Chapter 8 Masquerade
A s the warmer days of late April settled into springlike picnics and pleasure gardens, as well as the daily riding in Hyde Park, Maggie was aware of the Godwins making certain that Miss Belmont appeared at every event the Buckingham household attended, her pale face emerging from ever more elaborate bonnets and dresses, while Lady Anna Huntington’s parents continually invited them to dinners and near-daily walks. Although Lady Honora did not seem even slightly interested in Edward, Lord and Lady Halesworth made it their business to ensure her presence wherever Edward was, with the result that Maggie, who liked her forthright manner, was beginning to regard her as a friend.
“Lady Jersey is holding a masquerade,” sighed Lady Honora, trailing behind Edward who was walking arm-in-arm with the silent Miss Belmont around Rotten Row. Directly behind them walked the Duchess and Lady Godwin. “We’ll all have to be dressed up in something ghastly. Last year it was some dreadful sea theme. You should have seen the room; it was nothing but sirens and the navy. One would have thought we’d all been conscripted.”
Maggie nodded, although she was more intent on watching Miss Belmont and Edward together. Was this who the Duchess had in mind for Edward? She was so delicately built she might be crushed with one hand, and she rarely spoke. When she did it was a whisper. Perhaps that was why the Duchess favoured her, for Maggie could not imagine this girl doing anything other than what she was told… by the Duchess, no doubt.
“We will turn back now,” said the Duchess. “We have the Galpin ball tonight to prepare for.”
There was much bowing and curtseying as the families left one another and amidst it all Lady Godwin smiled pleasantly at Maggie. “I am so glad there is a young girl like yourself at Atherton Park,” she said. “My Elizabeth can be shy, but a family member such as yourself will draw her out when… well, I will say no more for now.”
Maggie managed to fix a smile on her face and complete her curtsey, before climbing into the open carriage in which she and the Duchess had arrived. Edward was busy mounting Merlin, who had been kept waiting once the Godwins had met with them and suggested they all walk together.
“Lady Godwin suggested her daughter might be joining our household soon,” said Maggie, wanting to see the Duchess’ face.
“Good. Then the deal is almost done.” The Duchess gave one of her flinty smiles.
Every time the Duchess spoke of Edward’s future marriage in this way Maggie’s stomach turned over, with… with anger, yes, surely it was anger that made her emotions rise up like this. How dare she treat Edward’s future happiness as a deal, as though they were buying a piece of land or ordering a new horse for the stables. And she was outraged also on behalf of Miss Belmont. The poor girl had no say in all of this, she was sure of it, and yet the decision already seemed made, both families closing in on the couple at the centre of their plans, forcing Miss Belmont towards a life Maggie could not believe she would enjoy, forcing Edward to marry someone he’d barely spoken with.
Yes, it was anger, she was sure of it, anger at the injustice of it, the cold-hearted nature of the whole business. She would not allow the other feeling to rise, the one that felt like sickness, something desperate in her, a desire to stop this whole charade, a desire to… a feeling that grew stronger when she thought of Edward, of the touch of his hand, the warmth of his skin against hers. The nights when he screamed her name and she came running to him, held him in her arms to bring him back from the darkness of his dreams, how they danced together…
No. Enough. That feeling was… not real, it was only… only… but she could not even put a name to it, because if she did, she would have to acknowledge something that was not possible. It was not possible. She must focus on Edward’s happiness, and his happiness and safety lay in finding a suitable bride as soon as possible and securing her hand. Edward had been changeable in this past month, sometimes charming and happy, at other times wistful, retreating to his books or spending more time away from the house, in Parliament or at his club. She supposed this was a good sign, that he was becoming more his own man, able to go about his life without Maggie there to reassure him, but it also made her feel lonely. Her days felt empty when he was absent, despite the continuing onslaught of social gatherings.
“I told you there would be a masquerade,” said Celine when Maggie mentioned it. “The theme is The Queen of Queens. It is Queen Charlotte’s seventieth birthday this year, as well as the Grand Jubilee of the House of Hanover, which will celebrate one hundred years this summer. As the masquerade is in honour of the Queen, everyone will be dressed as they were in her youth.”
“With the giant hooped skirts?”
