Lord Dartmouth Quotes

Here, then, was the crux. The king and his men believed that British wealth and status derived from the colonies. The erosion of authority in America, followed by a loss of sovereignty, would encourage rebellions in Canada, Ireland, the Caribbean, India. Dominoes would topple. “Destruction must follow disunion,” the colonial secretary, Lord Dartmouth, warned.

and were greatly distressed that their only son must be taken from them. We felt a spirit of prayer for him, and earnestly besought the Lord to spare his life. We believed that he would get well, although to all appearances there was no possibility of his recovery. It was a powerful season. My husband raised him in his arms, and exclaimed, ‘You will not die, but live!’ We believed that God would be glorified in his recovery. We left Dartmouth, and were absent about eight days. When we returned, the sick boy came out to meet us. He had gained four pounds in flesh. We found the household rejoicing in God for his wonderful work. 

Suddenly he spotted Gran deep in conversation with Kitty’s closest friend, and relief coursed through him. Gran would squelch the tale at once. And once she tried to quash the gossip, he would win-because he could then threaten to send notice to the papers of his betrothal if she didn’t back down. She’d have no choice but to give up on her scheme. Except…she wasn’t acting as if she meant to squelch it. She was talking to the other woman with great animation. And when she met his gaze from across the room, beaming from ear to ear, he realized in a flash that he’d misunderstood everything. Everything. She hadn’t been bluffing him. All the rot about trying to buy Maria off, the disapproving looks and snide remarks…all along, Gran had been goading him toward what she wanted. God preserve him. With a sickening sense of inevitability, he saw her go to the duchess’s side and whisper a few words, then saw the duchess rise and tap her glass to indicate she had an announcement to make. With a triumphant smile, Gran announced the engagement of her grandson, the Marquess of Stoneville, to Miss Maria Butterfield of Dartmouth, Massachusetts. All eyes turned to him, and the whispers began anew. He couldn’t believe it. How could he have been so blind? He’d lost the battle, maybe even the war.

And don’t call me ‘my lord.’ That’s what servants do. You’re my fiancée, remember?” He sounded irritated. “I’ll call you Maria, and you should probably call me by my Christian name-Oliver.” An unusual name for an English lord. “Where you named after the playwright, Oliver Goldsmith?” “Alas, no. I was named after the Puritan, Oliver Cromwell.” “You’re joking.” “Afraid not. My father thought it amusing, considering his own…er…tendency toward debauchery.” Lord help her, the man’s very name was a jab at respectability. Meanwhile, his estate could probably hold the entire town of Dartmouth! A sudden panic seized her. How could she pretend to be the fiancée of a man who owned a house like that? “I was named after King Frederick,” Freddy put in. “Which one?” asked Lord Stoneville. Oliver. “There’s more than one?” Freddy asked. “There’s at least ten,” the marquess said dryly. Freddy knit his brow. “I’m not sure which one.” When humor glinted in Oliver’s eyes, Maria said, “I think Aunt Rose was aiming for a generally royal-sounding name.” “That’s it,” Freddy put in. “Just a King Frederick in general.” “I see,” Oliver said solemnly, though his lips had a decided twitch. His gaze flicked to her. “What about you? Which Maria are you named after?” “The Virgin Mary, of course,” Freddy said. “Of course,” Oliver said, eyes gleaming. “I should have known.” “We’re Catholic,” Freddy added. “My mother was Catholic,” Maria corrected him. “Papa wasn’t, but since Freddy’s mother is, too, we were both raised Catholic.” Not that she’d ever taken any of it very seriously. Papa had always railed against the foolishness of religion. A devious smile broke over Oliver’s face. “A Catholic, too? Oh, this just gets better and better. Gran will have an apoplectic fit when she meets you.” Tired of his insulting comments about her background, she said, “Really, sir-“ “We’re here,” he announced as the coach pulled to a halt.

I can only imagine the sort of havoc Oliver must have wreaked as a boy.” Oliver handed Minerva in, then climbed in to sit beside her. “We weren’t that bad.” “Don’t listen to him,” Minerva exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. “One dull evening, he and his friends went to a ball dressed in the livery of the hired footmen. Then they proceeded to drink up the liquor, flirt and wink at the elderly ladies until they were all blushing, and make loud criticisms of the entertainment. After the lady of the house caught on to their scheme and rounded up some stout young men to throw them out, they stole a small stone cupid she had in her garden and sent her a ransom note for it.” “How the devil do you know that?” Oliver asked. “You were, what, eleven?” “Twelve,” Minerva said. “And it was all Gran’s servants could talk about. Made quite a stir in society, as I recall. What was the ransom? A kiss for each of you from the lady’s daughter?” A faint smile touched Oliver’s lips. “And she never did pay it. Apparently her suitors took issue with it. Not to mention her parents.” “Good heavens,” Maria said. “Come to think of it,” Oliver mused aloud, “I believe Kirkwood still has that cupid somewhere. I should ask him.” “You’re as bad as Freddy and my cousins,” Maria chided. “They put soap on all the windows of the mayor’s carriage on the very day he was supposed to lead a procession through Dartmouth. You should have seen him blustering when he discovered it.” “Was he a pompous idiot?” Oliver asked. “A lecher, actually. He tried to force a kiss on my aunt. And him a married man, too!” “Then I hope they did more than soap his windows,” Oliver drawled. The comment caught Maria by surprise. “And you, of course, have never kissed a married woman?” “Not if they didn’t ask to be kissed,” he said, a strange tension in his voice. “But we weren’t speaking of me, we were speaking of Dartmouth’s dastardly mayor. Did soaping his windows teach him a lesson?” “No, but the gift they left for him in the coach did the trick. They got it from the town’s largest cow.” Oliver and Minerva both laughed. Mrs. Plumtree did not. She was as silent as death beside Maria, clearly scandalized by the entire conversation. “Why do boys always feel an urgent need to create a mess others are forced to clean up?” Minerva asked. “Because they know how it irritates us,” Maria said.

One of the first to help out was Alastair Denniston, later head of the Government Codes and Cipher School and in charge of Bletchley Park at the outbreak of war in 1939, and an Olympic hockey player. He was teaching German at Osborne Naval College, and he was one of the first to be involved in Room 40. Ewing also spread his net a little further than Osborne and Dartmouth, tracking down and inveigling a diplomat, Lord Herschell, also a well-known collector of Persian armour, and Robert Norton, a former Foreign Office official, then living in what had been Henry James’s old home, Lamb House in Rye.