Page 5 of Lady for a Season (Regency Outsiders)

Chapter 2 The Midnight Carriage

M aggie woke with a start to hear Edward shouting. Of late, the nightmares had been both less violent and less frequent, but this one sounded worse than usual, and she hurried towards the door, grabbing at the lamp, fumbling for the catch. But as she opened the door, she let out a scream herself, for in the dim light of the corridor Edward was being manhandled down the stairs by two men, who had him gripped by an arm on either side.

“MAGGIE!”

“Edward!” Panic seized her, she ran down the first few stairs to catch up with them and grabbed at him, but one of the men holding him used his other arm to shove her backwards, so that she fell back onto her behind. By the time she had regained her feet they were already forcing him through the front door, even though he struggled in their grip and shouted again.

“MAGGIE! HELP ME!”

“I am coming!” she cried out. “ELIZA! AGNES!”

Eliza and Agnes burst out of their room and ran down the stairs behind her, all three rushed through the door where, in the shadowy moonlight, Edward was being forced, struggling, into a large carriage pulled by four horses. The door slammed shut as Maggie grabbed at the arm of one of the men.

The man turned and Maggie gasped and stepped back in surprise, his skin was black, she saw, so that the whites of his eyes shone in the uncertain light.

“What are you doing to Edward?”

“I am taking His – him – home,” said the man.

“This is his home!”

“To his true home,” said the man, pushing Maggie away, not roughly but firmly. “Step away, girl.”

“I am his companion; I look after him! You cannot take him away without Doctor Morrison’s permission.”

“You need not fear for him. He will be taken care of.”

“But – you cannot simply take him, he is not well, he is –”

“Unwell, I know.” He stepped up onto the carriage, taking his place by the impervious driver.

Maggie pulled at the carriage door, but she did not know how it fastened and in the shadows her fingers were clumsy. Edward’s pale face pressed against the window, his eyes wide with fear. He shouted again to her, voice now muffled by the barrier between them.

“Maggie!”

“Let him out!” she screamed at the men. “Help me!” she cried to Eliza and Agnes, but they hung back, scared.

“Move,” said the man and the driver beside him brought down the whip.

Maggie reached up and grabbed at the dark man’s arm as the carriage wheels began to roll, but he tugged sharply away from her, and the button of his sleeve came off in her hand. She stumbled backwards and then the carriage was gaining speed, and even as she ran after it, she knew it was too late. Edward shouted something but she could not make out the words.

The carriage was gone.

Maggie stood shaking in the dim light as the sound of the hooves and Edward’s shouts faded away.

“You’ve got nothing on your feet,” said Agnes at last, her voice cowed.

Maggie stared down at her bare feet, cold and muddy from the lane.

“Come back inside,” said Eliza more practically, putting an arm about Maggie’s trembling shoulders. “There’s nothing we can do for now. The Doctor will tell us what’s what.”

Maggie allowed herself to be led back into the cottage, where Eliza lit candles and lamps and Agnes brought a basin and a rag to clean the soles of her feet, one of which was cut and bleeding.

“I’ll get a clean rag to wrap it,” said Eliza.

Maggie could barely feel the cut. Slowly, she opened her hand and looked down at the silver button lying in it. On its polished surface were an acorn and a bulrush, their stems bound together with a coronet.

“What is it?” asked Agnes, leaning forward to look at it.

Eliza bustled back and knelt to wrap a clean strip of cloth round Maggie’s foot. “That’s a livery button, that is,” she said.

“A livery button?”

“Grand families have their manservants wear livery with their coat of arms on the buttons.”

They all peered at the acorn and the bulrush, the tiny coronet. “Whose livery is it?” asked Maggie.

“Don’t know, never seen that one. There’s the Earl, he’s got a boar on his, and I’ve seen two carriages with coats of arms pass by, one was a stag and one was a spear with waves. Never seen an acorn and a bulrush with a crown.”

“Why would someone kidnap Edward?” Confusion and fear washed over her again. “They took him without his shoes, just grabbed him and forced him into the carriage. What will the Doctor say?”

“We didn’t have no say in the matter,” said Eliza, sitting back on her heels. “Two men against us womenfolk, we couldn’t have fought them, now, could we? The Doctor will have to make enquiries. You can show him that button. We’ll send word at first light with Walter. He’ll drive into town and leave a message for the Doctor to come at once. You can write, can’t you?”

Maggie nodded. The three of them made their way into the parlour where Maggie took down the paper and quill pen and carefully opened the ink, then wrote in the neat script she had been taught:

To Doctor Morrison

Sir,

A carriage and two strong men came for Edward in the middle of the night and did not tell us where he was to be taken and being only women, we were unable to stop them. One of the men wore this button. Please send word of how to proceed.