Celine nodded. “The modistes will be delighted. Can you imagine how much silk will be used to make just one such dress?”
“Can’t you just use the Duchess’ old clothes?”
“You know better than that. We must make haste to order your costume and the Duchess’, before everyone places their order and the modistes get overly busy.”
“And what will the men be wearing?”
Celine giggled. “You will think they have all become dandies overnight,” she said. “They will be very colourfully dressed. Oh, and wigs,” she added suddenly. “We must order wigs for you all.”
On the night of the ball, Maggie stared down at herself and back in the looking glass. “How did anyone ever wear such clothes?” she asked Celine.
Her dress was white and gold, with a waist drawn in so tightly she could barely breathe, gold high heels which made every step precarious, and a white powdered wig adorned with gold stars, which was so high she was certain it would topple at any moment. Her face was powder-white, with brightly painted red lips, over which she was to wear a white mask outlined in gold sequins which Celine was currently fastening. The mask would cover most of her face, leaving only her red lips uncovered. The skirts of her dress billowed out on both sides as far as her outstretched arms.
Celine giggled. “Have you not seen the portrait of Her Grace as a young woman?”
Maggie had, though she could hardly believe it was the Duchess. A beautiful girl, in a vast blue dress, face coquettishly turned away but her eyes still meeting the viewer’s, the hint of a smile. “She was very pretty.”
“She was the talk of the ton . Everyone wanted to marry her. There was rumour she might even be suitable for the royal family. But the Duke secured her.”
“Did they love each other?”
Celine emerged from straightening Maggie’s petticoats, her face serious. “The Duke was not always… kind,” she said. “Her Grace did not have an easy marriage. His Grace was a difficult man to love.”
“Does that not make her more inclined to ensure Edward’s is a love match?”
Celine applied a little more powder here and there to Maggie’s face and wig, standing back to get the full effect. “Those who have not known such a thing may struggle to imagine it,” she said.
“His Grace will be ready by now,” said Maggie. “I should go down.”
In the corridor Joseph met her, holding out her cloak.
“Remember, it is a masquerade,” he said. “You do not disclose your identity. There will be no receiving line, no announcements of rank, you simply enter the ballroom with your invitation. Only the footmen will know who you are. Unless they are bribed to share the information, of course,” he added.
“Bribed?”
“You do not know what the mamas of the ton will do to identify their prey,” said Joseph darkly. “I have seen them slip a footman money to point out which gentleman is the person they seek, so they can send their daughter to stand close to him and wait for an invitation to dance.”
“Truly?”
“Oh, truly.”
Walking with care so as not to turn her ankle, Maggie made her way down the staircase, one hand firmly on the bannisters.
“Your Highness.” Edward stood at the bottom of the staircase, gazing up at her, his blue eyes shining. Accustomed to seeing him in sober colours, Maggie could not help but be enchanted by his costume. He wore a suit made in golden velvet, with lavish ruffles on his white shirt and gold braiding and buttons. He had refused a wig. His natural hair curls were tied back with a ribbon, the colour matching the gold of the velvet. White silk stockings, black shoes fastened with gold buckles. There was something in his air that spoke of confidence, a certainty to his stance which made her smile.
“You look like a princess,” he said, as she reached him.
The Duchess nodded frostily. “Well done, Duval,” she said to Celine, who was hovering behind Maggie. “You have done a good job.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment to Margaret, Mother?” asked Edward.
“She is dressed as she should be,” said the Duchess. She was laced into a similarly shaped gown, dark purple silk glittering all over with tiny gold sequined stars. She gestured to Celine, who hurried forward and fastened her mask, an elaborate half-face confection in the shape of a crescent moon. It made her easy to recognise, but Maggie suspected that the Duchess was not keen on being anonymous, but rather preferred to see and be seen. Perhaps she wanted to be known so that the various mamas of the ton could seek her out and ask for assistance in identifying her son. Joseph helped Edward with his mask, a full-faced gold and black affair, behind which Edward disappeared entirely into an unknown person.
The carriage would not fit all three of them at once, due to the vast skirts of the two women, so the first carriage took the Duchess and Edward, while Maggie climbed into the second carriage.
