Lady for a Season (Regency Outsiders)

Chapter 3 The Wisteria Bedroom

M aggie followed Celine along endless corridors, while the maid described the rooms they were passing.

“The Rose Bedroom, the Peony Bedroom, the Hyacinth Bedroom. This is the Wisteria Bedroom.”

Maggie was shown into a room that took her breath away. She had expected a utilitarian servant’s quarters, perhaps one more elegant than those she had been used to at Ivy Cottage: a small room with a bare wooden floor, a plain bed, a wooden chest of drawers for her belongings with a candle or lamp on it, a white chamber pot. Perhaps, given the elegance of the house, there might be a rug on the floor, a small looking glass to check her appearance. Instead, she was standing in a large room with a thick carpet woven in cream and lilac. Two huge windows overlooked gardens, each draped with lilac silk curtains which hung down to the floor. There was a four-poster bed draped in the same fabric and the walls were papered with a delicate pattern of wisteria flowers trailing down from their vines. Maggie stood on the threshold, hardly daring to step inside.

“And your dressing room is just there.” Celine waved towards an open door. “It is small, but pretty enough.”

Maggie stepped carefully onto the carpet, afraid of leaving dirt on it from her boots. She followed Celine through the door into a room half the size of the bedroom but full of light from another large window, painted in a lilac that echoed the paper of the first room. It contained two clothes-presses, both in a dark polished wood with floral inlays. A basin and jug were on top of one, the other held a lamp. Close to the window was a delicate long-legged table with a large looking glass and a writing set on it, completed with a silk-covered stool before it.

“Your dressing table,” said Celine. “I will find you a necessaire , Her Grace has more than one.”

Maggie had no idea what a necessaire was but did not like to ask. “May I return to Edward now?” she asked instead. “He will be feeling anxious about choosing a room.”

Celine guided her back to the nursery.

“I will look out clothing for you,” she said as they walked. “This evening, I will show you what I have available and measure you for other things. You have no other clothes with you at all?”

Maggie shook her head. “I was not given time to bring anything. I only have what I am wearing.”

Celine shook her head. “Men. Joseph should have let you bring whatever you had need of, although… Her Grace will not allow you to be seen dressed as you are, so only your underclothes would have been useful, in truth. I will attend you later.”

“Thank you,” said Maggie, grateful for Celine’s calm acceptance of the situation. Hopefully, the maid could be relied on to help her navigate this strange new world.

In the nursery, Edward was gazing out of the window again.

Maggie crossed the room to his side. “Your mother says you have a set of rooms on the floor below this one.”

“I won’t stay in those rooms.” He didn’t turn to look at her.

“Why not, if they belong to whomever is the duke?”

“They were my father’s. And my brother’s after him.”

“They are yours now,” she said gently. “If they offend you, if they hold bad memories, I’m sure you may change the décor. Or choose other rooms.” She could not help a small laugh. “It is not as though Atherton Park lacks rooms to choose from.”

He gave a half smile.

Encouraged, Maggie pressed a little further. “I have been put in the Wisteria Room. It is very pretty.”

He looked out of the window. “Then I will take the Iris Room.”

“Where is that?”

“Next door to the Wisteria Room.”

She was surprised that he could recollect all the rooms and where they were in relation to each other. “Shall I ask Joseph to make it ready for you?”

“I am not allowed to leave this room until I am properly dressed,” he reminded her, his face sullen again.

Maggie settled herself in a small nursing chair, set low to the ground. “We shall make ourselves comfortable here for now,” she said. “I can sleep in that side room, if we are not to be seen by anyone. Although who would see us, anyway, and why would it matter?”

“You look like a maid,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “I look like a farm hand. The servants would prattle if they saw me dressed like this, my mother will not hear of it. She will not rest until a tailor has been sent for.”

“How many servants are there? I have only seen Joseph and Celine and know of the cook.”

He laughed out loud. “There are almost two-hundred-and-fifty servants at Atherton Park,” he told her, amused. “You have not seen them because we have been carefully managed, kept out of sight, taken to my mother only when everyone else has been told to stay out of the way.”

She gaped at him. “Two-hundred-and-fifty? What do they all do ?”

He settled in a chair and rubbed his face as though refreshing his memory. “Do you want a list? The estate manager, the steward, the butler, the housekeeper. They all have assistants because they have so much to do, so an under-steward, an under-butler, an under-housekeeper. The footmen, I believe there are eight of them. Maids of every kind and every description, from Duval all the way down to a scullery maid, there must be two or three dozen of them, including the dairy maids and the girls who work in the still room. The laundry maids, there are five of them who do nothing but wash the clothes and linens in the laundry house. The cook has an under-cook, six girls and two kitchen boys under her. There’s a boot boy to polish everyone’s shoes. The hallboy. The stablemaster, the coachmen and the grooms, the stablehands and stable boys. A farrier. Probably a tiger. The gardeners and their assistants, there are more than forty of them alone. The gamekeeper and his assistants. Groundsmen. A gatekeeper.”

Maggie gaped at him. “A tiger ?”

Edward laughed out loud. “A young boy who sits behind a gentleman when he is driving his own carriage, to hold the horses when he is out of the carriage. Like a tiny groom, I suppose.”

