Page 10 of Debtor’s Daughter (Wicked Sons #11)
Georgette stared at her reflection in the looking glass. Her hair, once glossy and a rich chestnut, now appeared a dingy mud colour, her eyes obscured by spectacles. Surely, in this guise, she would be safe, and no one would recognise her.
Excitement rose in her breast, the future before her suddenly full of possibilities. She had thwarted her grandfather’s scheme to marry her off and now she was free. The vile Lord Hanover could find another poor little heiress to marry, for it would never be her.
―Excerpt from ‘His Grace and Disfavour’, by an anonymous author.
3 rd October 1850, Montagu House, St James’s, London.
“—and then I discovered he was haunting the cuckoo clock he gave me,” Aunt Connie said with a tragic sigh.
Maggie groaned inwardly and closed her eyes. Well, this was it. If Lady Montagu decided they were too peculiar for her to wish to be associated with, they would know shortly. Gingerly opening her eyes, she discovered Lady Montagu did not look the least bit dismayed by this unusual confidence, however, but intrigued.
“How fascinating. I wish I could introduce you to our old housekeeper, but she is very elderly now and prefers to stay at home. But she is—well, I suppose one would say a wise woman,” Lady Montagu said with a smile. “And the things I have seen her do would open your eyes to a great many possibilities about life and about feminine power and… oh, a host of things. I certainly do not dismiss the possibility of ghosts, and why not the cuckoo clock, if it was his only connection to the woman he loved? It’s terribly romantic, though such a sad tale. I am so sorry for your loss,” she said, reaching over to pat Connie’s hand.
“Thank you, my lady. I felt sure you would understand. I said to Maggie just this morning that I sensed you were a woman who is in touch with the other side.” Connie mouthed these last words as if they were too powerful to speak aloud.
“Well, I cannot say as to that,” Lady Montagu replied thoughtfully. “I have never had such interactions personally. Truthfully, I believe I am rather afraid of the possibility. For it is one thing to allow that such things exist, but quite another to invite them into your life.”
“Would you not like to attend a séance, then?” Connie persisted.
“That would be a little difficult, I fear, even if I did, which I am not at all certain of. But so many of those who purport to have such talents are charlatans; it is terribly hard to discover someone who truly has the gift. My husband is rather protective of me, I’m afraid, and he would not like me mixing with anyone if he did not trust their motives were genuine.”
“A pity,” Connie said with a frown, but before she could persuade Lady Montagu into accompanying her to some dodgy séance, the door opened, and Miss Barrington appeared with Gideon in tow.
He was still gazing at his companion with a look that bordered upon worshipful, but he looked relatively clean, and though Maggie discerned a jam stain on his previously pristine sailor suit, she sighed with relief. The two children were obviously still friends, and nothing had been torn or ruined beyond saving.
“Ah! Tilly, darling, come and give me a kiss,” Lady Montagu said eagerly, holding her arms open for Tilly to run into. “And who is this handsome fellow?”
“This is Master Gideon,” Miss Barrington replied, kissing her grandmother on the cheek. “But he prefers to be called Giddy,” she added with a giggle.
“Mama!” Giddy said, running to hug her. “We had cake!”
“And so did we,” Maggie said, laughing and tweaking his nose. “Aren’t we all lucky?”
“What cake you had, Mama?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered. “Make your bow to Lady Montagu now, just like we practised.”
Maggie gave her son a gentle push, and he stepped forward. “Good day, lady,” he said solemnly and gave a very low bow.
“Nicely done, Master Gideon,” Lady Montagu said, smiling warmly at him. “What a fine gentleman you are.”
“Fanks,” Gideon replied, and ran back to bury his face in his mother’s skirts.
“He’s adorable,” Lady Montagu said, laughing, before turning back to her granddaughter. “Did you have a nice time?”
“Yes. He’s very funny, and he certainly loves cake,” Miss Barrington said, grinning.
Everyone, certainly Gideon, deemed the visit a splendid success, and when Mr Weston returned, they said their goodbyes. Once settled in the carriage, everyone had something to say.
“So much cake!”
“—and did I not say we had a connection? She is certainly as spiritual as I believed.”
“—and Lady Montagu is sending her own modiste to our home, to measure me and begin work on my gown for my presentation at court!”