“I hope you enjoy yourself tonight,” said Celine, leaning in for a moment to adjust her mask.
“Thank you,” said Maggie.
Arriving, she took a moment to rebalance herself in the golden heels, walked carefully up the stairs, to where a footman held out his hand for her invitation. He glanced down at it, nodded and bowed her into the room, with none of the announcements of names and titles which Maggie had come to expect.
The ballroom was vast, adorned with statues of gilded cherubs and multi-coloured feathers in vases, displayed as though they were flowers. The sight of hundreds of people in the glorious costumes with fantastical masks was dazzling and Maggie paused for a moment to take it all in. For once she felt free. No-one knew who she was, so she would not continuously feel watched. If she should chance to make an error, she would not be found out by the ton or reprimanded by the Duchess.
She could see the Duchess in her purple gown, so she drifted towards her through the crowd and stood to one side, where she could hear her speaking, but not be easily seen, given the mask which must be obscuring some of the Duchess’ view of the ballroom.
One woman after another came up to her, bowed their heads and made small talk, before inevitably enquiring after what they were seeking: Edward’s whereabouts. Maggie watched as the Countess of Bedford made her move.
“His Grace is here tonight, of course?”
“Of course.” The Duchess smiled. “You will know him by his clothing… let us simply say that it matches his hair.”
The countess gave a pleased smile and drifted away, though Maggie noted that her elegant glide turned faster as she made her way to her daughter and whispered in her ear. The daughter, sporting a sparkling pink gown that barely allowed her to get through doors, along with a glittering sequined facemask, nodded eagerly and began looking about her. Maggie silently cursed the Duchess. If she was going to do this to all the suitor-seeking mamas of the ton , what was the point of a masquerade?
Sure enough, within half an hour, it was all too obvious that the young ladies of the ton had found Edward. Wherever he went in the ballroom, a stream of women followed him. If he asked someone to dance, the rest of them waited on the edges or sulkily accepted second-best partners. As each dance finished, they arranged themselves as close as possible to him, preening and coquetting.
Maggie did not have much time to observe Edward, however, for her hand was sought for each dance. Reluctantly, she acquiesced to one after another, men dressed in elaborate costumes in every possible colour of velvet and silk, for once lavish peacocks instead of severely elegant Beau Brummells.
A man in blue silk held her hand a little tighter than the rest. “You will not mind if I disclose myself?” he asked, as their dance came to its midway point.
Maggie smiled. “Lord Frampton,” she said, for the Earl’s voice was familiar to her and she had found him a kindly person.
He returned the smile. “I am glad to find you know me, even at a masquerade,” he said. “I knew you at once, even across the room. It is the way you carry yourself, graceful but without false elegance. Some of the young ladies of the ton think very highly of themselves and it can seem more like arrogance. I would always rather have grace combined with friendliness.”
“You have been a good friend this season,” murmured Maggie. “I have been grateful for your consideration.”
His hand tightened on hers. “I am glad to hear you say it,” he said, his voice warm. “I have enjoyed your company this season more than I expected. I am not so much a social butterfly myself. Finding a lady who is so at home within company is a relief to me, I confess.”
Maggie stifled a laugh. The idea that she was being complimented on her skills in society by a man born and bred to the ton was absurd. “You are kind to say so,” she said. “Though my preference is for quieter company and for the countryside.”
“Really?” he asked eagerly. “It is how I feel myself. I am – I am glad to hear you say so.”
Maggie turned her head to search for Edward. She could not see him however, so she looked back at the Earl and smiled as the dance finished, sweeping a curtsey that would have made even the Duchess proud.
There was a smattering of applause as the dance ended and a brief interlude, during which various couples wandered away to refresh themselves with ices or drinks and new couples formed around the floor, ready for the next dance.
“I hope to see you at the Gillinghams’ dinner?” Lord Frampton said, still at her side.
She nodded, unsure of whether they were in fact attending, although since they attended everything, it was a fair assumption. Edward had vanished from the room. Maggie cast her mind back to which lady she had last seen him with and decided it had been someone with blue butterflies in her towering wig, but Maggie was unsure of her identity, and the lady, too, had disappeared from the room.
