Lady for a Season (Regency Outsiders)

Chapter 4 #2

Maggie stood silent for a few moments. Everything she knew about Edward had changed in an instant. She had already doubted that he was a lunatic but had not trusted her feelings against the word of an eminent physician and Edward’s family… his own mother. Now she saw how Edward had been broken, not because his mind was weak, but because his father and those around him had taken everything that was good about him and thrown it back at him as a weakness, had crushed his spirit until he could take no more and, once broken, had further tormented him in the name of caring for him until he no longer knew what was true about himself and could only cower in fear from those who approached him. And then, this beast of a father and his thoughtless bully of a son had died and suddenly Edward had been worth something in the family’s eyes, had been the way to secure the title and the estate, the vast riches which would otherwise have passed to someone else, leaving them behind, worthless without him.

The singing instructor professed himself delighted with Maggie’s voice and found little to improve in it, only introducing her to various new songs that she had not previously known, since most of her singing had been choral works or religiously themed. Now she was to sing appropriate arias from operatic works or well-known songs that other young ladies would have been taught to sing. She learned them quickly and when the instructor was not there would beg Edward to accompany her on the pianoforte, which he would do so long as there was no-one else around.

“It is not considered a manly instrument,” he said, when she asked why he was so reticent.

“But you play it so well.”

“I will play it whenever you wish to sing.”

One morning Maggie turned right instead of left. “I wish to see Lacey,” she told Edward. “I have an apple for her.”

He hesitated, followed her at a distance, lips tight, as she approached the stable block, a large low building set around a courtyard with a wide and high gateway, large enough for a carriage and horses to enter or exit. To the side, a fenced-off ring, strewn with gravel.

“What is that?”

“A training ring,” said Edward. “It is called a manege .”

In the yard, they were met by an old man with a hunched back.

“Your Grace. It’s good to see you.”

“Old John.”

The man smiled at Maggie. “And you’ll be Miss Seton that’s been doing so well with Lacey. I’m the stablemaster, everyone calls me Old John, my son’s John now, he’s the head groom.”

“I brought an apple for Lacey.”

“And there she is, waiting for you.”

Lacey’s curious face poked out of one of the boxes, and Maggie went towards her and fed her the apple, while Edward stayed in the centre of the yard, as far from any of the horses as possible.

“Can we come more often?” she said when she returned to him.

“As you wish.” Lacey was no doubt like a gentle beast, but his heart was pounding. His experience in this very yard still made him shudder, but he did not want his fears to hold Maggie back. He was glad to leave the yard, to leave the smell of horses behind and for his breathing to slow.

But two weeks later when Lacey was brought to the front door for Maggie’s riding lesson there was a handsome black horse alongside her, with both Old John and a groom in attendance. Maggie, already at the door, hesitated.

“Good morning, Old John.”

“Good morning to you, Miss. I’ve brought this fine fellow along for His Grace to see.”

“Are you sure?” she asked him. “It seems unwise when Cousin Edward has not ridden for years.”

“Let’s see, Miss,” said the old man, unperturbed. Edward emerged behind Maggie, and Old John touched his hand to his cap. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

“A new horse?” asked Edward curiously.

“Yes, Your Grace. But a shy one, flighty. He’ll be needing a steady hand, but one of my lads will take good care of him. He’s a fine horse, just needs more care. He’ll walk alongside Lacey this morning with Miss Seton riding. She’ll show him the ropes, being so gentle herself.”

Edward looked the horse over from the steps, then slowly walked down towards it, raised a hand to its neck. The horse shifted under his hand, nervous.

“There now,” he said softly. “There now. I won’t hurt you.”

The horse stamped its feet and Maggie put out a hand towards Edward, afraid for him. But Old John touched her arm and shook his head silently.

Maggie frowned. “It looks –” she began, wanting to say dangerous , but Old John shook his head again and put a finger to his lips.

“Needs some care, that one,” he repeated. “I’ll see which of the lads can be trusted to bring him on.”

“No,” said Edward, not turning away from the horse, one hand still on its neck. “I’ll take him for myself. What’s his name?”

Maggie stared. Edward, who had refused to ride, who seemed afraid of horses, was offering to tame and ride a horse Old John considered flighty?

But the old man nodded serenely. “Merlin, Your Grace.”

