Lady for a Season (Regency Outsiders)

Chapter 9 Proposals of Marriage

M ay passed in a wretched haze. Whole days would go by when Edward and Maggie did not speak to one another. Mealtimes were silent. When Edward screamed at night, as he did often and more violently as time passed, Maggie would sit trembling in the darkness of her room, not daring to go to him, listening to Joseph trying to comfort him next door.

Outside of Atherton House, the social season continued, inexorably demanding their presence. They walked, they rode, they attended picnics and balls, church on Sundays, even a few weddings as the ton ’s marriage mart started to bear fruit. The young women who knew they were not being considered for Edward chose other suitors, whether for love or money. Maggie changed her dresses repeatedly, from morning dresses to walking dresses to riding habits and evening gowns, allowing Jane to pick and choose as she wished, having lost any pleasure or interest she might once have had in the lavish wardrobe and the regular additions to it that her modiste was all too happy to provide as the season progressed towards its final stages. By the end of June, many of the ton families would head home to their estates, as the summer sun made London too hot and too malodorous for their sensitive natures. The men might need to stay or come and go for the final sessions of parliament at the end of July, but even they would head home as soon as possible. Time was running out.

Where Maggie had once hoped for Edward to be happy and healthy, free to make his own choices, now she could only hope for a quick marriage to a suitable woman. Her own desires, her own feelings for him were not only utterly impossible, they were also dangerous to him. She pushed them down when they rose up in her. The only way she could care for Edward was to keep him free. And that meant married, to a woman of the ton . And so she attended the parties and encouraged the young women who flocked to Edward, stepping out of their way, nodding and smiling when they indicated they wished to join them on a walk. Edward’s freedom was all that mattered, she told herself, even though the idea of him marrying another woman gave rise to an ache inside her that grew each day that she saw him bow and smile to one lady after another, offer his hand to help them into their carriages, partner them in dance after endless dance. In the brief moments of their days when there were no social obligations or Parliamentary sessions, a stream of important-looking men made their way into Edward’s study and then left, looking well pleased. Maggie could not fathom their purpose in visiting him, until, at a more than usually dull ball, she overheard the Duchess speaking with an elderly man.

“Your Grace. I wanted to say again how greatly we have appreciated His Grace’s interest in our efforts at the Foundling Hospital where I am a governor.”

The Duchess’ expression stayed carefully blank. “His Grace is interested in so many charitable institutions,” she said at last. “I do not think he has yet apprised me of his attentions to the Hospital. Will you tell me more? I do so admire your work there.”

“He has made a most generous donation to our funds.” The gentleman smiled. “But he has also made arrangements that several children each year should join the Atherton estates both here in London and in Buckinghamshire, to be servants or apprentices. It is more than we could have hoped for from such a young man, to already be so thoughtful of the needs of those less fortunate.”

“He is very charitably minded,” agreed the Duchess, her voice lacking all warmth. “I will let him know his bequest has been well received, Lord Gibbs.”

Maggie turned away, aware that her eyes were filling despite her best efforts to seem unaffected, but over the course of the month she heard from more than one source that Edward was busying himself with charitable works, from supporting the building of a new site for Bedlam atSt. George’s FieldsinSouthwark,to large donations to the Philanthropic Society,whose efforts centred on beggar children being taught crafts.

“We are most grateful for your generosity, Your Grace.”

Edward nodded and stood up to shake the hand of the representative of the Marine Society, which sent poor boys into the navy. “I am keen that children especially should be well cared for and find their place in the world.”

These moments of charitable efforts were the only part of Edward’s day that brought him pleasure. The silent mealtimes were unbearable, the invitations continuing unwanted pressure. Maggie’s compliance with the need to marry him off was a constant source of hurt. If she had begged him to embrace her again, to kiss her, to marry her, he would have risked even the torments of Ivy Cottage again, only to have her by his side, but instead she avoided his gaze, turned her face away from him and spent her days and evenings all but ushering young women towards him.

