~Then~
When he built Glade Hall, James Maynard was a single man with a substantial fortune. Some of his wealth was old money, but he'd also added to his wealth by various means that he was unwilling to reveal to even his closest friends. Some hinted at plantations in the new world, plantations worked by slave labour. Slave labour was quite legal of course, but some people were a little squeamish about admitting to owning slaves. Others hinted at links with the orient and the opium trade. Again, quite legal, but no gentleman would want to admit to selling the filthy stuff.
His lifestyle gave cause for yet more whisperings among the local people of that part of Oxfordshire. He'd made some odd friends during his travels and acquired a few servants who didn't fit the accepted norm. A large Moroccan man served him as a sort of butler, opening his front door and scaring the locals. His cook had no aptitude for the job, but she was young and pretty, so the inhabitants of the village had put two and two together. A few of his odd friends shared his home and most carried weapons and some of those friends were wild looking women.
He was a highwayman, a brothel keeper, an assassin, a secret agent for the crown ! All those rumours and more began to circulate. James knew the way people's minds worked and his solution wasn't to offer a plausible origin for his wealth. James decided he needed to fit in with the community, he needed to quieten the curiosity by becoming just another boring landowner. In short, he was in want of a wife !
There was a middle aged woman of good breeding, who actually specialised in such match making and she'd proven to be remarkably worldly wise about such things.
"The elder Dawkins girl would be ideal, but she is a bit............ timid."
Mrs Attercliffe was originally from the north of England and had travelled south with her husband. They ran a nearby livery yard which boasted at having some highly respected clients. Mrs Attercliffe had used her connection and branched out into matchmaking. She hadn't seemed put out by his Moroccan butler or his friend Izzy. Izzy had long red hair, dyed to a shade of red that Boadicea would have thought twice about. She was a friend of his, who doubled as maid, cook's assistant and quite a few other things. She was currently sitting on the arm of a sofa and watching his interview with Mrs Attercliffe.
"I'd say and I mean no offence by this," said Mrs Attercliffe, "that you aren't too worried by a potential wife not coming from a wealthy family or........... having a perfect reputation."
He didn't want too timid, but he didn't want a wife who'd draw more unwanted rumours about the goings on at Glade Hall.
"How far from perfect are we talking about ?" He asked.
The matchmaker had arrived with another lady, someone quite elderly who had never been properly introduced. It appeared that even the matchmaker required a chaperone to protect her reputation. The mystery guest was obviously a servant of some kind and was no longer required.
"You can go and sit in the carriage." Said the matchmaker.
Mrs Attercliffe glared at his red haired friend, but she wasn't about to give up her spot on the arm of a sofa. She ignored the dirty looks and curled herself up like a large ginger cat.
"Ignore Izzy." He said. "She speaks little English."
"There is Lydia Barnet, you might have heard of her ?"
"No, but I don't mix much with the local community. That is why I sought out your advice, your expertise in such matters."
He was gently stroking her ego and she loved it, almost fluttering her eyelids at him.
"She was quite keen on a young man and there is no glossing it over. She moved in with him for a year or so."
She stopped to gauge his reaction. James didn't really want a timid village virgin. An experienced woman who'd actively enjoy full marital relations, was something he'd actually prefer.
"I'm still listening." He said.
"They would have married I'm sure, but he was involved in the Prussian wars and died there. In a way it was fortunate that no children resulted from their union."
Poor Lydia might not see it that way, but he could see why Mrs Attercliffe had made a point of mentioning it. An experienced woman was one thing, bringing up another man's bastard child was another thing altogether.
"She's bright James, and attractive. No dowry though, her family have a good name, but alas, no fortune."
Whereas he had a fortune and no good name. He liked the sound of Lydia and so obviously did Izzy. His friend and sometime maid, was nodding at him. Her command of English, was of course, perfect.
"Yes Mrs Attercliffe." He said. "I quite like the sound of Lydia Barnet. Please arrange an introduction."