Edward took the reins from the groom and walked the horse forwards. “I’ll take him to the manege to see what he can do.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Half an hour later Maggie completed her own riding lesson, returning to the manege, where Edward had Merlin on a leading rein, making him walk, trot and canter, following the circular training arena round first one way and then the other.

“Why did you buy an untrained horse for His Grace?” Maggie asked Old John, who was watching Edward.

“He’s not untrained,” explained Old John. “You could ride him. But so far he’s needed a firm hand and His Grace don’t like to treat his animals that way. He’ll make him into a gentler beast before he rides him.”

Maggie was curious. “Did you know Cousin Edward would take him on when you bought him?”

Old John nodded. “I hoped His Grace would,” he said. “I’ve known him since he were a little lad, I know what kind of horse might draw his attention. Being shy himself, he must feel he is the master, not the beast to be trained.”

Maggie gave a laugh. “I think you might be a physician,” she said. “Or a magician.”

“I ain’t a book-learned man,” said Old John. “But I do know horses.”

“And dukes?”

He chuckled. “And dukes, or some of ‘em,” he conceded.

By June the rose garden was in full bloom and there was a heady perfume in the air. Now that the stable block was no longer out of bounds, Maggie and Edward occasionally walked down as far as the lake. The first time they did so, Edward stood for a long time looking over it, the gentle ripples on the surface, the ducks swimming by. He thought of the last time he had been here, the cold of the water closing over his head, eyes tight shut, willing himself to be gone from this life in which he felt trapped without an end in sight, then the distant sound of shouts and splashing and being grabbed, yanked to the surface, the sudden rush of air and light and coughing and choking as he was dragged to the shore by one of the gardeners. Within days, he had met Doctor Morrison for the first time.

“Did you come here often as a child?” Maggie asked.

He shrugged, trying to let go of the memory. “Sometimes. My brother was too fond of playing pranks on me though, even if we took the rowing boat out, he was always trying to find a way for both of us to end up in the water.”

“Could we go in the boat now?”

He hesitated, the memory still lingering but the day was sunny, and Maggie was at his side, he had played by the lakeside many times before that fateful day. Perhaps he could reclaim it as a happy spot again.

“The boat is just there,” he said at last. “You will have to help me push it into the water.”

After some effort they got the boat halfway into the water, then Maggie got in and he pushed off, leaping in beside her, so that the boat rocked and she shrieked, frightening the moorhens nearby. Edward took the oars and found they were easier as a man than they had been as a boy. He rowed them slowly around the small island in the centre of the lake, where wild ducks and geese made their nests. The sun and the gentleness of the boat’s movement allowed the memory to fade a little, made him think of something else.

“I wonder how the frogs are doing at Ivy Cottage,” he remarked.

“Do you think of it often?”

“Only to be grateful for being far away from it.”

“Are you happy here?”

“It feels different now than it used to.” He did not say, now my father is gone, now I am no longer the lesser brother. “I could be happy here if I did not need to… do all these things that are expected of me.”

“You will go brown,” Celine admonished Maggie when she saw her come in from the first day at the lake. “You must carry a parasol, or the ton will think you a rustic.”

“I cannot even sit in the sun?” Maggie sighed, but she carried a parasol with her from then on. The lake became a favourite place as Edward took pleasure in rowing Maggie about, and even tried to teach her to row beside him, the boat turning in circles for a while until they found a matching rhythm. Thanks to the parasol, her own skin stayed pale while Edward’s changed to a healthier hue and his arms grew stronger from rowing the boat.

July came, the days too hot and tedious for Maggie to bear any more learning. Sometimes, she would glance at Edward and make a small pleading gesture with her hands, as though at prayer, and he, trying not to smile, would announce that he needed to rest, that he was tired. This excuse always made the Duchess uncomfortable, as though she feared Edward might suddenly start ranting or behave in some way like a madman, so she would hastily nod her agreement and let them go free.

They would escape where she could not find them or would never think to look for them. To the lake, to the stables, sometimes down to the kitchens, where the maids would stare at them wide-eyed but Mrs Barton the cook, ever unflappable, would welcome them with a cup of tea and let them help her make some small treat, Maggie rolling pastry while Edward filled jam tarts. They would wait until the delicacies had been cooked, then take them outside to the lake or gardens and eat them still warm, letting the sunshine fall on them.