His nightmares grew worse. In them, Maggie was taken from him by force, or he was dragged away from her, closed up in a racing carriage taking him back to Ivy Cottage. Or he was back in Ivy Cottage already and the doctor was administering his treatments. He would wake screaming, sweating, and where before Maggie would have come to him, now she did not. Instead Joseph would hurry to him, would try to calm him, speaking gently. Edward was grateful for Joseph’s care, but he longed for Maggie’s warm embrace, her voice whispering to him, her hands clasping his. Being lost to his nightmares again without her presence was a loneliness he thought he had escaped.

For Maggie, hearing Edward cry out and be unable to go to him was a torture. She would pull the bell frantically for Joseph, knowing he would go to Edward’s room, grateful that Edward had someone by his side when she could not be there.

As May came to an end, Edward’s nightmares grew ever worse and one night, after she had heard his shouts and Joseph’s hurried footsteps, she waited until Joseph left the Oak Room and opened her door, waylaying him as he left.

“The nightmares are getting worse.”

He nodded.

“I am grateful to you for caring for him so well,” she whispered.

He hesitated. “May I speak with you?”

She nodded, led him to a little alcove along the corridor where two chairs were placed, for servants who needed to wait up at night until the family returned from balls or dinners. She sat and indicated the other chair.

He hovered, uncertain for a moment, then took the chair and leant forward. “I have something to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Joseph!”

He reached out for her hand. “When I first brought you here, I hoped only you would care for His Grace, that he could be free again, for he has never been mad. I thought Her Grace was foolish to propose what she did, I was certain you would fail, that you would be exposed and yet you managed it, you held your own through all of the season and I came to admire you.”

“Joseph…”

“You are brave. Kind. Intelligent. We could go far away from here, there are many opportunities for a footman who has served a duke. In a lesser household I could secure a position as a butler. You would not need to work. We could live a good life together, I know it.”

She laid her hand on his.

“I can’t, Joseph. I wouldn’t wish to marry you without loving you. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I would be kind to you, Maggie. A life shared with a good person by your side is worth striving for. When His Grace marries, they will let you go, and I would be happy to go with you and build a fine life together.”

She gazed into his deep brown eyes. “You know whom I love, Joseph. It would stand between us.”

He sighed and let go of her hand. “You should tell him how you feel.”

She shook her head. “He needs to marry. He needs to be safe.”

“And you think marrying a woman he barely knows, who will come under his mother’s control, will protect him from being locked away again?”

“I will find a way to get rid of Doctor Morrison.”

“How?”

She shook her head. “I do not know. But I will find a way.”

“He should dismiss the doctor himself.”

“The Duchess would never allow it.”

Joseph leant forward. “He is the master now. He is the Duke of Buckingham. He outranks her.”

“The King outranks us all and he has been set aside for the Prince Regent.”

“Because he is truly out of his wits, poor soul. Edward is not, never was, mad. He was frightened and broken and sent away so that his father could pretend he did not exist. He is quite sane. And he has grown into his manhood under your care, Maggie. He is not the poor boy he was when he first went into Doctor Morrison’s so-called care. He is finding his courage and true self. But he needs more time. And he needs a loving and loyal wife.”

“Miss Belmont…”

“Miss Belmont is a mouse. She will be crushed by the Duchess in a matter of months, if not weeks. He will fall prey to doubts about himself, he has had less than a year to believe those doubts to be untrue.” He reached out and took Maggie’s hand again. “If you will not marry me, tell Edward how you feel, at least. Give him the chance to decide who is the right woman for him to marry.”

“If he tried to marry me, he would be locked up as mad for the rest of his life.”

“If he loses you, he will lose himself. Think on it, Maggie.” He rose to leave but paused by the doorway. “And my offer still stands, Maggie. Should you ever wish to leave the Buckinghams, you have only to ask, and I will leave at your side.”

The first of June brought an end to the Duchess’ already waning patience. The ton was racked with sudden excitement. The Duchess of Buckingham had announced a house party complete with a lavish ball, to be held at Atherton Park in mid-June. To be holding such a huge event so late in the season could only mean one thing.

“Is it true the Duke is going to propose? Or already has?” an eager young lady asked Maggie as she stood watching the dancers at a ball that night. The Duchess had insisted that they continue to be seen at social occasions.

