Chapter 10 Old John
T he house party’s details were settled. Guests would arrive Monday and Tuesday. Tuesday night would feature an elegant dinner. On Thursday there would be a lavish ball, and therefore everyone expected Wednesday to be the day when Edward would ask Miss Belmont to marry him, thus making the ball a celebration of their engagement. Under the weight of this expectation, Atherton Park was being transformed. Where the servants usually went about their business discreetly, silently, rising before dawn to make fires and cook breakfasts, staying up late to clean dining tables and working in rooms the family was not using, now they were everywhere. Indeed, Maggie wondered whether they had multiplied overnight, for there appeared to be more maids and footmen than she had ever seen before. Every corridor had people rushing down it, carrying armfuls of linens or vases of flowers, cleaning implements, firewood and coal. Maggie expected the Duchess to be outraged but she was everywhere too, directing, criticising, re-arranging work already done.
“Atherton Park must be at its very best,” she said, pointing a maid in one direction while shaking her head at another, who was about to place a vase of flowers in the wrong location. “Lord and Lady Godwin must see it at its finest to seal the deal.”
Every bedroom would be in use; even the nursery was rearranged to make sleeping space for the extra servants who would be attending with their masters and mistresses. Meanwhile the vast extension to the back of Atherton Park, which consisted of a magnificent ballroom in the centre with an orangery to one side and a dining room to the other, was brought fully to life for the first time since Maggie had arrived at Atherton Park. Dozens of gilded chairs were brought out from under holland covers, looking glasses polished, hundreds of candles were placed ready in their holders, chandeliers were lowered and dusted, gigantic flower arrangements were prepared.
“I heard a French chef is to manage the meals during the house party,” Maggie said to Celine, who had come to her bedroom to choose clothes for each day’s activities.
Celine tittered. “Monsieur Cerf arrived in his own carriage, with another trailing behind him full of assistants and half a kitchen’s worth of bowls, spoons, bain-marie sets, salmon kettles and who knows what else.”
“Does he think a duke’s kitchen won’t have what he needs? What does Mrs Barton say? Isn’t she put out to have her kitchen taken away from her and have some French chef lording it over her?”
Celine shook her head. “She knows her true worth,” she said confidently. “Monsieur Cerf is only for show. Mrs Barton is wanted all year round because she’s one of the best cooks there is. In all the time she has served here, there hasn’t been a year gone by without some lady tried to poach her from Her Grace’s service.”
“Do ladies do that? How underhand.”
“Ladies try to poach servants all the time,” said Celine. “I have lost count of the number of times a lady has pressed a guinea and a visiting card with their address on it into my hand and whispered that she would be glad to hear from me, should I be looking for a new position.”
“And you never said yes?” asked Maggie, surprised. Surely serving the Duchess was a role most servants would prefer to escape from.
Celine smiled. “I am used to her ladyship by now. And…” she shrugged. “I have known her a long time. Now, your dress for the ball.”
The thought of the ball, a celebration of Edward’s impending engagement, brought a wave of nausea. “Whatever you think best,” she said hurriedly.
“The pink silk, I had the modiste attach roses to the bodice and then petals falling down from the skirt,” began Celine with enthusiasm, making to open a large box, but Maggie only nodded.
“I will see it on the day, it can be a surprise,” she managed with false brightness.
Celine set the box aside. “Then just the green for the picnic,” she finished, and left the room.
From Monday, the guests began to arrive, carriage after carriage throughout the day, each one welcomed by Edward and his mother, with Maggie standing by their side, endless bows and curtseys and servants hurrying to unpack luggage before the carriages were driven away to the stable yard, which was bursting at the seams. Every family arrived with their servants in tow. The attics were full and the guest rooms which had lain empty were all assigned. The Peony Room, the Rose Room, the China Room, the Red Room, one after another they were filled.