Yours respectfully,

Maggie, Eliza, Agnes

As soon as it was light, Agnes was dispatched to Walter’s house to deliver the letter, which had been neatly folded up and contained the livery button, with instructions that he should ride into town and take it to Doctor Morrison at once. He was to put the letter only into his hand, for Maggie knew that discretion would be important. The doctor would not want anyone knowing his business and that would surely include his patient being taken away in the dead of night, with no warning or explanation.

But the letter Walter returned with late that morning did not give them much comfort.

Edward has returned to his family. You will remain at Ivy Cottage to await my further instructions. A new patient will join you within a few weeks.

Eliza and Agnes seemed consoled by the note when Maggie read it to them, going about their daily chores as though nothing had changed. But Maggie wandered from room to room and all around the garden, even down to the stream and back, several times that day. Waiting for another patient seemed impossible to her – that she should forget all about Edward, ask no questions as to his wellbeing or whereabouts, only accept that he was gone and another put in his place as though one man or another were the same – how could she do so? She thought of his shouts, his frightened face, how he had reached out to her and called her name. Returning to his room, which contained the scent of him, she ran her hand over his bedlinen, seeing his shoes, which had been left behind. Wherever he was now, he was barefoot. Where was he at this moment? Were people being kind to him? And why? Why had Edward been taken away?

She slept fitfully that night and the next, waking often, thinking there was hammering at the door or that she heard Edward shout, lying in the dark room, hearing Eliza and Agnes’ breathing, unable to sleep for worrying about Edward.

She tried to remember every detail that might help her understand what had happened. He had been at Ivy Cottage for eight years, had come there from a school. He was twenty-two and therefore of age yet was still kept here. He seemed sane enough to her, apart from a few oddities, such as his fear of horses and the nightmares. She thought of his height, his deep blue eyes, his refined features. The lady visitors at the Hospital would surely have given him sweets had he been a child there, for he was more handsome than any man Maggie had ever seen. But broken and sent away from his family, into the clutches of Doctor Morrison.

Where was he? Back in his true home, the man had said, but where was that, what did it mean? If he had a family somewhere, why had they now taken him back? And without warning? At midnight in a carriage none of them had ever seen before?

Where was Edward now?

Edward gazed around in despair. The room was large but dusty, clearly the maids no longer cared much for it since it no longer had a purpose. There were holland covers over a few items but otherwise it was as before, one of the few places in the house he remembered with any fondness. He had run up the stairs to it after escaping from her. But his mother had followed him.

“You will take up your rightful rooms at once.”

“I will not. I will stay here.”

“You cannot possibly stay here. The servants will talk.”

“Let them.”

“If they talk, you will end up back in that… place.”

“Good. Send me back there.”

She stared at him in horror. “You cannot. You must take up your rightful place now that he – that they – are gone.”

It was unthinkable, what she was asking of him. It was impossible, what had happened. Not one, but both of them gone. He could not comprehend it, could not make it seem true. He kept expecting one of them to appear and yet the house was silent, no stamping of boots, no raised voices. She was all alone and she had sent for him, was asking for him to… it was impossible. He paced the room in his stockinged feet, back and forth, back and forth, under her anxious gaze.

“Where did you even tell everyone I was?”

“At school.”

“I am twenty-two years of age!”

“University. Then travelling.”

“One lie after another.”

“Would you have preferred we told the truth of what you are?”

“A lunatic, you mean?” he asked and she flinched at the word. “There is no pretty word for it.”

“You are... afflicted… with a... melancholic disposition…”

“So afflicted that you have had me in the care of a physician for the last eight years who specialises in the care of lunatics. Locked into a cottage and its garden, unable to go anywhere else, on the threat of being put into a harsher institution.”

“We did what we thought was best.”

“And now you need me and so… I am no longer mad? Am I cured, do you think?

“You… the title, the estate…”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Ah, of course. The title and the estate. Heaven forbid we lose those.”

“If you can only –”

“What? Play the part of a sane man long enough?”

She was silent.

He shook his head and laughed again, but it had a sob within it. “Oh, that is what you wanted. I must play a part. I must not fail or –”

“If you were married, if there were an heir…”

He stopped pacing and stared at her. “Married?”

“It would secure…”

He sat down in the window seat, legs suddenly weak under him, stared out over the gardens he had not seen in eight years. “I must play a part long enough to marry and sire an heir and then what? I can be safely locked away again?”