Edward had been putting off speaking with his steward, Mr Wilson, who managed Atherton Park, but now he asked for a meeting with him and found him to be a man of good sense and with practical ideas in which Edward took an interest. Merlin had given Edward more than just riding confidence.

“There are some cottages on the estate that have fallen into disrepair, I will ride out tomorrow to see them with Mr Wilson,” he told Maggie one day.

She watched him set off from the window, marvelling at how much he had changed, how he strode confidently out to where the groom was holding Merlin, got into the saddle with ease, his posture elegant, his shoulders and chest broader than they had been at Ivy Cottage, when he had been all limbs. Here at Atherton Park, where he was shown deference and care by all the staff and could find his way into the unexpected role of duke, he seemed to be growing into his manhood, shrinking again only when the Duchess criticised his progress.

There was an endless stream of rules for every possible social interaction. Maggie was not to speak of or ask anything personal, nor even to compliment a person’s dress, as it might seem too familiar. She was not to laugh overmuch; she was not to discuss politics. The hostess at a dinner would begin by turning to the guest on her left and speaking to them until the second course was served, when she would turn to the guest on her right and speak with them. Guests would follow the hostess’ lead.

“What do I speak of, then?”

“The weather. The health of absent family members. You can admire something in the room, such as a portrait. Speak of something suitable which you have just finished reading, though not love poetry, it is not respectable for a young lady. Anyway, it will be for the gentleman to entertain you at dinner by choosing suitable topics of conversation, you need only reply appropriately. Also, a gentlemen may offer you wine, as it is not polite for a lady to call for wine herself. You may accept or decline, although you should give a reason for declining, so as not to seem ungrateful for the attention paid to you. Edward, practise with Maggie.”

“Cousin Maggie, will you do me the honour to drink a glass of wine with me?”

“Yes, thank you, Cousin Edward,” she replied, awkwardly.

Edward nodded to Joseph. “Two glasses of wine,” he said.

Joseph poured two glasses and passed them both on a silver tray. Edward took both and passed one to Maggie with a small bow.

“Bow in return,” instructed the Duchess.

Maggie gave a bow. It felt like a ridiculous movement when seated, but Edward only raised his glass and took a small sip. She copied him.

“Very well,” said the Duchess. “Now you will know what to do. If you prefer to decline, simply say, “Thank you, but I am not accustomed to much wine at dinner and I have just finished a cup with His Grace,” or whomever most recently offered you a glass. Or indicate that you still have a full glass and offer your thanks. That will do. If there is a choice, choose white or champagne, but you will find the wine has usually been chosen for the meal.”

Maggie privately hoped that no-one would ever offer her wine or indeed speak to her at all, it was all too complicated, she had enough to do with remembering which way to turn her head and keeping up endless small talk.

“You would do well to read some popular novel currently in circulation,” added the Duchess. “There is one called Pride and Prejudice which has been widely read of late. It is written by a lady, so they say, and no doubt most young ladies and even some gentlemen will have read it, so you will seem up to date.”

The drawing master having completed his work and the singing instructor likewise, it was time for a dancing master to be hired, even though the hot days of summer hardly seemed suitable for much physical exercise. Edward also needed to be schooled.

“My niece’s education has been sadly neglected,” the Duchess said to the dancing master. “And my son was never fond of balls when younger, he was too busy… hunting and so on. He will have to improve himself alongside her.”

Maggie wanted to laugh at the idea of gentle Edward going hunting, but the simpering dancing master was too busy adjusting her posture to notice.

“Your Grace need have no fears, I can assure you that within a few weeks they will both be the delight of any ballroom.”

“They had better be,” said the Duchess. “I am in correspondence with Lady Jersey, and she assures me that vouchers for Almack’s will be dispatched to us as soon as the season opens.” She considered for a moment. “You will also instruct them in the waltz,” she added. “It may not be required, but I have heard that it is being danced more often now, even in respectable circles. It would not do to seem behind the times, and it may well lead to a… hastening… of affections for a suitable partner.”

“As Your Grace requires.” The dancing master bowed. Maggie wondered whether he was physically able to address the Duchess without bowing. But she appeared satisfied and left the room.