“He has not yet proposed to anyone that I am aware of,” Maggie said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Then he must be going to do it when they all arrive, and the big ball will be an engagement ball to round off the season. How exciting!” Without even waiting for a confirmation or denial from Maggie, the girl took off for her mama on the other side of the room, to whisper in her ear.

Late the next morning the Duchess stood, annoyed, by the front door. Finally, she called for a footman. “Where is His Grace? We are late for the Galpins’ picnic.”

The footman appeared mildly surprised. “He is gone, Your Grace.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Back to Atherton Park, Your Grace. He left this note for you.”

“Thank you, Bartholomew, you may go.”

Maggie watched as the Duchess tried to keep her expression calm as she read the note. “Edward has returned to Atherton Park with Joseph. He does not intend to return to London before the end of the season.”

Maggie stared at her. For once, even the Duchess did not seem to know how to proceed. “Will we follow him?”

“We have no choice but to do so.” Her jaw tightened. “Ring the bell for Webb and Mrs Green. We leave within the week. But no one must suspect anything is wrong.”

Meanwhile the word swept round the ton that the Atherton house party and ball was the only place to be seen this summer. It would round off the season with a triumphant success for the Duchess, and for one gloriously elevated young debutante, who would oust all the other contenders to become a duchess. The only question remaining was who. Who was the winner of the season? The ton counted and counted again. Some debutantes had already secured engagements, so it could not be them. Others were unlikely. It was agreed it must be someone of high rank; the Duchess would not stoop so low as to favour a girl from an untitled family; the family were not, after all, in need of wealth. So only a titled woman would do. The ton narrowed it down to the three most likely women: Lady Honora Fortescue, Miss Elizabeth Belmont, Lady Anna Huntington. The Duchess would say nothing when these names were mentioned, but all three of their families had been invited to the event, so the curiosity intensified even more. Maggie heard the odd comment by young rakes which made her think they were going so far as to place bets on the outcome. Ungentlemanly though it might be, they were only carrying out in coinage what the rest of the ton was doing with tongue-wagging. The three families with daughters in the race preened and hinted in public. In private, they summoned modistes and dancing-masters, sacked and hired ladies’ maids, grilled and drilled their daughters on how to behave themselves and generally panicked that their greatest opportunity was about to be lost if they failed in what was turning out to be the final and most important event of the season. A dukedom was at stake for the first time in years and they were damned if they were not going to try for it. Even the fathers, usually outwardly scornful of the mothers’ machinations, showed an interest. They went out of their way to bump into Edward at Parliament, had their stewards send them reports of Atherton Park and his other estates so that they could talk knowledgeably of whatever issues Edward might be interested in. When word got about that he had expressed some interest in a botanical print the drawing masters were summoned to ensure each of the girls could reliably sketch flowers.

Those young ladies who had not yet secured a husband were determined to still be in the running. They cajoled every contact they had to put them in front of the Duchess one more time, to see if an invitation to the great event would be forthcoming. Two young women received proposals but asked their ardent suitors to wait until the summer, in the hopes that they might still be considered, should one of the chosen three prove to be lacking in some important criteria. The suitors, knowing full well why they were being asked to wait, were by turns insistent and sulky, rightly feeling that they had been demoted to second choice. But even they, with hurt feelings, had to acknowledge that a young woman would be foolish indeed if she did not at least hold out until all hope was lost to become a duchess.

Celine was dispatched to the modiste with two already beautiful gowns in their possession but as yet unworn, one in a rich purple for the duchess, one in delicate pink for Maggie, with instructions to make them even more elegant, to be worn at the house party’s ball. Maggie only shook her head when asked if she wanted to specify the alterations to be made. She had no interest. The exquisite clothes that had once seemed so delightful had lost their charms with Edward gone.

Maggie spent as much time as she could keeping to her own rooms when in the house, until she was summoned to the drawing room by the Duchess the day before their departure.

“Lord Frampton is in the library.”

“Lord Frampton?”

“He knows we are leaving town. He says he wishes to speak with you.”

“With me?”

“In private.”

“Why?”

The Duchess stared at her; jaw clenched. “A gentleman only asks to speak to a lady in private for one reason.”

Confused, Maggie stood waiting for a further explanation. What she was hearing could not be right.