Maggie laughed and nodded and tried to speak to everyone at once, relieved and delighted that they were all in such high spirits. She looked up, a little disconcerted to discover Mr Weston watching her. He was the only one who had not spoken, and she felt the strangest sensation as his eyes met hers. Warmth surged beneath her skin, and an odd, ticklish sensation fluttered inside her. She smiled at him uncertainly.
“Did you have a pleasant visit with Lord Montagu?” she asked him.
“Thank you, yes. He sent his apologies for not coming to meet you, by the way. He’s rather busy this morning, and I was lucky he made time for me.”
“He’s an important man, and one who takes his responsibilities seriously, from what people say.”
“Certainly that,” Mr Weston replied with a smile, but he seemed distracted and not in the mood for conversation, so Maggie let the subject drop.
Instead, she listened to Connie, Caro, and Gideon chattering about the splendid time they’d had, and turned her gaze to the view passing them by. How different London was from home, and how she missed the manor. By now, the leaves would be changing colour in the woodland that bordered the estate, a riot of gold and yellow, red and orange, and there would be the scent of wood smoke from the many chimneys. Their parlour was the cosiest room imaginable, filled with old, well-loved furniture, covered in cushions, and woollen rugs to snuggle into on the coldest nights. They would sometimes roast chestnuts on the fire of an evening, and the kitchen always smelled of fresh bread. The sound of her father’s laughter and the scent of his cigars were never far away, and her mare, Starlight, would nicker a greeting when Maggie came to see her. That she would never hear her father laugh again, and that her beloved horse was in the hands of a man who might not be kind to her made sudden tears spring to her eyes.
Maggie blinked hard, nostalgia and longing filling her heart. She knew it was normal to feel such sadness, but it seemed ungrateful when she had so much to be thankful for. She’d had a splendid morning, visiting a marchioness of all people. Caro was to have the come out she’d always dreamed of, and even Auntie Connie seemed content. Surely, she had no business feeling homesick and so very sorry for herself. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the feeling away, reminding herself that Wallace and Mrs Goodall were with them now and she had many reasons to be cheerful in the light of such good fortune. Yet when she looked up again, she found Mr Weston’s gaze upon her once more, such sympathy in his expression that her throat tightened all over again.
“How is Mrs Goodall settling in? Did you have a splendid breakfast this morning?” Caro asked Mr Weston, which relieved Maggie as it took his attention from her.
“So splendid I fear I will need a new wardrobe in a matter of weeks. I think she believes I need feeding up in the manner of a Christmas goose,” he replied ruefully.
“Mrs Goodall does like to see people eat well,” Aunt Connie replied with a smile. “Oh, you must get her to make you her plum duff. It’s the most heavenly thing you’ll ever eat.”
“I shall, indeed, and to answer your question, she seems very pleased.”
“Does she? Truly?” Maggie asked anxiously. “I feared it might be something of a comedown for her to be a mere cook when she’s been our housekeeper for so long.”
“I think she is so relieved to be near you all, she’d take a position as a kitchen maid if it were necessary.”
“Dearest Goody,” Caro said with a sigh. “And Wallace too. I have missed them so much. They really are like family to us, aren’t they, Maggie?”
Maggie nodded but said nothing, fearing her emotions were too close to the surface and she might embarrass herself. Gentlemen did not like weeping women, that much she knew, and she did not wish to make Mr Weston ill at ease.
Still, she felt him watching her but dared not look up again for fear she was correct. What might her foolish heart make of this circumstance if she was, and what if she was wrong and it was lovely Caro he gazed upon with rapt admiration? What then?
So she avoided his eye until they had turned onto Berwick street and was startled when he addressed her directly.
“Mrs Finchley, am I to take it that you and the Misses Merrivale have as yet seen nothing of the sights of this fair city?”
Maggie hesitated but could only answer honestly. “No, sir. We have not.”
“Might I be so bold as to invite you ladies to take a little outing with me? Tomorrow if the weather remains fair. We could do a little shopping on Regent Street, and perhaps then go to the Parthenon Bazaar?”
“Oh!” Caro exclaimed. “Oh, Maggie, may we go? Please?”
“Why, that does sound rather marvellous,” Aunt Connie said, her eyes alight with anticipation for such a treat. “What say you, Maggie?”