Maggie shook her head. “How is it I have seen none of them?”

“You can see the gardeners from the windows sometimes, and the groundsmen. Indoors you will not see servants unless you have summoned them. My father…” He paused. “My father used to say he did not wish to see any of the maids unless it was in chapel for prayers.”

“Is there a village nearby, a church?”

“We have a chapel here.”

“In the house ?”

“Yes.”

“It is more like the Hospital than a real house,” said Maggie. “With laundry-houses and a chapel and so many staff. What are we to do all day, if we are not allowed out of this room?”

They searched the room, removing holland covers to reveal a dappled grey rocking horse, from which Edward turned away. The side room contained only a simple bed like the one in the main nursery. Other holland covers covered a chest of drawers, inside which they found playing cards as well as an old pair of battledores with a decrepit shuttlecock.

They passed the afternoon playing vingt-un, then progressed to a game of battledore and shuttlecock, though their shuttlecock flew poorly, its feathers badly crumpled.

“We must have a new one to play properly,” said Edward, as the shuttlecock fell to the floor yet again.

Late in the afternoon, there was a discreet knock at the door and Celine appeared. “I have brought some clothes from Her Grace’s rooms I think may fit you. Can you try them on now? I can adjust them in the coming days.”

“Go,” said Edward. “I need to catch my breath after that game.”

On the bed in the Wisteria Bedroom were laid out a white lawn nightdress trimmed in fine lace and five dresses. Two in wool: a dark grey with a lilac ribbon trim, the other a rich brown trimmed in an elaborately pleated silk of the same shade. There were two muslin dresses: a deep violet with prettily puffed sleeves and a dark green one with gold threads making up a floral pattern at the hem. The last dress was a deep rich blue silk, plain in style but beautifully finished, with tiny sequins glittering across it like stars and a gold braid trim.

“That one is an evening gown,” said Celine. “You will need at least one for now.”

Maggie stared at the clothes. While they were all beautiful, the blue silk was like a fairytale dress, she had never seen anything so fine. Even the rich ladies who had visited the Hospital had been dressed in day clothes, not an evening gown like this one.

“Won’t the Duchess mind?”

Celine’s mouth twisted. “These are old clothes,” she said. “Her Grace has not worn any of them for at least five years. They are no longer the latest style, but they will do very well when I have altered them. A young lady would generally wear something lighter, but the household is in mourning, so these are appropriate for now. When we begin the season, you will wear more stylish clothes in brighter and lighter colours.”

Maggie touched the blue gown. “I have never worn a silk dress,” she murmured.

Celine smiled. “It will suit you,” she said. “When I have prepared those, I will find you a spencer and a pelisse to go over your gowns, otherwise you will freeze when you go outside in a muslin. For now, I will look out a shawl for you, Her Grace has dozens. Meanwhile,” she pointed into the dressing room, “I have found you an old travelling necessaire of Her Grace’s, from before her marriage.”

A polished wooden box was on the dressing table, with a key set in the lock.

“Open it,” encouraged Celine.

Carefully, Maggie turned the lock and lifted the lid, to reveal a green velvet lined upper compartment, in which lay a silver comb, brush and a small hand-held looking glass, along with empty little glass pots, each with a silver lid.

“For cosmetics,” said Celine. “In Her Grace’s youth, all ladies wore a great deal of face powder, with rouge. They blacked their eyelashes also. Nowadays a young lady would not use such items, she would appear immodest. Perhaps a little rouge, only, for a ball. I will provide you with some when we go to London, also perfume. For now, I will bring you tooth powder. For cleaning your teeth.”

A second compartment under the first revealed several ivory-handled tools, including a toothbrush, a silver toothpick and tongue scraper, nail cleaner and tiny scissors. There were also hairpins and an additional brush.

“For brushing clothes,” said Celine. She pressed down on a section of the box and a hidden drawer appeared out of the side, holding two delicate necklaces, a tiny ruby cross on a gold chain and a string of shining pearls. “You will need some jewellery,” she said.

Maggie drew back, suddenly nervous. “Her Grace…”

Celine smiled at Maggie’s fearful face. “Her Grace wears diamonds and emeralds. She has boxes of jewellery. These are nothing to her. But if you wear no jewellery at all, it will look odd. Her Grace wishes you to look like a member of the family, so you must be dressed accordingly.”

“I have never used a toothbrush,” confessed Maggie.

“You use it like this,” said Celine, picking up the toothbrush. “Dip it in the tooth powder, it is salt with peppermint oil, then brush each tooth. When you have finished, you spit it out and use this.” She showed Maggie a bottle which proclaimed, on an elaborately decorated label, Eau de Bouche Botot mouthwash .

“Gillyflowers, cinnamon, ginger and anise. You rinse your mouth with it, for sweet-smelling breath. Then spit it into this cup.”

“What are gillyflowers?”

“Like cloves,” said Celine.

Maggie took a tiny sip. It was very strong-tasting when in her mouth but left a pleasant enough aftertaste once she had spat it out.

Maggie had been used to cleaning her teeth with a corner of a wetted rag, when she had done washing her face with it. “I had no idea ladies used so many products.”

Celine laughed out loud. “That is nothing to what Her Grace uses. She has every kind of powder and cream you can imagine in her dressing room. But she worries about her beauty fading with age. You are still young; it takes nothing for you to be beautiful.”