They had just finished welcoming Lady Honora’s family when Maggie caught Edward’s eye. “I have a surprise for you,” she murmured, having checked that the Duchess was busy speaking with Lord and Lady Halesworth.
“What is it?”
“Come,” she said, turning towards the first flight of stairs.
He followed her, noting how confident she was at Atherton Park now, how she did not hesitate at every staircase or turn her head this way and that as they went down the corridors, fearful of being lost, uncertain of which rooms were behind which doors.
She stopped outside a set of doors that had brought dread to him for years. He took a step backwards. “Maggie…”
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes. Please.”
He wanted to say no, but he could not refuse her hopeful sweetness. He sighed and closed his eyes, stood still and waiting, felt her hand take his, her warm skin against his, pulling him forwards. He took one step and another, trusting that he was safe, focused only on her hand clasping his. They had so few opportunities to touch.
“Now you may look,” she said, letting go of his hand and he opened his eyes.
For a moment he frowned, unsure where he was. The heavy dark panelling, the dark-red walls, the bulky bed, they were all gone. The room had been entirely redecorated, the walls now a bold sunshine yellow, the panelling stripped away. The new four-poster bed was still large but more delicately made, with hangings of gold velvet and crisp white bedlinen covered with a silken bedspread woven with a woodland theme, butterflies and flowering vines sprawling across a yellow background.
“And your other rooms,” Maggie said eagerly.
“Lead me,” he said, wanting her hand in his again.
His dressing room had papered walls, pale yellow with hand painted scenes of woods, with deer and a tiny stream along the very bottom.
“You had them paint a frog?”
“Two actually,” she said, laughing. “Come and see your study.”
His study was a pale green and here again the furniture had been changed, no longer the heavy bullish desk of his father but a more graceful writing table and chair. A large globe on a table, maps of Buckinghamshire and the world on the walls, the curtains a deep green velvet that made the room cosy but allowed in the bright sunlight.
“Is it different enough?”
Her hand was still in his and he raised it to his lips, kissed it, wanting to keep his lips on her warm soft skin forever. “It – they – are perfect.” He lowered his voice. “ You are perfect.”
She pulled her hand away, but her smile was sad. “They are your rooms,” she said, her voice soft. “They are the Duke of Buckingham’s rooms, and that means they are yours. I left instructions while we were away, and Mr Wilson had it all done to surprise you.”
“I will sleep here tonight,” he promised her. “I will have the servants bring all my things here. Joseph will not know how to thank you. I do not know how to thank you.”
“You already have,” she said and the hand he had kissed clenched by her side. “Seeing you claim your rooms is thanks enough.”
“I will miss you being next door though,” he said.
They stood in silence for a moment, aware of the space between them and how vast it was about to grow, yet how easy it would be to close it, only one step forward by each of them…
Edward took a step back. She was too close to him, he wanted only to reach out and hold her, no, more than that, he wanted to lay her down on the golden silk coverlet behind him, amidst the butterflies and flowers and hold her close to him, unfasten her hair and…
“I will sleep here tonight,” he repeated. “Ring for Joseph.” If someone else did not enter the room soon, he would not be able to restrain himself.
She stepped away from him, her cheeks flushed and rang the bell, cleared her throat. “I am so glad you like the rooms,” she said. “They will be something to remember me by. When – when you are married.”
It was too much. “How am I to marry if it means losing you–” he began, but behind him the door opened, and Joseph stood waiting. Edward swallowed. “Joseph, you will have my possessions moved into these rooms at once,” he managed, though it came out more brusquely than he meant it to.
“At once, Your Grace. And… Her Grace has asked for your presence in the drawing room.”
He did not want to go, he did not want to leave her, but staying was impossible. “I will see you later,” he managed.
