3. The re-discovery of my sisters ...

The next morning, I looked about me. It had always been my father's habit to breakfast behind his newspaper - the Times of London.

Not I. The chatter of my sisters as they breakfasted - eggs and bacon from our own farms, meant that I was home again, in the bosom of my family, and I was enjoying it immensely.

Henry appeared, to announce the arrival of the tailor.

He had been shown into the drawing room, the footman said, and Barclay waited with him.

"Mother? Charlotte?" They both looked at me. "As I am new back in town, perhaps you would attend me and advise on what would look good?" I asked.

I think that they were surprised, but only for a moment, as they both agreed quickly, much to the annoyance of my other sisters, who obviously felt left out.

I offered them both an arm and we proceeded through into the drawing room. Helena leaned into me and her arm in mine felt like it was supposed to be there. Charlotte, on my other side, also felt comfortable, as her arm laid along mine, and my hand wrapped hers. We had always been close when we were younger, though I was away from home much of the time. There was no difficulty between us as step-siblings; she always treated me very much as her older brother.

I ensconced the two ladies on a couch to one side while the tailor and his assistant took measurements. He showed me samples from his pattern books and materials. I referred them to Helena and Charlotte often. My reasoning being that they were familiar with current styles for a man of my new found status, and I was not. I warned them that I was not a fop or a dandy to be seen in extraordinary stripes or brocades, I wanted plain coloured materials - except for waistcoats - but with a sharp cut to the clothes.

My mother and my sister billed and cooed over swatches of material, discarding those they did not like and keeping those they did. With their advice, I would not look foolish when I stepped out. I also referred the patterns and styles to Barclay as well, he had an unerring eye for what looked good.

In the end, as well as the items that I had ordered, I purchased some of the clothes that the man had made previously and brought with him. They included a very nice great coat, of a dark wool, almost black in colour. My own soldierly great coat was acceptable but this was longer, to mid-calf, cut with more fullness in the skirt and the back seam was parted almost to the waist for riding. I also had a jacket and some breeches off him. He and his assistant left us with a promise to have the first items delivered in a week.

After the tailor was gone, the weather closed in again. November in London - windy, rainy and cold.

I ensconced myself in the sitting room with a book, the initial plan being to catch up on my reading in peace and quiet.

That was until my sisters found me.

I learnt several things that afternoon as they quizzed me about the Peninsular, Sir Arthur Wellesley, the Art of War, soldiers in general and Portuguese ladies and their fashions (that was a particularly short conversation) - in short, everything and anything.

The first thing that I learnt was that although I was now the 6th Duke of Norton, properly styled Your Grace, when being addressed, I was still just plain William to my sisters. In theory I was a man of wealth and power, second only in rank to a prince of the royal blood, but in actual fact I was still just their 'big brother'. So much for the dukedom, and being God's Appointed within this house!

The second thing I learnt was how much they had all grown. Hermione, in particular had suddenly blossomed. She had celebrated her eighteenth birthday in the summer but the shy, quiet child I had known had grown into a tall - easily my height, elegant and confident woman. Oh, she was still my darling Hermione, with her mother's grey eyes and my father's dark hair, but whereas before she would have probably sat at the back and listened, now she was one of the chief interrogators.

The twins were just as inquisitive, but their questions were less about the fighting, and more about the society that had grown up around the army. I tried to answer these questions as best I could while still trying to shelter my siblings from the more lurid details - the bed-hopping and adultery and so on. Even with my slightly vague answers, Margaret and Louise seemed to enjoy this window into my old world.

Caroline - dark-eyed, slim and the tallest of my five sisters, said little but one felt that she heard everything that was being said, and having heard it, noted it all, somewhere. She watched the play between us, her eyes darting between the speakers, sometimes frowning, sometimes pulling a face if she thought the talk was too gruesome (I was careful to avoid the goriest details because of their sensibilities), and sometimes clapping in appreciation of a joke or witty remark.

It had not really struck home, but it did as we talked. All of them were now of marriageable age, and they were all attractive young women, so why in God's name were none of them fighting off suitors with big sticks? I couldn't fathom it. Hermione had her young man to come calling, which reminded me that we were due to meet tomorrow, but where were the others?

If my sisters had been anywhere near Wellesley's army, I reflected, they would have been very hot property indeed. They would also have been much more worldly wise. For a moment I day-dreamed about Charlotte, my eldest step-sister. Of all of my sisters, she is the one who looks like me the most. She has the same dark hair and complexion, and she has brown eyes like I do. She is a handsome woman, and when she sat next to me, I fleetingly wondered how she would be in bed, but even as I had that thought, I dismissed it, and concentrated on the questions I was being asked.

The third thing I learnt - watching them, remembering their habits and then observing how grown they now were - was how very much I still loved them all. I did not consider them to be my "step-sisters", nor were they my "half-sisters", though I may occasionally refer to them as such; I had the very same affection for each and every one of them as if we had all sprung from the very same womb. They were my sisters, and I, in turn, was their brother.

Up until when I went to school, we were always close, and we rattled around in Rogeringham Hall like peas in a drum. It was a fine place for a child to grow up, if we managed to evade our tutor or our nanny, there were places to hide, and explore, places to watch from and, if we managed to get out of the house, acres and acres of parkland to explore and roam.

In our games, I often found myself in the hero's part, the rescuer, or the knight, due to being the eldest and being male. It was a role put upon me from an early age. Not that the girls were shrinking violets in anyway, they matched my mischief blow for blow, but if we started to play out an adventure I was expected to lead. That also meant that if our adventures went awry however, inevitably it was I that took the blame. Either it was found to be 'my fault' (which to be honest normally, it was) or it was because I 'should have set an example', or because I stepped up to take the blame to save one of my sisters from punishment. Even that had its rewards, as the girls would comfort me - even little Hermione would smuggle food to me if I was being punished. (No one ever suspected her of doing this because of her complete and impenetrable air of innocence).

We never seemed to fall out for long. If harsh words were said, as children do occasionally, one of us, - usually Caroline - would act as an emissary between the injured parties and apologies generally followed soon after.

Even though I was torn from this demi-paradise with school and later college, my return to Rogeringham, and later to the Mayfair house, was always warm and welcoming, not just Helena, but all of my sisters wanted to know what had happened since I had last seen them, much like now.

And so, with 'catching up' the afternoon passed, and we got ready for supper.