Might Edward have taken her somewhere private? Might he be about to propose? Had the Duchess impressed on him, out of Maggie’s hearing, that he should make up his mind tonight and choose one of the ladies she had so firmly pushed forward? A cold shiver rippled down Maggie’s body and her eyes prickled, as though she were about to cry. The idea that Edward might be married to a woman who might not care for him, who might not stand by him, protect him from the possibility of being locked away again...
The opening strains of music. A waltz was about to start. Maggie looked about her for a discreet way to leave the dance floor, having no desire to dance with anyone. She stepped backwards and bumped into someone standing just behind her.
“Please forgive me, I…”
“May I have this dance?”
For a moment she thought it was Edward but the man standing in front of her was dressed in a rose-coloured silk costume, with a full-faced mask and a brown wig.
“Of course,” she said, then immediately regretted her assent. She had been too well trained, she thought bitterly, trained to overcome how she was feeling, which was miserable and most certainly unwilling to dance a waltz with some strange man. But the instructions had all been firm on this, she could not refuse to dance unless she refused to dance all evening. And it was too late now. The man lifted his arms, and the waltz began, Maggie following his steps and movements with little interest, still looking about her for Edward.
“Are you looking for someone?”
“I – a person with whom I am acquainted…”
“His Grace the Duke of Buckingham? Every other lady seems to be searching for him.”
Maggie stared. The eyes behind the mask were very blue, beneath the dark brown wig a tendril of golden hair had escaped. “Edward? Edward!”
“Shh, you will give me away.”
“But your clothes… your hair…”
“Joseph had a second costume prepared for me. I could not bear another night of being followed everywhere.” They changed direction, gazing at one another through the oval created by their arms. “And as you can see, the ruse has worked. The ladies are searching for my gold velvet, and it is nowhere to be seen.”
“I thought…”
“What did you think? That I had been dragged into a quiet spot by some especially persistent young miss, hoping for a proposal?”
“Yes.” The cold fear that had run down her whole body, the way tears had risen in her eyes at the idea… what was that?
“I have been careful to avoid them all,” he said, and his voice was serious. “There is only one woman here I would care to be alone with.”
Maggie’s stomach churned. So, he had found someone. “And who might that be?” she enquired, trying to keep her voice light. “Do I know her?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “If we dance towards that side of the room I will try and point her out to you when we reach her. She is very beautiful,” he added with a smile.
Whom could he mean? It could not be Miss Belmont, for he knew Maggie had met her repeatedly. But then who? None of the young women with whom he had danced, walked, on whom he had called, had taken his fancy. Besides, if he had fallen for any of them the Duchess would have promptly given the match her blessing, for all of them had been deemed suitable, eligible, even desirable, for Edward to pay court to. He had only to say the word and the wedding would be arranged in as much haste as was possible without appearing unseemly.
She stumbled over his feet, then tried to regain the rhythm of the waltz, which had felt so magical before, but the previous grace and flow of it had deserted her. She felt clumsy, awkward, as though dancing without music, without a partner, all alone and in the way among the whirling couples, unwanted in their midst and uncertain of her steps.
Slowly they moved across the ballroom, towards the outermost edges of it. Edward steered them, still dancing, through a door and into a side room which was empty save for a full-length looking glass on one wall and low velvet benches set around the edges. This was the room where all the ladies at the ball came to change into their dancing shoes if needed or to check that their feathers and wide skirts were uncrumpled from the journey. For now, it was empty, and Edward stopped their rotations, but did not let go of Maggie, so that one of his hands was on her waist, the other clasping her hand but lowered, so that she was held within the circle of his arms, her back to his chest, her face towards the looking glass.
“There she is,” he said, his voice low against her cheek. “I told you she was beautiful.”
Her laugh of dismissal died in her throat, for he tightened his hold on her and bent his head. She watched in the looking glass as he kissed her shoulder, felt his lips warm on her bare skin, spoke in a half whisper, her voice shaking. “Edward…”
“You know me,” he said softly. “As I know you.”
Slowly, he turned her in his arms so that she was facing him, then let go of her, reached up and pulled away his mask, which he dropped to the floor. His hands went behind her back, brushed gently up her neck before untying her mask, which he cast aside as he had with his own.
