Councils of War
Chapter 1: Prelude

Copyright© 2018 by Uther Pendragon

Historical Sex Story: Chapter 1: Prelude - In the summer of 1819, upper-class families all over England with daughters of the proper age were holding councils of war. Their daughters were going tobe presented to society, officialy to the court, and most critically to the men who would marry that year. Everyone hoped that one of those men would marry the daughter of the house. The Tarletons want a suitable husband for Anne. She wants a particular man, and she wants him to love her.

Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Slow  

Lionel Grant expressed his dissatisfaction to his brother, George. “Cambridge was bad enough. But, there, boredom came from studying and the cure was found in diversions. The diversions of London are boring themselves. ‘If the salt has lost its savor, what can season it?’”

“You refused to go into the church,” George pointed out. “You sound like you already have.”

“I attend one Sunday in five. How could I preach every Sunday morning and evening? I lack the calling. I lack sufficient faith.”

“What you have is too much faith, not too little. I know a dozen who have taken orders who believe not a word of it.”

“I have the wrong amount, that is certain. And the army is no better, even if England were not overrun with officers who served in the wars against Napoleon and now have no place. What else is there for a younger son to do?”

“Wait for me to die, of course.”

“I do not, George, appreciate your jest.”

“But that is what a younger son does. Do you think I regard Father less highly than you regard me? Yet I am waiting for him to die. That is what the heir does. Neither of us is an evil man; I shall not strangle him in his bed. I do not suspect that you plan to poison my tea. But I shall not become Earl of Fenhurst without his death, and you will not without mine. In the meantime, the Season starts in days. Enjoy yourself. There are many diversions. Gamble, drink, dance, chase women.”

“I was good, if not outstanding, in school. I am totally in the shade in the ton. My allowance does not stretch to gambling like the most famous gamblers of our number do, not a penny on the guinea. I have seen public drunks. If I desire to have the whole world see that I am an ass while I see it not, I shall wear a tail and a blindfold.”

“That leaves dancing and chasing women. There is a ball in two days, and another after that, and another. I only warn you that the women you chase should not be brought back here. Mother may be staying in the country with father, but the staff is loyal to her. What you do in Darrow House will be reported on her next visit to London.”

“I have reached the age of discretion. I shall practice it. For that matter, I am not the one who was caught in the haymow.”

“Then learn from my mistake. Avoid getting caught. Besides, haymows are distractingly scratchy.” In the following weeks, Lionel took his brother’s advice. He went to balls to dance with virgins of his own class. He prowled the streets of London to find women who were neither of his class nor virgins. He only gave his custom to those who could provide their own bedchambers. The ton were perfectly happy to have him at their balls, since he was of acceptable breeding, had a decent income, spent it on stylish clothes, and danced rather well. They did not notice him, however. His clothes did not compete with Brummel’s; his horse did not compete with Dorwich’s. Thirty pounds a month was no small allowance for a man living at home; twenty-five a month was considered enough to support the life of a gentleman including housing and food. Twenty times that would not, however, support the gaming or entertaining that took the ton’s notice. Men wagered more than his year’s allowance on one turn of the cards.

He found that he enjoyed the balls, enjoyed the gossip, enjoyed the dancing especially the waltzes. He would whet his concupiscence by holding chaste debutantes and faithful matrons in his arms. Then he would slake it in a visit to a street-doxie on his way home. If some of his returns to his father’s London house, Darrow House, were shortly after midnight and others were shortly after dawn, no-one commented. His brother, who had a similar pattern, merely nodded the one time they met on the doorstep as the sky was beginning to lighten in the east.

One of the balls he attended was at Jardine House. After the first dance, the quartet made a sound which drew all attention. Standing in front of them, Dorwich announced his engagement to a blonde standing beside him. Then the quartet started a waltz to which the engaged couple danced away in solitary splendor. No-one else had a partner. Lionel collected his partner, and they danced after the quartet started the waltz again. Lionel’s partner could only speak of the coup.

“Is that not the most romantic announcement? And did you see them dance together? I wish that would happen to me.” A lady is not expected to believe her current dance partner is the most romantic man in the room; she is expected to speak as if he were. To have his partner praise Dorwich during her waltz with him almost crushed Lionel’s vanity. By the end of the evening, though, he salvaged something. Dorwich, whose escapades at Cambridge had not quite faded by the time Lionel attended, had made his more recent repute as a traveler. Lionel would make his repute as a traveler. He told the story to George over luncheon, the meal they shared every day.

After he recounted the incident at the Jardines’ ball, he continued, “And I plan to emulate Dorwich.”

“Emulate him?” George drawled. “I think you will find that the Walton girl is not available. Jardine usually holds but one ball a year. You would have to wait a year to announce an engagement at his ball.”

