bad thing at the time; however, he became increasingly obsessed, almost to the point of exhausting his own fortune, thereby acquiring huge debts. When Lord Mortimer inherited the dukedom, he took pains to restore the family's coiffures without risking any loss of dignity. In fact, one could say that he was the family's preserver: had it not been for him, we would all still find ourselves in the rocks today."

A moment later, they were passing by a few portraits until they stopped before a large painting of a little redhead girl on a horse and a young gentleman standing close to her. Georgie's rapt gaze fell intently on that young gentleman whose handsome features looked familiar. "Is this Cousin Denver?" she asked.