“There are not many steps to master in order to be able to perform most dances at a ball,” began the dancing master. “So, we will commence with the travelling steps, these include the Allemande, the Chassé, the Waltz, the Fleuret and the Strathspey.” He nodded to the accompanying pianist, and they began.

By the end of the first lesson Maggie’s head was swimming with trying to recollect everything. He had said there were only a few steps, but they ran into one another, and she kept forgetting which was which. Edward, she could tell, had already received this kind of instruction, the steps coming back to him.

“Step, close, step, hop!”

Maggie landed from her hop and the dancing master looked horrified.

“Land with delicacy , Miss Seton. Your Grace, do not bounce so much, you will lose dignity.”

“I am too much a spring lamb and you, apparently, too much a carthorse,” whispered Edward, his eyes gleaming with humour.

“Shush,” begged Maggie, trying not to laugh. “I have forgotten what the tems levé part is. Why are there so many words?”

“Today we will progress to the setting steps,” said the dancing master with every indication of apparent confidence that Edward and Maggie could even remember the travelling steps.

And on it went. From travelling steps to setting steps, then flourishes and punctuation steps. The dancing lessons occasionally required Celine and Joseph to join them, to better understand the criss-crossing of partners through sets.

“And smile ,” reminded the dancing master for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. “A mis-step with an easy smile may be forgiven, while perfect steps with a sullen demeanour will not.”

Maggie pasted a smile onto her face and giggled when she saw Edward doing the same.

“No giggling,” remonstrated the dancing master. “A lady does not laugh out loud, for fear of seeming reckless in her manner.”

Maggie bit back her giggles, thinking of the times when Edward and she had been reduced to helpless fits of laughter at some foolish incident, like the time Maggie had lost a shoe in the stream or when an apple had fallen on Edward’s head. Was that reckless behaviour? It had only seemed good-natured to her, raising Edward’s spirits. She made sure her face was appropriately composed with only a small smile showing but did not dare meet Edward’s eye in case he made her laugh again.

But they progressed over the weeks that followed. Maggie’s steps and landings becoming daintier, Edward’s statelier. The dancing master professed himself satisfied that they were able to perform a minuet, a cotillion and a quadrille to his satisfaction.

“Today we will begin the waltz,” he said. “Now, you will know that this is a new dance and was until recently considered unsuitable for a respectable ball, but it has grown in fashion and so it is wise, as Her Grace has suggested, to be at least competent in it, should it be called. As a matter of etiquette, the dance is more… intimate, owing to the close proximity of the couple. It is therefore appropriate that it should only be danced where a lady has been chosen for a gentleman to dance with by either her chaperone or the Master of the Ceremonies. A gentleman should not propose it himself to an unknown lady for fear of seeming too forward in his attentions. It is often danced by those couples who are recently engaged or where there is strong evidence of an understanding. With those points understood, we will proceed to the correct starting position.”

Edward and Maggie stood opposite one another.

“Closer together. Your right arm about the other’s waist,” instructed the master. “Then the left, hold it up, curved above your head, and clasp your partner’s hand, thus creating a circle through which you will face one another.”

They stepped closer, their faces now only a hand’s breadth apart. Maggie felt suddenly shy. She and Edward had touched many times, of course, he offered her his arm several times a day, she touched or held him when his nightmares were bad, but now they were standing pressed together, hands clasped, his other hand firm on her waist. She had thought the fuss over the waltz overblown by the dancing master and his endless rules, but now that the dance was to begin, she understood why this dance had been frowned upon. There was an intimacy to it.

“And begin the travelling step we have learnt, and as you do so, you rotate,” instructed the master.

She trod on Edward’s toe at once.

“I’m sorry!”

He shook his head, smiling, his steps neat and precise. Maggie focused and slowly the rhythm became smoother. Edward’s hand tightened on her waist, and she felt him begin to guide her, their steps synchronised so that there was a sway to the dance, the spinning no longer jerky little adjustments of direction but fluid, soft. Maggie gazed up at Edward through the circle of their arms and saw his face serene and certain. It made her smile, and he smiled back.

“The left arm now lowers, the lady places both hands on the gentleman’s shoulders and the gentleman places both hands on the lady’s waist, continue the rotation.”