“Emulate, not this recent exploit, but his travels. I shall travel the world. First France, then Italy and Greece.”

His father was amenable. The family’s man of business, on orders from the earl, was ready to advance him two month’s allowance and put him on three-quarter’s pay for the next eight months. He took him around to the Rothschild bank. Mayer Rothschild’s sons had established a near-monopoly on the shipment of bullion. Although the shipment the family planned to make was minuscule compared to the amounts with which the Rothschilds dealt, they were pleased to do them the favor of charging them merely the same slight percentage that they charged large shippers. The man of business would pay the allowance in to Nathan Rothschild’s bank in London on the first of the month, and Lionel could draw it out from James Rothschild’s bank in Paris on the fifth or thereafter.

(That the Rothschilds engaged to ship 900 troy ounces of gold from London to Paris for half of what another shipper would charge and engaged to ship 1,000 troy ounces of gold Paris to London on the same terms -- then shipped 100 troy ounces from Paris to London plus some paper back and forth -- the man of business did not explain to Lionel if he even knew. The guineas the Grants had “shipped” only added a one line on the bottom of one of those sheets of paper.)

The earl, who was a reliable Tory when he visited the House of Lords, obtained a letter of introduction to the ambassador in Paris for his son from the foreign secretary. George obtained a letter to the ambassador’s son, a contemporary of his, from a mutual friend.

Finally, in January, Lionel sold his horse and set out for Dover. He reached Paris early in February. He engaged an apartment and a French Valet. His French, learned from a governess long ago, was not all that good. He would need his classical languages to get by in France as much as in the countries he planned to visit later. A visit to the University of Paris delivered a great shock. His Latin, polished over a decade at Eton and Cambridge, was written the same as le Latin du professeur, but pronounced entirely differently. The professor introduced him to another, who told him that not only was his Greek pronunciation somewhat different from what was standard in French Universities, but that neither would be recognizable in the Athens of the day. He had been aware that Paul wrote a somewhat different language than Plato had; he had not asked whether that process of alteration had continued for the next eighteen centuries.

However disappointing the news which undermined his plans to travel further, he found himself enjoying his stay in Paris. In the first place, the English colony was not all that large. Lionel Grant, unnoticed in the ton, was a personality when English folk gathered. In the second, French society took to him. His fair handsomeness made him “Le Blond Lion.” His French improved rapidly, and his dancing skills were appreciated. Third, and most important, he appealed to the ambassador’s son for guidance in dealing with his carnal needs. That worthy introduced him to one of the more notable courtesans then working in Paris. It was as though he had asked for porridge and been handed meringue.

Suzanne called him “mon amant innocent.” It was not strictly true, but he knew as little of what she considered “l’art du amour” as he had at the age of twelve. He was an enthusiastic pupil.

Suzanne cost more than his London doxies had, but he never begrudged the expense. Indeed, he scrimped all other expenses while this became his one luxury. When her birthday drew near, (for, however pleasant this escapade was to her, however superior young, responsive, Le Blond Lion was to her usual aged, fat, clientele, he was clearly not able to afford any jewelry, and a girl cannot let a birthday pass without at least un bijou; there are only so many birthdays in that profession) she introduced him to Marie. Marie, in turn, introduced him to Colette.

He had been in Paris more than twenty months, and Colette had led him less than half way through her program of a different place or posture for intercourse on every day of the month when a message came from his bank. Monsieur James Rothschild wanted to speak to him personally. He went the day after the evening he got the message. It was a forwarded message from his brother. The Rothschild network was the fastest communication channel between England and France.

Lionel,
Come at once to Glassmere.
Father fading fast.
George.

“I am quite sorry to be the bearer of this news, monsieur.” Nothing could travel through their network without the Rothschilds knowing the contents. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I have funds on deposit here. Can you give orders that my rent be paid off and valet’s salary be paid up? Two months because of the lack of notice. And can you recommend a ship? Your shipments get through.”

“Our ships sail in all weathers. Here.” Rothschild handed him a note. “Show this to our agent in Calais and to the captain of the ship to which he will show you. We shall deduct the ship’s passage from your account.”

With that help, he reached Southend in a week. From Southend, another ship took him to Ipswich, and then he rode a rented horse to Glassmere. Lionel spoke to his father three times before he died. The second time, he got a response.

After the funeral, the family and certain of the staff gathered in a parlor to hear the family solicitor read the will. George got the entailed estate, including Glassmere Hall; Lionel got Darrow House with all appurtenances, including the cellar, and free of all encumbrances; Mother got five thousand pounds and life tenancy of the dower house; various servants got various amounts. “The remainder of my estate,” the solicitor read, “I leave to my two sons, George and Lionel, to be divided between them equally. I leave them also the obligation to look after such of their sisters as have not been married at the time of my death. George is to provide the dowry. Lionel is to pay the costs of their Seasons, engagements, and weddings, including housing them and their mother for those periods.” The solicitor read rapidly over a list of what was to happen were any of those mentioned to predecease the testator.