Maggie shook her head. “I am not beautiful,” she said honestly.

Celine put her head on one side. “You are not perhaps a great beauty, they are rare enough in this world,” she conceded. “But you are pretty. And when you are elegantly dressed, I am sure plenty of young men would think you beautiful.”

Maggie shook her head again. “We used to have lady visitors at the Hospital,” she said. “They would walk amongst our tables while we ate and amuse themselves by picking out what they called aristocratic faces, perhaps the illegitimate offspring of important men, or even acquaintances of theirs. They gave sweets to those they thought most beautiful.” She looked down. “I was never given a sweet.” And it had stung, whatever the chaplain said about vanity it had still stung as the years went by and sweets were freely given to those with larger eyes or longer lashes, cherubic curls or pouting lips, while her face was passed over every time, unworthy of note.

Celine was horrified. “And they called themselves ladies? Treating orphans as an amusement?”

“They were welcomed by the staff, as they might make donations to the Hospital.”

Celine tutted. “A real lady should not treat children so. And you are pretty, you will see. You have a sweet face. Now come, I must undress you.”

“I can undress myself,” said Maggie, drawing back.

“All ladies have help to dress and undress.”

“I am not a lady, as you know.”

“You are a lady while you remain in this house, Her Grace has decreed it so. Come.”

In the dressing room more items had been added, including a boot brush, a pretty lace fan, lavender soap for washing and a small bottle of rose perfume.

“We can buy something else in London,” said Celine. “My mother was very fond of rose perfume and taught me to make it. I made it from the roses that grow here at Atherton, but Her Grace does not wear it. She likes perfumes from the grand shops, from Paris especially.”

Maggie unstopped the tiny bottle and breathed in the sweet fragrance of the rose garden. “It is lovely,” she said, with real feeling and Celine smiled.

Celine undressed Maggie, who, despite feeling uncomfortable, complied. Celine, however, knew her business, for as soon as she was down to her shift she tried two of the dresses on Maggie, pinning and tucking and making little notes to herself, before giving her a clean shift.

“There. This one is my own, I will take your shift to be washed and it will be dry by the morning if I hang it before the fire.” She grew brisk. “I will send to Mrs Brooks in Atherton for underclothes, she can have them ready in under a week.” She took a measuring tape out of her pocket and measured Maggie’s waist, bust and hips, as well as her calves, then sat down at the dressing table and drew out a sheet of paper and a quill and began to write, murmuring under her breath. “Four caps, three chemisettes, two nightgowns, three petticoats, twelve shifts…”

“Twelve?” Maggie stared.

“…three short stays and two longline corsets.” Celine thought for a moment. “From the milliner, we will order three pairs of silk stockings and six of cotton for now. And ribbons to tie them.”

Silk stockings? Maggie could not even imagine such luxury.

“You will not be much in company while the house is in mourning. Later, when we travel to London, we can buy better silk stockings.” She gave a shrug, “The ones available locally are good enough, but not the finest. Her Grace will not wear them.”

“I have never worn silk,” Maggie said.

“Ah? Then you will find them well enough for now. Now for your shoes.” She glanced at Maggie’s worn boots and clearly found them wanting. “I will order slippers and a new pair of boots from the cobblers. They will do for now. In London, we will find what we require.”

Maggie could not imagine what Celine had in mind: what more could she possibly require?

“I will have one of the maids, Jane, attend you. I will oversee her, but as I must look after Her Grace, I will require help at dressing times.”

Maggie felt a rising panic. “What if she realises I am not a lady?”

Celine smiled. “She is from humble origins herself; she will not notice small signs that an experienced lady’s maid would spot. You need only let her do her work.”

Maggie tried to focus on her own concerns. “May I see where Edward will sleep?” If he should have nightmares, she would need to know her way to his room.

Once Maggie was re-dressed in her own grey wool, Celine led her out of the bedroom. “Would you like to see the ducal rooms?” she asked.

Maggie nodded, curious at why Edward found them so little to his taste.

Celine took her on a long walk, to a different part of the house.

“Her Grace’s rooms are there,” she said, indicating a door. “And the ducal rooms are here.”

The suite of rooms traditionally reserved for the Duke of Buckingham was both magnificent and unwelcoming. Maggie instantly saw why Edward disliked them. Made up of four rooms, there was a large bedroom, a comfortable dressing room, a small room intended for ablutions with a shining copper bath, and a private drawing room or study, with armchairs as well as a writing desk. Impressive though the suite was, the décor was heavy and overbearing, with dark bulky furniture and an oppressive red as the main colour, making the rooms seem gloomy despite the large windows. Having four rooms all to one person made them feel empty rather than luxuriously opulent, as though one were alone and shut away from all human company. The suite might remind Edward of his past life at Ivy Cottage, where he had been kept in comfort but seeped in loneliness.

Since Edward had refused to use it, the ducal suite had been left to languish in darkness, its windows shuttered, and furniture draped over as though the rooms were closed up and the rightful owner absent. Celine and Maggie returned to the Wisteria Bedroom corridor, where Celine showed her the Iris Room, which shared a wall with Maggie’s bedroom. The Iris Room favoured rich purple, a little overpowering but less gloomy, and boasted only the main bedroom with a small dressing room, like Maggie’s.