Maggie stared back at them, unwilling to be the one to spoil their fun, and yet she turned back to Mr Weston with concern. “Are you quite certain you wish to? That you can spare the time? I fear we have been a dreadful trial to you already.”
“Not a bit of it,” he said, sounding so genuine she had no reason to doubt him. “It will be a pleasure to see the places I know so well through your eyes, and I shall look forward to it.”
“Well then. If you are quite certain, we should be glad to accept.”
Caro squealed with excitement. “Oh, thank you, Mr Weston! I have heard so much about the bazaar and longed to go.”
“You are most welcome, Miss Caroline. Indeed, it is worth it just to see your beautiful smile.”
Maggie’s heart sank at his words, and she scolded herself for a fool. This was why he bore with them, with her, so that he could further his interests with Caro. Of course it was. Why would he look at her, a widow with a son already, when her younger, far more beautiful sister was at hand. This was a wonderful development, she reminded herself and told herself she ought to be glad of it for Caro’s sake.
She only hoped that, if he was serious about her sister, he would hurry the courtship along, so she was not forced to watch it unfold before her eyes for months and months to come. Whilst she could not resent Caro for her good fortune, she was not so generous that she wished to watch the two of them fall in love. For it was plain to her now, despite all her best intentions, that she harboured some foolish feelings for Mr Weston: inappropriate, inconvenient, and very ill-timed feelings. But there it was. Admitting it to herself was hard, as it was far easier to bury her head in the sand and pretend otherwise, but she had never been one to run away from the truth. He was thoroughly splendid, handsome and kind and funny and talented and, whenever she saw him, it was as though the world became brighter and more colourful than it ever had before.
But even if Caro had not been the one, she knew better than to think he would choose her . It was simply his innate kindness that drove him to help them all and his desire to spend more time with Caro, and she would do well to remember that.
Maggie was sitting at her dressing table applying her night cream when Caro cracked open her bedroom door.
“Can I get into your bed? It’s freezing!” she exclaimed, running across the bare wood floor on tiptoes and leaping onto the mattress.
Maggie watched, amused, as Caro burrowed under the covers and pulled them up to her neck. She looked so very young, her hair all tied up in rags to make it curl, her lovely features gilded by the candlelight.
“Wasn’t it a marvellous day?” Caro said with a sigh.
“Marvellous,” Maggie agreed, smoothing the cream into her neck.
“Lady Montagu was very kind, wasn’t she? And so sweet to Auntie. I admit I was holding my breath when she explained about Cecil. People have been so cruel to her in the past, I was simply quaking in case the lady took exception to her eccentricities, but she was simply wonderful.”
“She was indeed, and she looked genuinely interested too, not just politely going along with her,” Maggie said, putting the lid back on her cream pot before slipping under the covers beside her sister.
“Do you think her son is as kind as she is?” Caro asked tentatively.
“Caro,” Maggie said, smiling at her. “Love, don’t go getting ideas about Lord Ashburton. I know he is very handsome and that he has piqued your interest, but he’s heir to a vast and powerful inheritance. I’m afraid even a girl as lovely as you is unlikely to capture him. People of that station rarely marry for love, though I grant you his parents did. Still, he’ll be looking for a powerful alliance, I don’t doubt.”
Caro rolled her eyes. “Oh, Maggie. I wish you would not take everything so seriously. I’m not planning on throwing my cap at him. He’s just so beautiful and—” She sighed, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
“But what of Mr Weston?” Maggie asked, smoothing the bedsheets with her hands and not looking directly at her sister.
“What of him?”
“You thought he was handsome too, did you not?”
“No, you did,” Caro said, looking sulky now. “I mean, yes, he is handsome, but he’s not someone I’d like to marry.”
“B-But whyever not?” Maggie said, genuinely outraged, for she could think of no finer man than Mr Weston, who was the kindest and most caring man, not to mention gloriously handsome and athletic and funny, and intelligent too. “Has he not shown you how worthy he is of your admiration? He has done everything he can to help us, to make the way easy for us and—”
“Oh, drat Mr Weston,” Caro said crossly. “I do esteem him and like him very much, and he has been most kind to us all, but I shan’t marry him. He’s too old, for one thing.”
