Moorstones

I had hardly taken my boots off after arriving at “Moorstones” than the first busybody arrived to discover my business.

I supposed they had the patience to allow me to ride down the drive way, hand my horse to the ostler and go inside to meet the household staff, but before I could ascertain whether my luggage had been delivered or even take a cup of tea my neighbors had deployed their spies.

From the Hunstanton – Smythes came a dinner invitation, from Lord Middlemarch an invitation to use his estate for shooting pheasant, with which he was over run, apparently, and that was just the beginning.

Damn them, they sought one thing, a husband for one of their brood of girls. At something over thirty with no wife, and an apparent fortune I was an easy target, not at the pinnacle of eligibility where one found the Prince of Wales, or even a Baron, though more eligible than an impoverished or foreign Baron, but a fairly safe peg on which to hang a daughter’s future happiness.

The thing was my last venture had been highly successful but at the same time a close run thing, I had overstretched myself, had not spread the liability and had reaped the full profits yet for fully twenty four hours we had been blown around the Atlantic Ocean knowing not where we were and not knowing whether we should live or die. My nerve was gone. I would invest in property and live more quietly.

It was lonely. My first night in Moorstones was a trial. My bed did not rock like a hammock, there was no sea breeze, no crack of the sails, just Owls hooting and lesser beasts snorting and if I slept a minute it was a one solitary one.

Next morning I decided to check the extent of and the boundary of the Moorstones estate, I went on foot and seeing the Middlemarch residence in the distance atop it’s lone hillock.

I decided to pay a visit but the distance was more than I thought, and I was not at my best when I arrived.

My arrrial unannounced and unexpected caused consternation, normally all the eligable daughters would be scented and preened to perfection but today they were in ordinary.

The mother had made an effort but the two elder daughters were rumpled and disheveled, they wore simple smocks but even these shapeless garments their bellies bloated without support from tight corsets and faces devoid of rouge or whitening.

They knew not whether to run and get dressed or to brazen it out in the hope of attracting my attentions. There were younger sillier personages, but completely oblivious to my appearance seemingly was one more rather studious girl sitting quietly reading by the fireside in the sitting room, which was where I was sent.

“John,” I explained, “I have taken Moorstones for a season and thougth I would pay my respects to the neighbors.” I ventured.

“Angelica,” she advised without ever lifting her gaze from the book.