On Maggie’s return to the nursery, she found the Duchess and Joseph with Edward.

“He cannot be dressed like that,” snapped the Duchess. “He looks like one of the farmers. Use his father’s and brother’s clothes for now, while new ones are ordered.”

“I will not wear their clothes.” Edward’s pale skin was flushed, his neck blotchy, hands in fists at his side as he stood with his back to the window.

“It will take at least a week to have new clothes made, even if a tailor comes here with his assistants and does nothing but cut and sew day and night.”

“So be it.”

Maggie was surprised by Edward’s stubbornness on these matters, but he would not budge and insisted he would continue to wear his “farming clothing,” as the Duchess referred to his suits.

“You cannot go anywhere or be seen by anyone until this is dealt with,” the Duchess said. “And you will eat in this room. We cannot have the other servants see you like this.”

“We will spend our days in the nursery, then,” said Edward. “Since you treat me like a child, it seems the best place.”

The Duchess swept out of the room in a fury, leaving the four of them in a long silence.

“Order the tailor from Aylesbury,” said Celine at last to Joseph. “They will gladly come if they think they can claim to be clothing the Duke of Buckingham. I will order a seamstress to make the undergarments. His Grace and Miss Seton will remain here for a week, and we can be done by then, I am sure of it.”

Celine and Joseph left and, soon after, Maggie and Edward were sent food, two large trays of it, including a soup of spring greens, pigeon pie, tongue, asparagus, mushrooms, stewed pears and a syllabub.

“All this for us?”

Edward gave her a look. “You have not yet dined amongst the ton ,” he said. “This is nothing.”

The food was very good although they could not finish it all. Afterwards Celine brought the nightdress and the toothbrush with the tooth powder and mouthwash for Maggie to use, along with a green shawl to drape over herself. Joseph brought a matching set of toiletries for Edward, who reluctantly agreed to wear a clean nightshirt so that his shirt could be washed and dried.

“Goodnight, Edward,” Maggie said once they were alone again.

“Goodnight, Maggie.”

The side room had been where the nursemaid would have slept, Maggie supposed. The bed, freshly made up by Celine and herself, was comfortable enough, but she had only been asleep for a little while when Edward’s nightmares began.

“PLEASE!”

Startled awake and unused to her surroundings, Maggie at first struggled to find the door into the nursery.

“FATHER! NO!” and a scream, worse than she had ever heard from Edward.

She burst into the nursery at last, tripping over her feet in her haste to reach Edward’s bedside. The lamp’s dim glow revealed him, bolt upright in his too-small bed, arms flailing as though seeking to stop someone. Maggie grasped his arms, brought them down, put her arms about his shoulders.

“Edward! Edward, it is me. Maggie. Edward?”

At her voice, he slumped, as though suddenly released from some unseen struggle, leant into her arms. “Maggie. Oh Maggie.”

She felt tears, wet on her bare arm and held him closer to her. “Edward. It was a nightmare. You are safe now.”

He pulled away from her embrace, now fully awake. “I am sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for. “Will you tell me of what you dreamt?”

Silence.

“Never mind,” she said gently. “Will you sleep now? Shall I leave my door open? I could barely find it in the dark,” she added.

“No, I will – I will sleep.”

Carefully she made her way back across the room to her bed. Once there she wiped his tears from her skin and lay back down. What horrors had there been in this house, she wondered, that had led Edward down the path of lunacy?

Within a day, lured by a generous purse, a local seamstress and her assistant were installed in an unused small parlour and set to work sewing over a dozen shirts for Edward, then moving on to nightshirts, while a hasty order of cravats, stockings, shoes, boots and slippers was made to local suppliers, sending Edward’s measurements to them. A tailor with three assistants and a carriage full of rolls of cloth arrived from Aylesbury, was allowed brief access to Edward in the Iris Room, dressed only in one of his new shirts for fear of them even catching a glimpse of his current attire, before taking over the parlour as the seamstress left, the four of them cutting and sewing for days. Maggie would have liked to have seen how their work was progressing, but Edward wanted nothing to do with them. Various parcels had also arrived with the tailor, including hat boxes and a parcel containing a beautiful long silk robe in shimmering peacock blue.

“A banyan, Your Grace,” said Joseph, unpacking it and shaking out the folds. “For morning or evening wear when you are at home without guests. Worn over your shirt and breeches.”

“My father never wore them. He said they were like a woman’s frock.”

“They are very comfortable; most gentlemen wear them.”

Edward waved him away. “This fuss over clothes is absurd.” Once the clothes were complete, he would have to face the rest of the household, from whom he had so far been locked away, as well as be free to go outside, to see once again the gardens and grounds of his childhood, which held few pleasant memories. He stared out of the large windows, looking down onto the formal gardens below, hands gripping the windowsill. Maggie had been called away by Celine for another fitting and every time he was alone, the memories of his past rose up within him, making him fearful of what was still to come, which only emerged as testiness towards Joseph, which was unfair, making him only feel worse.