“But I’m certain Lord Ashburton is the same age as he is, and you said—”
“Oh, Maggie!” Caro exclaimed, throwing back the bedcovers and getting out. “I just came for a bit of a gossip with my sister, to laugh and exchange silly nonsense about a handsome fellow I saw today. I know I must marry, for you’ve explained over and over that there is no other choice if I want to have a life of my own and be safe, but I can you not understand that I don’t want to ! I don’t want to marry anyone yet! Not Mr Weston and not Lord Ashburton. I want to go home to the manor and go back to our lives, that’s what I want, but I cannot and whether or not I know it to be true, it’s still not fair!”
With that, Caro went out, slamming the door behind her.
Maggie stared at the door for a moment and then put her head in her hands, her throat tight and her eyes burning. She breathed steadily, trying to calm herself. Caro was right, it wasn’t fair, but what else could they do, any of them? They could not impose upon Lady Montagu for a second season, and even if they could, by then they would all need new wardrobes, something Maggie could not possibly pay for. The London house was the best they could afford in a genteel neighbourhood that would not make them look too shabby, but it was shockingly expensive. Papa had outfitted them all splendidly for the year, as he always had, though after his death she’d discovered he had not been able to afford it, as the bailiffs had quickly come knocking. But next year, their gowns would be out of fashion and the little nest egg Maggie had put aside all gone. Only hers and her aunt’s income would support them all, and they would not be able to remain in this house beyond the summer, as small as it was compared to the manor.
A soft knock at the door heralded Aunt Connie, who took one look at her and bustled in.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, the voluminous fabric of her nightgown fluttering with dozens of pink ribbons and lace frills as she hurried around the bed. “There, there, Maggie, darling. As soon as I heard that door slam and Caro’s raised voice, I knew you were getting yourself into a tizzy, fretting yourself to death over every little thing. You cannot control our fates, love, but I’m certain Cecil is looking after us. All will be well, I promise you.”
“Oh, but how can you promise?” Maggie said, more startled by her aunt’s perspicacity than her certainty that Cecil was keeping them safe, which was nothing new. Still, it was nice to cossetted and Maggie could not help but give into the tears that seemed always too close to the surface of late. “I knew it from the start, but I fear Caro is simply too young to marry. If she cannot see that Mr Weston is the best chance she has for happiness, then I despair of her.”
Her aunt gave her an enigmatic smile and stroked her hair. “I know just how you feel, darling,” she said with a touch of amusement. “But Cecil is certain it will all come right, and I believe him. You’ll see.”
“But what are we to do? All this is to launch Caro into society so that she can find a husband. She has this one chance, auntie, only one! Whether or not it is fair does not come into it. We simply cannot afford to keep her clothed as well as she ought to be, not to mention feeding us all, on top of the cost of rent and all the staff, and Giddy is growing like a weed and wearing through clothes at such a rate—”
“I know, love, but it is only October. The season does not begin until February, and that is a lifetime when one is only eighteen. Let us see what the coming months bring. We have Christmas to look forward to, remember, and you know how much you enjoy that now that Gideon is old enough to get excited about it.”
“Yes,” Maggie said, wiping her eyes. “But we all ought to be at the manor for Christmas. All our little traditions are impossible here. We can’t go gathering holly and ivy on Regent Street, can we!”
“Now, now, pet. You’re becoming overwrought,” Connie said sternly.
Maggie sniffed and nodded. “I am. I know it. I’m an ungrateful wretch who has not the good sense to realise how lucky she is. Forgive me, Auntie. I beg your pardon for being such a trial.”
“Goodness, Maggie, you are not a trial. We are the trial, as we all know. We all look to you, expecting you to put things right, to know just what to do and how and when, and you have always done so, but it is a strain on your nerves, anyone can see that. My brother was a dear man, and we all miss him despite the trouble he has brought down upon us, but I think his death has been hardest on you, so soon after losing William, and with a lively son to care for too. Now, stop being so hard upon yourself and do stop fretting. We have a lovely outing promised tomorrow, so let us just look forward to that and let the future take care of itself for now. I promise you it will.”
“Yes, Auntie,” Maggie said too weary to object, laying back against the pillows.
“There’s a good girl,” Connie said soothingly, pulling the covers up and smoothing them out. “Night, night, dearest. I’ll see you in the morning.”