By late Tuesday afternoon all the guests had arrived and there was a fluttering of valets and ladies’ maids come twilight, as every lord and lady must be dressed in their finery for the grand dinner, held not in the usual dining room within the main house, but in the one adjoining the ballroom, which had seating for fifty. Lady Godwin lent her own maid to Miss Belmont, so that she was attended by two ladies’ maids, in order that nothing should ruin her chances. It was fully expected that some time before the grand ball there was to be a proposal, that, after the party, Miss Belmont would leave Atherton Park only briefly as its future mistress, the future Duchess of Buckingham. She must be presented at her very best, at every moment, for all eyes would be on her.
Down the staircases they came, glittering jewels and silks, perfume and tight cravats, carefully sorted into their proper ranks in the drawing room, ready to enter the dining room.
Maggie watched them all, caught the endless glances of the guests at Edward and Miss Belmont. Everyone was waiting for the announcement that the tiny mouse had somehow snared the prize stallion of the season. Astonishing and yet agreeable, there could be no possible objection, for Miss Belmont was wealthy in her own right and from a family of impeccable breeding.
“Any word of when we’re to be told?” Lady Honora was at Maggie’s side, looking unusually serious.
“Told?”
“If he hasn’t proposed already, he’d better hurry up. Can’t have an engagement ball without an engagement, can you?”
“He has not proposed yet,” said Maggie softly.
Lady Honora narrowed her eyes at Miss Belmont. “Perhaps he’s had second thoughts,” she said.
Maggie shook her head. “His thoughts are not his to command.”
“Not even by you?”
Maggie turned to Lady Honora in surprise.
“Oh, come now,” said Lady Honora, looking away but speaking fast. “I’m not blind. I saw you dance together. And anyone who saw that must know where his true affections lie.”
A rush of heat rose to Maggie’s neck and cheeks. “I –”
Lady Honora shook her head. “If he’s going against his desires, he should remember it’s not just his happiness that’s at stake.”
There was something odd in her voice, something desperate. Maggie looked at her friend more closely, saw her jaw tight, a glitter of tears in her eyes. “Are you – do you – are you telling me that you care for Edward?”
Lady Honora let out a bark of laugh that had several people turn. “God, no,” she said.
“Then…?”
“Nothing,” said Lady Honora, draining her glass of champagne.
“I wish you would tell me.”
“Not something one can just say.”
“Not even to a friend?”
“I would tell you,” Lady Honora said, “But not in a room like this, where everyone can hear you sneeze, let alone confide…”
“Shall we go elsewhere?”
“Dinner is served,” announced the butler.
Lady Honora grimaced.
“Later?” persisted Maggie.
“If there is a later,” said Lady Honora darkly.
The dinner was endless. The array of dishes was beyond anything Maggie had ever seen at Atherton Park, the jewellery on show magnified by hundreds of candles. This was not just the ton ; this was the very cream of society. Only the most select had received invitations and all of them were eager to witness the event of the season, to see on which head the ducal coronet might be placed, which family were to be elevated to the very pinnacle of titles, beyond which only royalty lay. Maggie turned her head one way, following the Duchess’ lead, then the other at her signal, like a puppet. It occurred to her at some point during the tedious hours that her education as a lady must be complete, for she was able to speak acceptable nonsense to anyone seated next to her, able to spout the superficial chit-chat required by the ton without hesitation and without even thinking about it.
Opposite her she could see Miss Belmont frozen in place, her face pale and her movements stilted. Lady Honora, further down the table, was drinking more than usual. Only Lady Anna seemed her usual self, making spirited conversation with Lord Lymington, apparently oblivious to the fact that no announcement had yet been made.
Edward woke early on Wednesday morning, unused to the new rooms, unable to sleep. His mind was too full of contradictory thoughts. Duty and desire fighting one another, unable to find a path that would guide him to fulfilling both. Tomorrow was the ball. Today all eyes would be on him, everyone expecting him to take Miss Belmont to one side, to speak with her, to return with the announcement they were all waiting for.
Could he do it? For, once done, there could be no turning back for a man of honour. If he proposed to Miss Belmont, he would go through with the wedding.