In the Wisteria Room Maggie watched Celine undoing a large parcel, a delivery of everything that had ordered from Mrs Brooks, the bed now piled high with snowy white linen, from caps and nightgowns for sleeping, to a heap of petticoats, chemisettes and shifts. There were also short stays and two longline corsets. A box from the milliner provided the promised pairs of cotton and silk stockings as well as two sets of ribbons to hold them up.

The cobbler’s efforts arrived the next day, one box containing two pairs of kid slippers for indoor use, one pale cream, the other a dark blue. They felt invisibly soft on Maggie’s feet, as though she were only wearing her stockings and made her footsteps silent on the thick carpets and even on the wooden floors. The other box contained a pair of brown leather ankle-height boots, which appeared a great deal less sturdy than Maggie’s current boots, but were far more elegant, fitting tightly round her ankles and boasting pointed toes. Laced into them, Maggie took a few cautious steps. She would have to walk with more care for any dirt or puddles, should they ever be allowed outside again. She often caught Edward staring out of the windows and was unsure whether he was longing to go out or whether he felt unsettled by his surroundings and was happy being kept indoors, away from any people or places from his past.

The nursery rooms were their world, as though they were back at Ivy Cottage, but with a larger staff of unseen servants to wait on them. Only Joseph and Celine were allowed to enter, Joseph setting and lighting the fire each day.

“I feel like a scullery maid,” he said to Celine.

Whatever food they requested would be brought to them and Maggie took the opportunity to try and feed Edward better, asking for cream and sugar to be served with his morning porridge, serving him more potatoes with his meat.

The days passed slowly in the dusty nursery. They found a globe, along with old games and toys and played with them as though they were children once more. Skipping ropes, hoops and whips, toy soldiers, spillikins and the board game of Fox and Geese kept them occupied for some time. Between and during games Maggie tried to draw Edward out on his childhood.

“Did you have a nursemaid?”

“I recall a few of them, they came and went.”

“Any favourites?”

He shook his head. “They favoured my brother because my father did. I was too shy for their liking.”

“Did you go to school?”

He looked at her oddly. “I had a tutor until I was sent to boarding school.”

“Was he kind?”

“He was not unkind. But it was my brother everyone cared for. He was the heir. It was his education that mattered the most.”

“And school?”

He swallowed, put down the battledore they had been playing with. “I hated it,” he managed at last. “It was full of bullies and my brother did nothing to protect me, he thought it all in jest, but I could not bear it.” Day after day of little torments, never-ending pranks or threats. Every day having to be on his guard. “Then I went to Doctor Morrison.”

Maggie did not wish to ask questions about the doctor. She had seen his treatments and, according to the doctor himself, what she had seen had been as nothing compared to Edward’s early days there.

For the first time in his life Atherton Park was rid of the two men who had made him miserable there, although what was to come still frightened him. What his mother wanted of him, to take up his place in society, to be the Duke of Buckingham, was as though a door to possible freedom had been opened and yet was guarded by demons. How was he to manage, when his last eight years had been spent locked away and called a lunatic? How was he to manage, to pretend to be something he had not been prepared for? His only shred of hope lay with Maggie. If she would remain at his side, he might be able to confront the daunting task that lay ahead of him. He would have liked to better express his feelings to her, but she knew nothing of what his life had been like so far. It would only horrify her. “I am grateful you are here,” he managed, after a long silence had fallen between them.

Maggie reached out and touched his hand. “I would not have left you alone,” she said. “I was glad that you sent for me. Whatever is to come, we will manage it together.”

For all her reassurance to Edward, Maggie still found herself each night worrying about what she had agreed to. These days, playing in a locked-up room, with only Celine and Joseph admitted, was another version of Ivy Cottage, as though nothing much had changed. She could not imagine what was to come. At least Celine and Joseph knew who she was and could help her with the deception. When Edward fell asleep one rainy afternoon and Joseph came to ask if they needed anything, she took the opportunity to speak with him.

“Have you served here since you were old enough to go into service?”

“I have been part of this household since I was six.”

“ Six ?”

“I was a pageboy to Her Grace. A wedding gift from her father. It was fashionable for grand ladies to have a little blackamoor attending you.”

“But you were a child. Where was your mother?”

“I was taken from her and sent to England.”

“From where?”

“Jamaica.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

“The West Indies.” He strode across the room and spun the globe. “Here.”

She followed him, bent over the globe to see where he indicated. “So far away?”

“It is where spices and sugar come from. My mother was a slave there.”

“And your father?”

He shrugged. “Probably. I never knew him.”

“And you were brought here to be a…”

“A pretty gift,” he said. “Like giving his daughter a new necklace to celebrate her advantageous marriage.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “It is a long time ago now. Thirty years.”

“You knew Edward when he was growing up?”

“Yes.”

“What was he like?”

He glanced at the sleeping Edward. “A gentle child. Not like his brother and father. His father was a big man and noisy with it, you could hear him coming five rooms away. He stomped and swore and shouted at dogs, horses, servants and even his own family. His brother was a copy of their father. Whereas Edward… he was quiet, shy even. He loved animals, he’d wander all over the estate looking at birds, deer, fish. He’d sit so still and quiet you could barely see him, then he’d come home and read about animals and plants, try his hand at drawing them. He was promising at it, used to beg for a drawing instructor. He learnt to play the pianoforte almost alone. His father couldn’t make him out at all. The only interest the Duke had in animals was shooting them. He used to say Edward would have been better off being a girl, at least they could have married him off.”