“There you are.”
She gazed up at him, lips parted in expectation, full of desire for his touch. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek, and she felt the hardness of his jaw. She had touched his face many times during his nightmares, but never like this, pulling him towards her. His hold on her tightened as his lips touched hers, soft at first and then more passionately as she responded, somehow knowing what to do, instinctively wanting more, wanting every part of their bodies to be entwined. She clung to him, a moan escaping her lips.
“Gracious, Lord Sedgewick is a terrible dancer,” came a giggling voice just outside the doorway. “I swear my toes are black and blue.”
In a moment, Edward had knelt and picked up the two masks, lifting his own to his face, passing Maggie hers as two young women entered behind them. Maggie, flustered, turned her back on them to use the looking glass as she tried to fasten her mask. Edward fastened his own, bowed to them all and left the room.
“Who was that?” asked one of the women, turning to watch him go.
“Don’t know,” said the other, sitting on a bench, unlacing one slipper and examining her stockinged feet. “Gentlemen ought to be given more lessons before they attend balls, if they can’t be trusted to get through one dance without sending their partner home with a limp.”
Maggie’s trembling fingers somehow managed to fasten the mask onto her face. She turned to leave and came face to face with the Duchess.
“Are you ready to leave? It is almost two o clock.”
“Yes,” was all Maggie could manage.
“I will take Edward in the carriage. You can follow on in the phaeton.”
She stood and watched as the Duchess took Edward’s arm and steered him out of the ballroom, saw him look back over his shoulder at her but could not make out his expression beneath the mask he wore.
“Are you leaving?” The Earl of Frampton was by her side.
“I – yes,” was all Maggie could manage.
“Allow me to escort you to your carriage?”
She hardly heard him, only saw his arm and took it, followed him outside and took his hand as she climbed the carriage steps, nodded at whatever he was saying, waited for the carriage to take her away. The open carriage suited Maggie, she needed the cold night air on her face, her neck. She took off the mask and lay it beside her, tilted her head back and closed her eyes, the better to remember every word, every touch, every moment that had passed between them but above all to revel in the rush of feelings that filled every part of her. Edward had kissed her. The feelings she had held for him, had tried to suppress, came rushing up in her, suddenly vivid and undeniable. She had thought it was only her concern for his wellbeing that made her feel anxious when he walked or talked or danced with other women. But that was not it. She loved him. The fear she had felt when she had thought he was about to show her his future bride had turned into overwhelming desire for him as he had kissed her and now she wanted only to be close to him again, to press herself against him and feel his lips on hers, to whisper words to him, to hear what he might whisper to her.
The ride was too short to cool her flushed cheeks. She entered Atherton House with her mask dangling in her hand, her heart beating fast at the knowledge that she would see Edward again shortly.
But of course the Duchess was standing in the hallway with Edward, passing her cloak to the footman. “We can only be grateful there is not another ball tomorrow night,” she was saying as Maggie entered, “I am quite worn out. Goodnight, Margaret,” she added, catching sight of Maggie and evidently expecting her to go immediately to bed.
Maggie hesitated, but to pause too long would look odd and so she made for the stairs. “Goodnight, Aunt Caroline.” She could not bring herself to utter Edward’s name without her voice shaking, so she began walking up the stairs, desperate to glance back but afraid to do so would show her feelings on her face.
Edward called her back. “Margaret.”
She turned at once, eager for the very sight of him.
He stood silent, one hand on the banister, his gaze steady on her. “Goodnight, Margaret,” he said at last, his voice low and warm.
“Goodnight, Edward.” Her voice shook, but she smiled, knowing from his tone that there was more he wanted to say, that only the Duchess’ presence was stopping him. For a moment longer she gazed at him, then walked quickly up the last stairs and turned into the corridor to her room.
At once the Duchess turned inquisitorial. “Did you dance with Miss Belmont?” she demanded.
Edward could not recall, but no doubt he had; he had danced with her at most balls this season. “Yes.”
“Good.”
She paused, as though about to say something else, but Edward needed to be alone with his thoughts, with the feelings rushing through him. “Goodnight, Mama.”
“Goodnight, Edward.”