“Margaret.”

“Yes?”

“Lord Frampton is waiting. I hope you know what your answer should be.”

“My answer?”

The Duchess’ voice was tight. “Lord Frampton is about to make you an offer of marriage, Margaret. I hope you know better than to accept him. It would be an utter disgrace for an earl to marry someone like you under false pretences.”

Maggie stared at her. “An offer of marriage ?”

“Oh, you need not put on a pretence, Maggie, I am sure you knew it was coming. All these past months amongst the ton, you saw your chance and grasped it with both hands. A young earl with no parents to guide him when choosing a wife? How convenient that Robert Sinclair, Earl of Frampton, should find himself dancing with you so often. You could not have Edward, so you cast your net wider, is that it?”

“I was not… I have never sought…” Maggie was flustered and bewildered.

“He is waiting,” the Duchess repeated. “Go to him and get this over with. You will refuse him as graciously as you are able, then go to your room.”

She swept away and Maggie forced herself to walk to the library. She hesitated with her hand on the door, took a deep breath and entered.

The Earl was standing by one of the windows, wringing his hands. Maggie felt a swell of pity for his nerves. As she entered, he corrected his posture, bringing his hands to his sides for a smart bow.

“Miss Seton.”

“Lord Frampton. It is a pleasure to see you.” And it was. She was fond of him; he had been a kind and gentlemanly figure throughout the social season. She had thought of him as a friend and had not realised he had seen their relationship in a different light.

“I am glad it is a pleasure to you,” he said clumsily but with a hopeful smile. “May we sit together for a moment?” He indicated seating by the fireplace, and she joined him there, wondering whether she should allow him to speak or whether it was better to intervene before the proposal was made, whether that would be more ladylike or even simply kind. But she did not make up her mind fast enough, for the Earl was already speaking.

“I have greatly enjoyed your company this past season,” he said, leaning forwards earnestly. “I – since the death of my dear mama, I have been – well, lonely. Frampton Hall is a good home, and I am at my happiest there. I am not much of a town person. But I thought to myself that I must do my duty and find a bride this season and so I came to London with that express intention. And I – I found it harder than I expected, Miss Seton. I do not have the guidance of family, excepting my Aunt Catherine, who is a most excellent person but has particular ways of thinking. She – well, she believes that finding a bride is only about suitability. Rank. Wealth. Breeding. But I should like – that is, I should prefer to also consider love, Miss Seton. I should like to love my wife.”

Maggie’s heart ached for him. There was a kindness and a goodness to him that she wished was being bestowed on someone else, someone able to make him happy. “Lord Frampton, I –”

“Please call me Robert, Miss Seton. I should also make it clear that I do not require my future bride to bring a dowry. I have more than enough and so I am glad to say that such considerations need not be of concern in this instance.” He paused, a little breathless. “Let me be plain. I have concluded that while I greatly esteem many of the charming young ladies of the ton , it is only in your company that I have felt the happiness which I would wish to find in a marriage and therefore, I ask that you do me the honour of becoming my wife. Will you marry me, Miss Seton?”

Maggie wanted to reach out and place her hand on his, but was afraid it would be taken for assent, so instead she put her hand against her heart.

“I am sorry, Lord Frampton, I cannot marry you.”

Pain flickered across his face. “Do your affections lie elsewhere?”

Edward. They lay with Edward. Impossibly. She thought of the Duchess’ horror and anger at the idea of her saying yes to the Earl and multiplied it a thousand-fold to what she would say if she could see into Maggie’s heart and know how much she longed to be with Edward. But the Earl was waiting for a reply, and she did not want to prolong his pain.

“My affections are as yet… unclaimed, Lord Frampton. But I am not ready for marriage. I wish to stay with my family until I am older.”

His disappointment turned back to hope. “I would wait for you,” he assured her. “However long… I am still young myself, Miss Seton, there is no hurry. If there were an understanding between us, I would be more than happy to wait.”

He was a good, kind man. For a moment, something flickered in Maggie. Should she say yes? What, after all, could the Duchess do? As the wife of Lord Frampton, Maggie would be safe and loved, elevated to the rank of countess, an unthinkable leap in her fortunes. She would be married to a good man. Making a life with Edward was an impossibility while Robert… Robert, extraordinarily, was actually a possibility.