Edward stirred and woke, and Joseph grew silent again.

“Did you sleep well?” asked Maggie.

Edward gave a half-nod, his face turned away from her. “Call for tea,” he said.

Maggie felt uncomfortable speaking to Joseph as though she were his superior. “Would you bring up some tea, please, Joseph?” she said.

“Yes, Miss Seton,” he answered smartly and left the room.

It was like playing a game, pretending to be a fine lady with servants and using a different name. The children at the Hospital sometimes played Master and Servants, a game where the Master or Mistress would pretend to be very grand indeed and order about all the Servants, giving them more and more elaborate things to do, but part of the joke was that they could not do anything for themselves. They would order a cup of tea but ask the servant to raise it to their lips, as they could not do anything so exhausting as picking up a cup themselves. Yet here it was real, she could not go and put on the kettle herself, she did not know where the kitchen was in this vast house and would surely get lost trying to find it. Instead, she had to dispatch Joseph, order him to bring tea as though she were his mistress, and he in turn must call her Miss Seton, a name that belonged to no-one, made up on the spur of the moment by the Duchess, just as once Maggie’s true mother-given name, whatever it had been, had been changed. At least she was still Margaret, though no-one ever called her that at the Hospital, so even that felt odd and overly formal, as though she were in trouble.

The roaring fire, hot tea and even the warming ginger biscuits Mrs Barton had sent up with Joseph did nothing to take the chill away from Edward. He had heard Joseph’s last words as he awoke. He used to say Edward would have been better off being a girl, then at least they could have married him off. No need to ask who had said that, Edward had heard the words enough times directly from his father’s lips, he had made no secret of how he felt about Edward, that he was a disappointment compared to his brother. His father would have been happier if Edward had also been a hunter, or even a rake about town, either option would have made sense to him. Edward had felt it keenly, the disappointment, the baffled repugnance of his father. He had not even tried to be more like his brother, for it was all too obvious that it was simply impossible, that their temperaments were so disparate that Edward could never hope for his father’s approval, and so he only hid away from him more and more.

But he had Maggie by his side now, there was a small comfort in that. A person whom he could trust, who had promised to stay by him and make him well. If such a thing were possible. At Ivy Cottage he had half believed it was. Here, he was unsure again.

“Your Grace, the tailor left last night, your wardrobe is complete, and Her Grace has requested that you move into the Iris Room today and are dressed appropriately from this afternoon onwards.”

“I’m to be set free, am I?” Edward tried to sound nonchalant, but his stomach turned over at the thought of being seen by more people, of leaving the safe world of the nursery.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Your dresses are also ready,” said Celine to Maggie. She had spent days constantly sewing, one dress or another laid across her knee while she altered sleeves and bodices or shortened hems, for the Duchess was taller than Maggie. Edward and Maggie were eating a midday meal of roast chicken sandwiches and honey cake, along with a dish of preserved plums and tea. “This afternoon you can have a bath, and then I will dress you as a lady should be dressed, while Joseph dresses His Grace. Then you will be free to go anywhere in the grounds that you choose.”

“A bath?” Maggie had never had a bath. There had only ever been jugs of cold water and basins, with washing cloths and soap.

“I have had the footmen bring up a bath to your room,” said Celine to Maggie. “The maids have been filling it for the last hour. His Grace also has a bath being filled in his room.” She made her way out.

“Are you looking forward to being free to roam?” Maggie asked Edward.

He did not answer, only passed her a slice of honey cake.

“Thank you,” she said. The hot tea and sweet cake gave her confidence for what was to come, but Edward did not finish his portion.

“Your bath is ready, Your Grace,” said Joseph from the doorway.

Edward left in silence. Maggie made her way to her room, where the dressing room was full of steam. A vast copper bath had been filled more than halfway. Soaps and three jugs filled with more water were on the table, while two large linen cloths lay nearby ready to dry her when she was done.

Feeling shy, Maggie undressed and at a nod from Celine, cautiously climbed into the warm water and lowered herself into it. The level rose as she did so, covering most of her body. The sensation of being enveloped in warm water was extraordinary and Maggie could not help letting out a sigh of delight.

Celine giggled. “Now the soap.”

The room’s air took on the scent of lavender from the soap, then of rosewater which Celine added to the large jugs of warm water to rinse Maggie’s hair. Wrapped in one of the large cloths as Celine used the other to dry her hair, Maggie admired the new underclothes laid out for her, with the brown woollen dress she had chosen to wear. It was a fine weave, trimmed at the hem and the end of its long sleeves with a pleated brown silk, worn with a chemisette with frills about the neckline.

The new clothes required the help of Celine, Maggie realised. It would be impossible to dress by herself from now on, since most of the items fastened at the back. This was why ladies had a personal maid. It made Maggie feel helpless not to be able to even dress herself. Even the youngest children at the Hospital had been encouraged to put on their own clothes as soon as they were able, the older ones assisting them only if necessary, with staff poking fun at them if they could not quickly learn to manage alone.

“Your hair,” said Celine, just as Maggie was certain they were done.

“What is wrong with it?”

“You cannot wear plaits; they are for children.”