He took the stairs two at a time but paused for a moment outside Maggie’s door. If he were to knock softly, she would come to him, he knew it, but that was too much, too soon. He was not sure that he could restrain himself if she were in his arms again. And there would be a difficult path to tread ahead, he knew that. It would be wise to sleep now. In the morning, they would speak together in private, they would find a way to be together, he would hold her close again and touch her lips with his, would whisper to her the words he had been denied speaking. In his room he lay smiling in the dark, waiting for a new day to dawn on this, their secret joy.
Maggie awoke to full daylight as Jane pulled open the curtains. For a moment tiredness from the night before overcame her and she closed her eyes again. But the masquerade came flooding back to her and she sat up in bed, cheeks flushed, heart beating faster.
Edward had kissed her.
He had kissed her.
And he had known who she was, the intimacy had not been meant for someone else. He had removed both their masks and gazed into her eyes before he kissed her. And his hands on her body… his lips on her neck… the shining blue of his eyes…
“The blue, Miss?”
“What?”
Jane stood waiting; a blue muslin dress draped across her arms. “The blue?”
“Yes… yes of course, Jane, thank you.”
She had to wait for long agonising moments while Jane carefully dressed her in the shift, laced her stays, put on the stockings and tied her garter ribbons, adding the petticoat and finally the dress with its endless array of buttons. Her shoes. Her hair. All of it seemed to take far longer than it usually did. She did not much care how she was dressed, all she cared about was finding Edward. Finally released from Jane’s care, she all but ran down the stairs, smiling when she heard his voice coming from the drawing room, then came to a sudden halt in the hallway as a man stepped out of the shadows and she came face to face with Doctor Morrison.
“A word, Maggie.”
She gasped as a cold hard knot lodged in her stomach. “Doctor Morrison.”
“Is there a room where we can be alone?”
She swallowed and made a small gesture towards the morning room, glancing towards the drawing room, hoping against hope for Edward to appear.
“His Grace is speaking with Her Grace,” said Doctor Morrison, catching her gaze. “As you can imagine, he has some explaining to do.” He stepped briskly into the morning room and stood back, waiting for Maggie to join him. Once she did so, he closed the door behind her.
She waited for him to speak. Perhaps he knew nothing.
“I told you that I would be watching, Maggie,” the doctor said, his voice kindly. “I may not be exalted enough to attend these social occasions to which, through deceit, you have found yourself invited. But I have my… eyes and ears within this world. And what I was told unsettled me. I have heard of a growing closeness between you and His Grace, a fondness, which I had hoped would progress no further. But last night, Maggie, last night, you were seen .”
She opened her mouth, but he shook his head. “Do me the courtesy of not protesting innocence, Maggie. You were seen. Edward waltzed with you, and then… you kissed.”
She stood silent, heart pounding, unable to meet his eyes.
“Evidently, I was not clear enough when last we spoke. Let me make myself absolutely clear, so that there can be no doubt whatsoever. If any such intimacy occurs again, I will have no qualms in telling everyone who you are and that Edward is a lunatic.”
Her stomach lurched “He will be locked away again!”
He smiled an unpleasant smile. “Then I, his family’s trusted physician and expert in this matter, will once again take him into my care. For as long as is necessary. For the rest of his life, quite possibly. And I will be paid handsomely for doing so.” He leant closer to her. “Or you will see to it that he marries and marries well by the end of the season, in which case both you and I have been promised a payment acknowledging the successful completion of our task. And we will go about our lives again, as though none of this ever happened. Choose, Maggie, but see to it that you choose wisely. You are not to speak with His Grace unless it is absolutely necessary. You are not to dance with him nor spend any time alone with him. Do you understand me?”
The polished wooden floor shone her reflection back at her, the floating dress, the careful ringlets of her hair. A lady, through and through. But her outer appearance concealed a fast-beating heart and the knowledge that any chance at happiness had been snatched away.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
He was gone, but the polished lady still stood there, her reflection marred by tears.
Edward had awoken to a fierce rush of joy. The sunlight streaming in his window echoed his feelings and he had hurried Joseph through his dressing, anxious to find Maggie and speak with her. They would have to find somewhere private, and he thought at once of the mews, where only the horses would be privy to their whispered conversation about how to proceed. But as soon as he ventured out of his room, Bartholomew, the footman, found him.