But Edward was everything to her and she could not live a lie.

“I am sorry, Lord Frampton,” she repeated. “I do not wish to hold you to a promise which you might come to regret. I hope that you will find another lady who will make you happy.”

He set his jaw, stood and bowed. “I will take my leave of you Miss Seton,” he said, his voice wavering ever so slightly before he pulled it back to firmness. “Should you ever reconsider… you know where to find me. I shall remain your devoted friend.”

Maggie rose and curtseyed, met his unhappy eyes. “As shall I, Lord Frampton,” she said gently. “And I am grateful for and honoured by your offer.”

He bowed again and left her, striding out of the room, no doubt to retreat to the privacy of his waiting carriage where he could weather the sting of her refusal alone.

Maggie watched him go. Celine would have chastised her. Throw away the very real opportunity to become a countess, for an imagined and impossible romance with Edward, something that would never be allowed to happen? What madness was this?

“It is I who am the lunatic,” Maggie murmured to herself. “It is a wonder Doctor Morrison has not put me in Bedlam.”

The journey back to Atherton Park was long and silent. Maggie stared out of the windows as the carriage rocked along the roads, mile after mile. She tried to think of ways in which she could free Edward of Doctor Morrison. She dozed from time to time, her tired mind unable to find a way forward.

They stopped at a coaching inn for the night. Maggie nodded eagerly at the offer of a tray of supper brought to her bedchamber and spent the evening alone, retreating to bed early. The next day, her only consolation was that each mile travelled brought her closer to Edward.

She sprang out of the carriage when they drew up. Ignoring all the other servants who were gathered to welcome them, she hurried to Joseph.

“Where is His Grace?” she asked, her voice low.

Joseph’s face was serious. “Visiting the Dower House.”

“The Dower House? Why?”

He shook his head, reminding her of the listening ears surrounding them. “He has been there most days.”

Maggie looked down at her clothing. A pale blue muslin gown and kid slippers, they were hardly the thing for the walk across the grounds and down beyond the stable block, especially after the recent rain, but she did not want to take the time to change.

The Dower House stood a half mile from the main house, a handsome mansion set within its flower gardens. Maggie had seen it from a distance but had never been inside. Merlin was nibbling at the grass outside and she stopped to pat him, feet sore from the gravel. The front door was ajar, and she pushed it open, stepped into the large hall, which felt cold and empty, despite its elegance.

“Edward?” she called out.

There was no answer. She opened the door on her left to find a parlour, elegantly painted in rose pink, with delicate plasterwork in white. There was a thick carpet, couches and chairs, side tables, all draped in holland covers, lending the room a ghostly air, as though it were waiting for someone to come and reclaim it from its forgotten state.

“Edward? Edward!”.

There was no reply. She left the parlour and headed up the stairs.

Edward sat on the bed in the main bedchamber, shoulders hunched, staring down unseeing at the swirls and flowers of the carpet. A gracious room, well decorated. The whole of the Dower House was elegant; no Dowager Duchess could complain of being mistreated by being sent to live here, so he, a mad duke, could hardly complain if this were to be his fate. He was unfit for society, unfit for the role he had not, after all, been born to play. Being sent here to live out his days was a kindness. There would be staff. Loyal servants who could be trusted to keep their mouths closed and not gossip. Enough to live well but without risking unwanted tattletales. Perhaps Joseph might come with him. He was a good man, a man with heart.

Edward thought of the young women to whom he had been introduced. They were pleasant girls, doing their best, as was he, but however much they lied about their accomplishments or personal charms, were any of them telling as big a lie as he was? No. One of them would be chosen, would wear his ring and be crowned with a Duchess’ coronet, would believe herself to be lucky… and then she would find out the truth, that she was wanted only to breed, to secure the estate by providing an heir as quickly as possible, that her husband would see her only a few times perhaps, enough to sire a child and the rest of the time he would be closed away, hidden in the Dower House. What a lonely life for her. What a sad life. He hoped, at least, that she might find solace in their children.