Maggie would have protested, but she supposed Celine was right. She submitted to having her plaits undone, her hair brushed and pinned up at the back.

“When we go to London you can have your hair cut,” promised Celine, speaking through hairpins held in her mouth.

“Cut? I do not want my hair cut!”

“Just at the front,” soothed Celine. “I will curl it for you. It looks odd without curls at the front. Every lady of fashion has her hair so.”

“I should go downstairs, Edward will surely be waiting,” fretted Maggie.

Celine laughed. “A gentleman’s grooming takes every bit as long as a lady’s,” she assured Maggie. “And Joseph has been waiting to dress His Grace properly for some time, he will not skimp. Take a moment to look at yourself.”

The looking glass showed a lady, there was no doubting it. Hair pinned up at the back, a ruffled chemisette, the dress altered to suit her size and height, the new boots. Maggie felt as though she were staring at someone else, one of the lady visitors at the Hospital perhaps.

“I found a pelisse and some gloves,” said Celine. “They are not new, but they will do.”

The pelisse was a dark blue while cream kid gloves fitted comfortably if slightly too large on Maggie’s small hands.

“It sits a little long,” fretted Celine of the pelisse.

“It does not touch the ground,” Maggie reassured her. “It will not drag in the mud.” Anxious to be with Edward, she made her way down the stairs, every step feeling odd in the new clothes and boots.

But there was no sign of Edward in the drawing room, only the Duchess, who observed Maggie in icy silence.

“Will I do?” asked Maggie at last, as much to break the silence as to get the Duchess’ seal of approval, which did not appear to be forthcoming.

“You look like what you are supposed to be, a poor relation,” said the Duchess. “It will do for now.”

Maggie could not imagine how her warm, beautiful clothes could possibly make her look poor, but she held her tongue and was glad when Joseph appeared in the drawing room doorway, his face bright with an odd mixture of pride and pleasure as he announced: “His Grace.”

Maggie stared. She had never seen Edward in anything but his baggy woollen suits, always in dull browns. Now he stood before her transformed. A well-cut jacket in dark grey, beneath it a silk waistcoat in dove grey. His shirt was an immaculate crisp white with a high pointed collar and a cravat, expertly tied. Beneath it all, perfectly fitted black breeches and high polished boots. The fitted clothes drew attention to his height and neat waist, but also lent breadth to his shoulders. His hair, she was glad to see, had not been cut short, perhaps he had refused, but the unfashionable length had always suited him and now, set off with his new finery, he was both elegant and handsome, his pale skin seeming brighter next to the white linen of his cravat.

The Duchess stared at him for a few moments, then gave a small nod. “At least now you look passable.” She walked past him and out of the room.

“I think you look more than passable,” said Maggie. “You look very elegant. How do you feel?”

Edward rolled his shoulders. “Uncomfortable,” he said. “I never did like all the fuss of these kinds of clothes, it’s the only thing the doctor did for me that I agreed with, putting me in those baggy suits like a labourer.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Well, we both have fine new feathers.” She indicated her new outfit with a shrug and a smile, as though they were absurd, although a part of her hoped he might compliment her.

He gave a half smile but did not comment on her new clothes. “At least now my mother will allow us the freedom of the grounds.”

“Then shall we take a walk?”

In the doorway she hesitated about which way to go.

“Left,” Edward said, sharply.

“Is there something pretty that way?”

“There’s a fountain.”

“And the other way?”

“Nothing worth seeing.”

They walked along the crunching gravel paths until they came to a formal garden. Neat box hedges cut into sharp lines, everything stiffly perfect. At its centre was a three-tiered white stone fountain, water cascading from level to level. Maggie peered into the depths of the lowest basin. The water was sparklingly clear, the bottom of the basin visible, despite its considerable depth.

“No fishes and plants here,” she said.

He sat on the rim and looked into the water, beyond it. “No life. Only what looks right and proper, nothing behind the facade.”

“We could add fish. And waterlilies.”

“I’m sure my mother would find some objection to it.”

“You are the master of Atherton Park.”

He shrugged. “I don’t feel like it. I feel like an imposter. I was never raised to be the Duke; I was always the spare. Everything revolved around my father and my brother, his heir. I was always an afterthought. It didn’t matter what I wanted or who I was, if it wasn’t about the two of them, it had no importance.” He stopped. “It doesn’t matter. Shall we walk on?”

She followed him. “But it does matter. You matter.”

“I matter now because I am the Duke of Buckingham. If I were not, I would be back in Ivy Cottage, most probably for the rest of my life. You know that to be true, Maggie.”

She bowed her head. She knew he was right, but it was a sad truth and somewhere in Maggie it was also a fact that made her angry. That a family should try to forget about their son when it suited them, only to hastily recall him from confinement when they needed him again, was a poor way to behave. But it was not her place to say such things, and she did not wish to add her own feelings to Edward’s, upsetting him further. She wanted Doctor Morrison to stay away from Atherton Park and Edward as long as possible, and the only way to achieve that was for Edward to remain calm, to give the Duchess no reason to send for the doctor, no reason to suppose Edward needed his ministrations.

“Your mother mentioned a rose garden,” she said instead. “Will you show it to me?”