“Her Grace wishes to see you, Your Grace.”
He nodded. She would have some invitation to mention or some other such nonsense. He did not care. The quicker it was over with, the faster he could find Maggie. He strode to the drawing room and found his mother standing there, her face white with rage.
“Miss Elizabeth Belmont.”
“What of her?”
“You will marry her.”
“Lord and Lady Godwin’s daughter? The mouse?” He gave a despairing groan. “Is that all you think me worthy of? A girl who is scared of her shadow? Do I get a say in the matter?”
The Duchess met his gaze with a steely glare. “No.”
“I do not get to choose my own bride?”
“You have proven yourself incapable of making sane decisions, Edward. Perhaps it is not your fault, you were not raised to be the Duke of Buckingham, and you…became… ill and were taken away for treatment. Perhaps I should have left you there. Perhaps it would have been better for you, but the estate and title would have been passed away and we would have lost everything.”
“ You would have lost everything.”
She lifted her chin. “I would have lost a great deal. But there are hundreds of people who rely on our family. Who knows who would have replaced us? Perhaps someone who would have treated them poorly. I had to try. And I thought you were doing better than I had expected, despite a few… incidents.” Her nostrils flared. “But this… this is too much.”
“What is?”
“This affection for a maid.”
He stared at her, his heart thudding.
“You were seen, Edward.”
“By whom?”
“Doctor Morrison.”
“Doctor… how could he have seen anything? He was not there.”
“He was… informed.”
“He set spies on me?”
“He was right to,” she spat. “Kissing a maid!”
Anger pushed up inside him. “Do not call Maggie a maid.”
She fixed him with her gaze again. “That is what she is, Edward. A maid. An orphan raised by the Foundling Hospital, sent to Doctor Morrison as a servant, to care for you in your affliction.”
He put his face close to hers. “She is the only person who has shown me any loyalty, any care, any kindly feeling. For years. Perhaps ever.”
She looked down. “I am sorry you think so.”
“You think differently? Do you wish to name someone else who cared for me? You, perhaps?”
“I –” Under his angry gaze she faltered.
“As I thought.” His own mother making such a weak attempt at declaring any sort of feeling for him was unexpectedly wounding. His body tried to return to its old ways, shoulders hunching against the pain, head dropping. He fought against it, but the fear crept up in him. “So I am to marry Miss Belmont, and when you lock me away again, she must do as she’s told, is that it? Will she be brought to me once a year to breed with, a mare brought to stud to keep the Atherton line going, to secure the title? Is that all she is to you? Poor girl. Wife to a locked-away husband. And I? Married to a woman who barely knows me, shut away from my own home and family.”
“She is the best possible match for you.”
“You cannot imagine anyone else better suited to me?”
“You will propose to her.”
“Will I?”
“Yes.”
“And if I do not?”
“Then you have lost your wits again and I will have to call on Doctor Morrison’s services.”
“Refusing to marry a woman I do not love on command is enough cause to lock me away as a madman?”
“Refusing to marry a woman of your own station because you have crazed notions of being in love with a maid? Yes.”
They stood staring at one another, but it was Edward who first dropped his gaze. “I love her,” he whispered.
“You will not speak to her again unless you must do so in public. You will not be in a room alone with her again, not even during your night-time… disturbances. You will marry Miss Belmont. If you refuse to comply, Edward, you will return to Ivy Cottage.” His lips opened and hope entered his eyes, but she shook her head. “Without her. If you do not comply, she will be sent away at once.”
Standing alone in the morning room, Maggie tried to stop her tears falling, but they would not, despite wiping her face more than once. Swallowing, she turned to leave, anxious to return to her room where she could be alone without being seen by any passing servants. Stepping into the hallway, she heard footsteps coming and hastened towards the stairs just as Edward burst out of the drawing room, his expression that of a desperate man. He stopped at the sight of her, the two of them standing for a moment, eyes locked together in mute misery, before Maggie turned and ran up the stairs, a sob escaping her as she reached the landing. Edward stood watching her flee, his hands in fists by his side.