PP AU NON-CANON GENERAL REGENCY

An Unexpected Win

Previously:

It was not long before he was sitting at his desk holding a piece of paper in one hand and looking the name of Harold J. Tuttle written on the top, and holding a dark green emerald in the other. The paper, and what he had read, did not surprise him; the Cornish serpentine shocked him.

'I hope Thomas Bennet accepts my invitation. I need him to come, now more than ever.'

Jennifer

Ch. 4

An oversized drawing room with bright, shining, polished tiled flooring was seen as soon as one of the maids opened up the door and stepped inside. She had come inside to tend to the fire. A large chandelier lit up with a thousand tiny diamonds, tossing them out onto the floor and against the walls, creating an amazing display of tiny shards of glass. Heavy burgundy drapes hung from windows that stretched from the top of the ceiling to within a couple of inches of the floor. It was no surprise to see this backdrop encasing Jennifer sitting at the piano, playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. The grand fireplace, framed with decorated marble, added a warmth to the room that otherwise would simply appear cold and barren.

The lady of the past, when not working, would spend hours singing, reading, or playing the piano on the upper floor of the Kingsley mansion. Today, though no longer being allowed to work alongside the staff, was not stopped from any of other activities. Therefore, the music filled the space with the sounds of the moonlit walk one might take and, when the inchworm crawling throughout the piece of music appeared, the maid - without thinking about it - brushed her arm as if to get the thing off her arm. Making herself focus on the chore at hand, the maid tended to the fire and exited the room without disturbing Mr. Kingsley's sister.

"The lady should be playing for people," a younger maid whispered as she heard the music before the door closed. "Not to an empty room."

"Maybe," the older maid who had come out replied. "However, Mrs. Ingalls has no interest in that, and we all know it."

"Well, she certainly has no business doing our job. I am relieved her brother finally put down his foot this morning and put a stop to it," the head housekeeper spoke gruffly. "I confess, I do love that lady dearly. She has more heart and soul than that horrible mistress we had around here before Mr. Kingsley buried her."

"Shhh," her co-worker put her finger up when they heard footsteps, thinking it might be Mr. Kingsley coming up the stairs. Thankfully, it was only one of the footmen coming upstairs to bring Mrs. Ingalls her mail from one of her sons. However, it was enough to get the maids down the hall and back to their own duties.

Jennifer had just played the last note when the footman walked in. The lady turned her head at the sound of the door closing as her attention was no longer focused on the music. Seeing as the worker was heading her way, Jennifer stood up and pushed in the piano bench.

"Mail for you, Mrs. Ingalls."

"Thank you, Camden."

Jennifer took the letter and saw it was from her eldest. Walking over to one of the old, but well-taken care of, Gregorian chairs, she noticed the intricacies of the carved wood and the faded, yet elegant, tapestry. It was not nearly as comfortable as some of the others but—considering some of the furniture her late husband had bought—it was a step up. And, besides, she was not going to sit in it long.

Dear Mother,

I am sorry, but I will not be able to come home as planned. My superiors are being stationed outside of London. And getting anywhere near Cornwall would take a good week this time of year and another week to return. That is simply too long as I could only afford a week's break at most.

I have been most fortunate to have been invited to stay with a Mr. and Mrs. Edward Gardiner. He seems to be quite the jovial fellow, and his wife is a sweetheart. I do believe you would quite enjoy their company. I cannot say the same for her sister, Mrs. Philips. However, that is the worst I will say about the woman—other than to warn you not to tell her any secrets. Nonetheless, Mrs. Gardiner I believe is safe enough.

I would write more, but my superior is calling.

Your Loving Son,

Robert

Folding the correspondence in half, Jennifer stood up and walked out the door. The hallway—seeing as how the sun was setting, was now dimly lit with antique wall sconces casting a soft glow on the dark wood paneling. Portraits of Kingsley relations—living and passed on, adorned the walls, watching over those who happened to walk by. The thick carpet beneath her feet muffled her footsteps as she moved with a grace few had.

Jennifer passed more than one door, each leading to various rooms of her brother's mansion. The faint sound of distant conversations and the clinking of china from the dining room floated up from below, reaching her ears. It told her the staff was getting the family's evening meal ready. One she was not particularly hungry for. And, yet would sit at the table with her brother simply because there was no desire to have their family split any more than it was already. Turning the corner, she approached the staircase which would lead to her room, its banister dull, but only because the maid had been behind in her duties due to having just recovered from illness. It would shine soon enough.

Ascending the stairs, she noticed the intricate carvings on the wooden railing, depicting scenes from classic literature. Her own cousin had been the master carver to have done the work; he had since passed away. The ascent was not hard as she knew it would become in time; however, if anyone really knew her, Jennifer would then—as she did now—move with a quiet dignity—minus any arrogance of her mother's cousin. A cousin who to this day refused to speak to them because she had married 'that' man. It was the thought of her mother which had got her mind on the lady's cousin's words that had been written down in her mother's journal.

"I will tell no one else of the family of your existence. Any cousin of my husband's will not be aware of you if you marry that Robert J. Kingsley. He has no real money, no title. Renounce him now if you wish to be known in my circles."

Reaching the top, she turned left and walked down the hall toward her room. She spoke out loud as if the old lady could now hear her words, though her mother's cousin was nowhere around.

"I could call you names," Jennifer held her head high and spoke low as if her, and Paul's, mother's relation would have stuck around to hear her continue speaking. "Many would not blame me." She sighed. "You were not so bad at one point, not even with your father's title, so mother told me. You could have helped my mother when she fell ill after father died, but no, you kept your back turned. We did not ask for your help, nor has Paul. It was my brother's hard work that earned him his money, and this estate. So, calling you foul names would do no good. I doubt you have bothered keeping track of us any more than I have bothered looking you up."

Jennifer thought of her room, her sanctuary. It was simple but beautiful, a small piece of heaven as far as she was concerned. Light blue walls, very few furnishings, and soft, pastel colors which created a calming atmosphere for tired muscles—and sometimes nerves—at the end of a long day full of hard work, or annoying people who had thought they knew how to run her life better than she. Her lace curtains at the windows allowed the sunlight to enter gently through any space between the drapes now closed. A small, well-kept bed with solid blue quilt stood against one wall, and a wooden chest of drawers occupied another corner. A silver-framed mirror—the most ornate piece in her room—hung on the wall above her set of drawers.

Jennifer entered her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She walked over to her writing desk, setting the letter down and taking a moment to gaze out of the window at the garden below. And, for the first time she allowed one thought to enter her head that she had been pushing aside for quite some time.

There is a current in the air. I can feel it. Something is in the wind. And, Paul, my dear brother; you are guarded...more than usual. What is going on? Really going on? My cleaning, working among the staff has never bothered you before. And now I can do none of it. Why? What was it hurting? We speak of the boys; we never speak of my girl. Of course, it would do no good, burying her when she was only a week old makes it so few remember her. However, a mother's heart does not ever forget.

Knowing Paul would give her no answers, knowing her children were nowhere around, and knowing she must focus on her new duties of mistress of the house seeing as how his wife was dead, she got ready for supper. Her own thoughts were...Paul needed to remarry to a woman better suited to him than that the first. As to herself, her sons, young as they may be, were grown as far as society were concerned. They answered to no one but the king. Therefore, with her husband dead—and living under Paul's home—and having made a promise to her mother in front of a priest, though not a practicing Catholic herself—Jennifer was bound to obey her brother.

Clearly Beethoven was very much a real musician :D and Moonlight Sonata is very much a real piece of music :D.