But he loved Maggie. And what honour was there in marrying a woman without love, knowing his heart belonged elsewhere? His mind was filled with Maggie, it was all he could do not to think of her in every waking moment, not to dream of her each night. He wanted to marry Maggie, but doing so was a dangerous move, one which might find him locked away for the rest of his life. Yet what was his life without her?
He dressed by himself, not bothering with a cravat, leaving his collar loose, pulling on his waistcoat and breeches, his boots, deciding to forgo his jacket; the day would already be warm, and the horses would not care if he were not properly dressed. He ran down the stairs and out of the house, startling a housemaid and one of the gardeners along the way. At the stables, there were only a couple of grooms about, the stableyard quiet.
Merlin whinnied at the sight of him.
“Hello, my boy. How are you this morning?” Edward made his way to the storage room and scooped up a bucket of oats, which he took back to the horse, who nibbled a few handfuls. Edward offered some to Lacey, boxed alongside Merlin, who snuffled eagerly in his palm, polishing off the rest of the oats.
“All gone,” he said, showing both of them the empty bucket. “Enough for one morning, I think.”
He stroked Merlin’s delicate ears, then leant his face against the horse’s forehead. “Why can’t it be easier?” he asked out loud. “Every time I think I have made a decision I feel I have failed.” He sighed, raised his head again and patted Merlin’s neck. “You’re a good listener. I had better be getting back now. Perhaps we shall ride later.”
He turned to find that Old John was leaning on the stable door, watching him.
“Us servants used to talk about you, when you was a little lad,” he said, without any kind of greeting.
Edward couldn’t help stiffening. “How unlike my father and older brother I was?” he asked, trying to keep the tightness out of his voice.
“Aye.”
Edward didn’t reply. He was fond of Old John, but he didn’t want to hear this now, the repetition of everything he already knew and feared about himself. That he was unfit to be a duke, how much more suited to the role his father and brother had been, both large, loud, commanding…
“We used to say ‘twas a shame you weren’t firstborn.”
Edward blinked. “What?”
Old John gave him a slow smile. “We used to say how you’d make a right good duke. That you was kind-hearted and loyal, that you looked out for people on the estate and were good to them when you could be, even as a little lad, that you were gentle with animals.”
“But my father –”
“Was a bully. And your brother headstrong and thoughtless, God rest both their souls. Your father ruled with an iron fist inside and out and your brother barely thought about this place at all, only wanted the fun of being rich and handsome, didn’t want to bother with the duties that come with being master of Atherton Park.”
Edward stared at him, speechless.
“You’ll be thinking I’ve overstepped my place, speaking so forthright. But I’m an old man, you can turn me out if you wish, I’ve served my time now. My daughter would take me in. But I thought, the young Duke don’t know himself yet. He do be staring in the wrong looking glass. All he can see is his father and his brother and that’s what he thinks a duke is. Perhaps it would ease his mind to know how others saw him. How his servants see him.” He straightened up, looking Edward directly in the eye. “You’re a good man, Your Grace. A right good duke. The past is gone now. You needn’t fear the future, ‘cos you’ll do well. You’ll have to learn a lot, but you’ve got a good heart. And no-one can do better than a man with a good heart.”
Edward had a sudden powerful urge to weep, to throw his arms about Old John and thank him. The old man had gazed into his very soul and seen all his most secret fears and swept them away with his stable broom, to float away on the wind as though they were nothing but chaff, lighter than air rather than heavy burdens. He swallowed and held out his hand. “Thank you,” he said, voice gruff. He did not trust himself to say more, but Old John’s eyes creased into a smile and his hand was warm and firm in Edward’s clasp.
“You’re welcome, Your Grace. Now, will you be wanting to ride out?”
“No,” said Edward. “No, I have something else I need to do.”
Old John watched him go, striding from the yard, and nodded. “Good lad,” he murmured to himself. “Good lad.”