Maggie placed both her hands on Edward’s shoulders, surprised for a moment to find them broader and firmer than she had expected. He was growing stronger from eating better and exercising more. The thought made her happy, and she held onto him more tightly, confident in his strength. His hands tightened about her waist in response, guiding them to a faster pace. For a giddy moment, Maggie was being whirled around, held in his strong hands, entirely in his control, so that she need only feel the music and respond to it, without worrying about the steps, which suddenly came naturally to her, guided as she was by Edward’s certainty.

“Somewhat too fast, Your Grace, but very poised. I believe we may consider the waltz instruction complete.”

Maggie wished the master had not called a halt so soon. The rest of the dances, even when they had grown better at them, had been enjoyable but always requiring of thought, counting the steps in one’s head or being careful not to step the wrong way, and the dancing master had always had something to say about whatever they were doing, with endless reminders of form and etiquette. But the waltz, for a moment, had been different, as though she and Edward were alone together inside the music. She had seen – no, felt – his confidence in directing their progress around the floor and it had given her the freedom to enjoy the moment, to feel herself graceful in his arms, responding to his guiding touch.

Edward stepped away from Maggie, disappointed. He had put up with the other dance instruction, it had all come tediously back to him from his younger days as a boy and he had done his best to be a good partner to Maggie, improving his steps so that he might perform them well. And they had laughed together sometimes and as she improved, he felt they made a creditable pair, unlikely to disgrace themselves at a ball. But the waltz had been… it had been unlike the other dances. Putting his hands on Maggie’s waist, he had felt the music through her movements, and it had made his movements more certain, had given him a growing confidence that had allowed him to hold her more tightly, to steer her, guide her. And she had followed him, he had felt her grow soft under his hands and allow him to lead her. He wanted that feeling again, the two of them graceful together, entwined in the music. There was something about it that gave him confidence. That made him want more.

That evening at supper the Duchess made an announcement.

“We will go to London for the Little Season. We will send word ahead for Atherton House to be made ready and will set off next week.”

Maggie put down her soup spoon and looked at Edward, who had also stopped eating.

“So soon? Parliament does not open until November; I will not be required to attend until then.”

“We need time for Atherton House to be at its best and for all of us to have new wardrobes, as well as to try out a few social occasions and ensure you are both ready for the full season in the spring.”

The rest of the meal continued with an anxious silence hanging over them. The long summer days, Edward’s healthy colour and more confident posture had lulled Maggie into thinking their days would progress like this forever, now she was harshly reminded it had all only been preparation for what was yet to come.

That night Edward’s nightmares, which had lessened, came back with a vengeance, Maggie heard him cry out and hurried to him, found him sweating and wide-eyed, bolt upright in his bed.

She sat on the edge of it, stroking his arm. “All will be well, Edward.”

“Will it? I dream of making a fool of myself, of people pointing and laughing, of being married against my will to a woman whose face I cannot see… I…” His breathing was growing faster, and she clasped his hand in hers.

“Edward, I will be by your side. You have done so well here… it will be the same in London, you will grow in confidence and find that you can manage everything perfectly. Breathe slowly, Edward, slowly.”

He looked at her, fearful, struggling to steady his breaths. “Will I?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, although she did not feel anything like as certain as she sounded. His anxiety made her anxious too, she imagined making some foolish mistake, despite all the months of instruction she had received, by which everyone would know her for a maid. Edward’s chances of being accepted in society ruined, a sad return to Ivy Cottage. Back to Doctor Morrison and his brutal treatments.

Atherton Park was thrown into disarray over the next few days. Servants hurried about, meals were far plainer than Maggie had seen to date, in the last days a simple tray was sent up to each of their rooms. Maggie carried her tray to Edward’s room and ate with him there, finding it a relief not to spend awkward meals with the Duchess. The larger unused rooms were full of holland covers to protect the furniture from dust during their absence. Every carriage in the stables had been pressed into use, sending goods, servants and clothing to London.

Even Merlin and Lacey departed.

“Two of the grooms will ride them to London,” said Edward, gazing out of the window, “so that we can ride while we are there.”

“Is there a lot of riding in London?”

“Most of the ton make it their business to walk or ride on Rotten Row every day when the weather is fine.”

“What an odd name. It does not sound like somewhere the ton would like to be seen at all.”