Their children. Would he be allowed to see them? To have some joy in their existence, or would he be kept at a distance, for fear of frightening or corrupting them with his madness? Would they, too, be watched incessantly for any signs of strangeness, or inability to take on the mantle of heir?

“Edward?”

Her voice, calling from somewhere below. Ah, Maggie. Would she, perhaps, come and live with him here, care for him? He could bear anything, if she would be by his side. They could live quietly here, bothering no-one. But what sort of a life would that be for her, caring for him all her days, not allowed to… to marry, to have children. The thought of Maggie marrying made his stomach turn over. It would mean her leaving him, going away to her own household, where she would one day be loved by another man…

“Edward?” Her voice again, louder this time, closer.

The idea of Maggie marrying another man brought jealousy flooding through him. But if he were to declare that he loved Maggie? That he wanted to marry her? A duke, marry the maid hired to care for him? He could already feel the cold clamp of the buckles on Doctor Morrison’s cursed chair closing around his wrists. The bleeding, the purging, the vomiting, leaving him shaken and whimpering, without even the solace of Maggie’s soft hand on his, her warm brown eyes on his. Because they would send her away at once. If he should ever say that he loved Maggie, he would be locked up for the rest of his life and she would be sent far away. He would never set eyes on her again. In her place would be some monstrous nurse unworthy of the name, a woman who would grip his arm even harder than Doctor Morrison, who would agree with whatever the physician prescribed, who would keep her cold eyes fixed on him to ensure his compliance. Maggie, his beloved Maggie, would be lost to him forever.

She stood in the doorway before him, her shawl slipping from her shoulders, slippers muddy, cheeks flushed pink from the cold brisk walk to find him. “Edward! What are you doing here?”

“Doctor Morrison said he would lock me up in the Dower House. I thought I should look over my future home.”

She stared at him, eyes filling with tears.

“Seven bedrooms,” he said. “A dining room that seats twelve. Do you think I shall be allowed guests, Maggie? Do you think people will want to stay and stare at the mad Duke of Buckingham?”

“You are not mad,” said Maggie. Her voice trembled and he wanted, more than anything, to stand and take her in his arms, but that way led to never seeing her again. And, surely, that would be true lunacy, to do anything that might lead to such a fate.

“Ah, but you’re wrong, Maggie,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I must be mad, because Doctor Morrison says so, and so does my mother, the woman who gave birth to me. They should know, should they not? And after all, I do have delusions, they are right about that.”

“What delusions?”

“That I might be allowed to live my life as I choose? That I might be happy? That I might be allowed to choose a woman I love for my wife?” He gave an unhappy laugh. “That proves to you, Maggie, how delusional I must be. That I should even think to marry for love, when all the ton thinks otherwise.”

“I would want you to marry for love,” she said, her voice very small.

He rose at once and came to her, standing so close that he could smell the warm scent of her, not the delicate rose perfume she wore but her own scent, a smell which made desire rush up in him. “Would you, Maggie?” he asked, and his hands clasped her waist and drew her closer to him. He almost kissed her there and then, found himself gazing at the rosy temptation of her mouth, his lips parting to match hers, before he met her gaze and saw her eyes were full of tears. “Maggie…”

“We cannot,” she murmured, voice so low he could barely hear her. “We never can, Edward.”

He let go of her waist as though his fingers had been burned, so fast that she rocked backwards as he let go of her. “Never?” He wanted her to fight for them, to say that what they felt was greater than the threat it posed, that she did not care about anything except him. But instead, she shook her head in silence, a tear falling down onto her cheek, followed by another.

He stared at her for a moment, then let out a curse and strode from the room, unable to bear her being so close yet untouchable, there yet not his. Outside he sprang into Merlin’s saddle and rode back to the house at a gallop, all but throwing the reins into a surprised groom’s hands, then making his way into the hallway.

The Duchess emerged immediately from the drawing room. No doubt she had been watching and waiting at the window. “Where have you been?”

“The Dower House,” said Edward curtly, brushing past her and taking the stairs two at a time.

“Edward!” Her voice rang out sharply and he paused at the top of the staircase without turning.

“Yes?”

“There is to be a house party here. Next week. With a ball. At which we will announce your engagement.”