The solicitor finished, “That is the will. If there are any questions, I will answer them to the best of my ability now. Any others may be submitted to me at my office in writing.”

“I am certain it is clear to all of us.” Lady Fenhurst said. “You will notify the man of business about the bequests to the servants?”

“Yes, and about the statements to the new Earl and to Mr. Grant. He should hand over your money to your man of business, as well, my lady. Assuming, that is, that you will use a different one.” He took his leave. The servants mentioned in the bequests left as well. Now it was a family conference.

“I shall move out of my rooms soon.” Lady Fenhurst said. “May I have a few days before changing Darrow House, Lionel?”

“Take all the time that you need. I am in no hurry to inhabit Father’s rooms for that matter. And there is none to take your place in your rooms.”

“I agree with Lionel,” George said. “I should feel like a usurper moving into Father’s rooms.”

“Do not feel like that. A house or an estate needs a master. Your father did not build either. He moved into the rooms of a man he loved.

“Now, Sophia,” Lady Fenhurst changed her tone as she changed her subject. “You promised your father. The next Season begins in less than ten months.”

“But I shall be in mourning for a year.”

“You swore to your father on his death bed that you would take your Season. If he could not see you wed, he wanted to know he was not impeding it.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And that, sons, is your sole obligation. Hester and Joan have been wed since that will was created. Probably your inheritance is a little lighter than it would have been then, as well.”

“We,” said Lionel -- knowing he spoke for his brother -- “shall be happy to fulfill that obligation, however unhappy the cause of our incurring it.”

Dinner was, as dinners had been since Lionel’s return, a solemn occasion. Afterward, he went up to bed. Samuel, his father’s valet who had been serving him since his return, came to undress him. Before climbing into bed, he came to a decision.

“Samuel, thirty pounds does not seem like the sum to change your occupation. Do you intend to look for another position?”

“Oh yes, milord.”

“Well, as you know, I have no valet. Would you like to be mine?”

“I would be honored, milord.”

“I, as you know, shall live in London. I expect that George and I shan’t become strangers.” As they did not. George kept his old room in Darrow House, Lionel his old room in Glassmere Hall. George came up to London to visit and to make his maiden speech in Lords. They avoided severe mourning, attending dinners and luncheons but not balls. Their old lives in the ton, however, seemed inconsistent with mourning, however light.

The Grants, like almost all families who kept two residences, had something between one and two staffs for them. Peterson, the butler, and Mrs. Smithfield, the housekeeper, kept a skeleton staff of footmen and housemaids in London while the family was in Suffolk. Were the house empty of people for the entire summer, it would be likely to be empty of wine, paintings, and even furniture, on their return. Another group of servants traveled back and forth twice a year. When this did not fit the situation, as when the brothers were in London for the Season and their parents stayed in Suffolk, temporary staff could be hired. Lionel’s new coachman and head groom had been promoted from the staff of Glassmere Hall. The family believed country folk were better at handling horses. George had generously decided that the curricle and landau in the Darrow House stable were among the appurtenances of Darrow House. Lionel bought a good saddle horse and two carriage horses in London.

Lionel decided that his restricted circumstances were well served with only the coachman and one groom caring for the horses.

Restricted circumstances, however did not keep him from authorizing the hiring of several new maids and footmen. He also added a cook and one additional helper. He could now entertain and hold small dinners when he wished. His inheritance aside form the house came as farms which paid some rent and consols. The income was more than a thousand pounds a year. This covered his modest expenses, and he put a little -- several pounds a week -- away to deal with the increased expenses of Sophia’s Season. The cellar, a really good cellar, was not being restored at the rate he drank the wine, much less the rate that he would lower it by giving dinners. Perhaps, after Sophia came out and was wed, he might return to Paris. He could only afford that by letting out Darrow House. His queries toward the possibility of replacing his French courtesan with an English one revealed that the cost was well beyond his means. He went back, a little ruefully, to his street doxies.

Four months after his Father’s death, Lionel resumed his attendance at balls. If people had forgotten him, he realized that they had never taken much notice aforetimes. He was a good dancer, reasonably handsome, and decently dressed. Maidens would rather dance with him than sit out. They would rather dance with a good catch than with him. Soon after, Mother visited. She moved her possessions from her old rooms to the rose room. “If you permit, Lionel,” she said, “Sophia will sleep in the blue room and we shall share the green room as our dressing room when she comes up for the Season.”

“Certainly. You are in charge of the Season.” Lionel stayed in London for most of the summer, but returned to Glassmere Hall towards the end of August to help plan the launching of Sophia.

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