“It is in Hyde Park. I believe it was originally known as the Route du Roi , which is French for King’s Road. It was ordered by William the Third, but the name was corrupted. I have been before. It is pleasant enough. I used to ride with Mother in the open carriage. I don’t recall much else about London.”

His hands were gripping the windowsill. Maggie laid one hand on his. “It will not be so bad,” she said, though she knew nothing of what it would be like.

“It will be unbearable,” he said, and left the room.

The day before their departure they received an unexpected and unwelcome visitor. Maggie was partway through being dressed when there was a knock at the door, revealing Edward, half dressed and flustered. Jane stared at him in amazement and Maggie tried to smooth over his intrusion.

“What are you doing here, Cousin Edward? I have not yet done my hair. Jane, my brush. And will you please find my pink brooch, it is in there somewhere,” knowing full well no such item existed.

Jane, eyes still wide, hurried to the dressing room.

Edward’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Doctor Morrison is here.”

“What? He cannot be.”

“I have just seen him arrive.”

Maggie swallowed. “Get dressed,” she managed. “I will be downstairs in a moment.”

“I cannot find a brooch,” said poor Jane, coming back into the room as Edward closed the door behind him. “Is His Grace alright?” she added.

“He is well, he only wished to say I was late, Her Grace needs me for something,” improvised Maggie. “Can you do my hair as quickly as possible, Jane?”

She hurried down the stairs as soon as she could escape from Jane’s careful grooming, going first to the drawing room and then the morning room in search of Edward, before finding the Duchess and Doctor Morrison in the library, the two of them standing over Edward, who was seated on a low stool as though being punished.

“You are still under my care, Edward,” Doctor Morrison was saying, with a kindly smile. “You have only to say the word and I will take you back to Ivy Cottage. If it all seems too much for you, if you cannot face the season in London, you have only to send for me at any time.”

Edward did not answer.

“I see that he is struggling,” said the doctor to the Duchess, who appeared fearful. “It is already a bad sign that he felt unable to leave Ivy Cottage without Maggie.” He gave her a disdainful glance. “You will keep me informed of his progress, Your Grace, so that I can advise you on the best possible treatment for him.”

The Duchess looked worried. “If he can only be married off…”

“That is certainly our hope, Your Grace. But should he show signs of being unable to maintain a facade of sanity, it would be better to withdraw him from society once more until we can be certain his behaviour will not tarnish his reputation amongst the ton . Once doubt has been sown… it may be too late to be mended.”

The Duchess nodded; her hands tightly clenched together.

“Edward, you must reassure Doctor Morrison that you are able to… to face the season.”

Edward gave a small nod.

“Speak, Edward,” said the doctor. “If you cannot speak when spoken to, it bodes badly for the season to come.”

Edward raised his face. His expression was miserable. “I will do my best.”

“Very well,” said Doctor Morrison. “I must be on my way, but I will keep a close eye on his wellbeing,” he said, and Maggie heard his words as a threat. He left the room, the Duchess following him, both ignoring Maggie as they passed her.

Edward put his head in his hands. “I will fail, I know it.”

She knelt before him. “You will not fail. You have done so much, changed so much for the better since we came back here. You have grown better in yourself, anyone can see it.”

“I thought I was doing well but they… when they doubt me, it makes me doubt myself. I wasn’t born to be the Duke, Maggie, I was only…”

“Stop it. You are the Duke now, born to it or not. Mr Wilson thinks you are doing well, he was delighted with your interest in the cottages, in the management of the whole estate.”

“We have not been anywhere, met with anybody. We might as well have been back at Ivy Cottage. Now we must go into society, be amongst people who will ask questions, who will watch me at every moment, who will judge whether I am worthy of marrying their daughters…”

“Any woman would be lucky to marry you.”

“Lucky to marry a lunatic?”

“You are not a lunatic.”

“Doctor Morrison—”

“I don’t care what Doctor Morrison says. I have spent more time with you than he has, and I say you are sane.”

He gave a tiny laugh and took her hands in his. “I am sane when you are with me, Maggie. You give me hope that I can be the man everyone wants me to be.”

She shook her head. “You need only be the man you are, Edward,” she said. “You are more than enough.”

“Do not leave me, Maggie,” he said, raising his blue eyes to meet her concerned gaze. “Promise me you will stay by my side.”

“I promise.”