He gave her a wry look, the look he gave when he was amused by something. “You sound like the girls who used to try and woo my brother,” he said. “They were always trying to get him alone somewhere, in the hopes that he would propose.”

“And it did not work?”

“He was too wily for that. He would always agree and then call to everyone that they must all come and see the rose garden, or the orangery, or wherever else the young lady had tried to get him alone. And so they would find themselves with a whole crowd of people and no chance whatsoever of snaring him.”

“Did he not want to be married?”

“He was young, he was having fun in society. Why get married? There was no need yet. My father was hale and hearty…” He trailed off. “Let us return to the house,” he said abruptly, and strode away, Maggie trotting after him to keep up, feeling she had asked the wrong questions, allowed feelings to rise up in him that were unhelpful to his wellbeing. She should not have asked personal questions, must stick to topics of less import.

Maggie found Edward in an armchair in the library, head buried in a book. Quietly she searched the shelves and found a large and heavy atlas, which she managed to balance on her knees, exploring the maps it contained with interest. She hoped that her presence might induce Edward to speak again, but he remained silent for the next few hours, until there was a rap at the door and Celine appeared. She curtseyed to Edward. “Your Grace, Joseph is waiting for you in your rooms.”

Edward nodded and left the room as though expecting this summons.

Celine turned to Maggie. “I am here to dress you for dinner.”

Maggie was confused. “I am dressed.”

“A lady changes clothes for dinner, into something more elegant. Your silk. I have already dressed the Duchess and she is most particular about punctuality. Come.”

Back in her room, Celine made short work of removing the brown dress from Maggie and helping her into the blue silk, then tidying her hair. She pulled out the blue kid slippers and laced the ribbons holding them in place so that they would not fall off. Finally, she drew out the string of pearls and clasped them round Maggie’s neck. “There,” she said, turning her towards the looking glass.

Maggie had been dressed in cast offs, but the clothes she was now wearing were beyond anything she had ever dreamed of. She allowed her hand to stroke the blue silk of her dress, shifted from one foot to the other to feel the delicate kid slippers softly move with her. The tiny sequins glittered, catching the flickering light of the candles.

“ Tres bien ,” said Celine with satisfaction.

“Thank you,” said Maggie.

Celine followed her down the stairs but stopped at the dining room door. “Watch what Her Grace does and do likewise,” she whispered.

Maggie had been so engrossed in the novelty of her clothes that she had not thought that this was the first time she would eat with the Duchess. Suddenly cold, her bare arms turned to gooseflesh, her stomach heavy.

A footman bowed and opened the door to her.

The room was huge and the table at its centre vast, it would easily have seated twenty people around it, but at present there was only the Duchess and Edward, seated one at either end of it, with a third place laid for Maggie by the Duchess’ left hand. The room shimmered with dozens of candles and the table was laid with a bewildering array of dishes, as well as elegant tableware and glasses. Two more footmen stood stiffly by one wall, awaiting orders.

Edward rose to his feet as Maggie entered the room. She hovered for a moment, unsure of herself.

“You are late, Margaret,” said the Duchess. “We expect punctuality in this house.”

“I am very sorry,” said Maggie, throat dry. “… Aunt Caroline,” she remembered to add after a too-long pause.

“Take your place,” said the Duchess, indicating the setting by her.

Maggie reluctantly sat, wishing she were closer to Edward, who was absurdly far away.

“You may serve the soup, Barnaby,” said the Duchess to one of the footmen.

The soup was asparagus, a delicate creamy concoction. As soon as the footman had finished serving it, he removed the tureen in which it had been presented and the other footman replaced it on the table with a beef steak pie, which joined the platters of mutton and stewed celery, roast pigeon, a fricassee of rabbits and one of mushrooms, Spanish peas, almond cheesecakes and an elderflower jelly. Maggie watched carefully to see how the Duchess ate and tried to imitate her, taking absurdly small mouthfuls.

“You have been out today,” began the Duchess, in a stiff attempt at conversation when the silence had grown unbearable.

Maggie looked at Edward, who said nothing.

“Yes, Aunt Caroline,” she said. “We walked in the gardens.”

“The rose garden will be in full bloom by late May, it was laid out by Edward’s grandmother.”

Maggie privately doubted whether a previous Duchess of Buckingham had done anything so close to manual labour as to lay out a rose garden, but she nodded as though this was interesting information.

“You may wish to ride while you are with us,” said the Duchess in an even stiffer voice after another endless silence. “The head groom will find you a suitable horse.”

Maggie had never ridden a horse and the idea of learning was frightening; the horses pulling the carriages had been so large. “Thank you, Aunt Caroline,” she said meekly.

The rest of the meal continued in silence. Maggie ate what she could reach but did not dare ask for dishes to be passed to her.

“We will proceed to the drawing room,” decreed the Duchess at the end of the meal and there followed another uncomfortable hour of silence in the drawing room, where Edward disappeared behind a book again and Maggie stared into the fire and hoped to be set free as soon as possible.

“You may leave us,” said the Duchess to the footman in the end. He left the room and she turned to Maggie and Edward. “Now that you are dressed appropriately, we can begin your education,” she said. “Neither of you are fit to partake in society at present, since you have been lacking in education these past…” She trailed off, then stood. “We will begin tomorrow.” She swept out of the room.