“If you marry and sire an heir, the title and the estate will be safe and you… if you feel able to take your place, you could…”

“Be free?”

Silence.

“You are allowing me a chance to escape my gaol? If I can do what you ask, if I can fool everyone, if I can behave myself well enough, then perhaps I will be allowed to remain free? Is that what this offer is?”

She looked down.

“I will take that as your assent.”

“Then you will do it?”

“I have one request.”

“Anything.”

“I need Maggie here.”

“Who?”

“Maggie. She is at Ivy Cottage. Bring her here.”

“We cannot have someone here who knows –”

“I cannot do this without her.”

“Why?”

He could think of many reasons, but one above all. “Because she is the only person who cares for me.”

“She –”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I cannot do any of what you are asking without her.” His voice cracked and his eyes welled up despite himself. “Bring her to me or I will truly run mad.” He felt his breathing grow rapid, so that he was panting, a dizziness creeping over him.

She took a step backwards.

“Send for Maggie,” he repeated, turning his back on her so that she might not see the tear that was rolling down his face. “I will not leave this room until you do.”

He heard the swishing silk of her skirts as she left the room. Would she send for Doctor Morrison, to have him locked away again? Or for Maggie, to set him free? He leant against the cold wall, touched the peeling paper. Could he do it, even with Maggie by his side? Could he do what was being asked of him, after eight years locked away? He did not know, yet he had to try. This was the first time he had been offered a chance to escape, to reach out for a different life, to be free of the word he had been tarred with.

Lunatic.

Could he escape that word now? It might be his only chance, but without Maggie, he would fail. He needed her strength to find his own.

He needed her here.

Maggie woke again and heard the clock strike midnight, turned over in her bed, listening to the soft sleeping noises from Eliza and Agnes. Her mind would not be still. Edward, Edward, Edward. It was all she could think of.

A hammering at the door. She was sure of it. And yet she had imagined it so many times now it could not be true.

But it came again and she sat bolt upright, clutching at her blanket, Agnes and Eliza stirring beside her. She rose to look out of the tiny window and there it was again, the midnight carriage and its four horses, the stolid driver.

She ran down the stairs, opened the door, stared up into the dark man’s face. The same man who had taken Edward.

“Are you Maggie?”

“Yes.”

“You must come with me.”

“Why?”

“He is asking for you.”

“Edward?”

“Yes.”

“Is he safe?”

“Yes. But he has been asking for you and I have been sent to fetch you.”

Maggie’s heart hurt at the idea that Edward had wanted her at his side and she had not been there, that he had been all alone. She would go to him at once, she would go to – “Where are we going?”

“To Buckinghamshire.”

Maggie vaguely knew her counties; geography had not been much taught at the Hospital but there had been a map on the wall. She could picture Buckinghamshire, a county closer to London than where they were now. They must have travelled through it on their way to Ivy Cottage.

“Is that his home? Or a – a hospital?” What if it were somewhere like Bedlam, a place full of lunatics, some of them dangerous, not like gentle Edward?

“It is his home.”

“Am I to care for him there?”

“I have only been told to fetch you.”

She did not like the way he refused to answer questions fully. “Why have you come at night?”

“For discretion.”

Maggie hesitated. It was madness to step into a carriage at night with two unknown men, to go somewhere, she knew not where, only that it was in Buckinghamshire. But if Edward was there, if he had asked for her repeatedly… the thought of him, desperate, asking for her repeatedly, made up her mind in an instant.

“I need to pack my things. Tell Eliza and Agnes –”

“There is no time. Dress. Tell no one. Leave everything. More clothes will be provided.”

She turned away without speaking and made her way back upstairs. Softly, she took her clothes and shoes, dressed in the darkness, fumbling with her laces, feeling about her for her coat. She thought of the Bible and the letter she had been given, her spare clothes, but she had been told to take nothing and so she came back down the stairs and addressed the man still standing on the threshold.

“You swear you are taking me to Edward?”

He nodded, turned and opened the carriage door, pulling out small steps. Inside a low lamp was burning. “We’ll be there by dawn,” he said. He held out a hand to help her in, but Maggie shrank away from his touch and climbed in by herself. He closed the steps and then the door. The carriage rocked as he took his place beside the driver, then jolted as it moved forwards. Maggie pressed her face against the window, but already Ivy Cottage was swallowed up in the gloom, the horses gathering speed. Her face rocked into the glass like a cold slap. She sat back and looked around.

The low light of the lamp showed an interior that put Doctor Morrison’s carriage to shame. She was sitting on vast soft cushions, made of a sumptuous velvet in a rich dark colour, perhaps a dark blue, although it was hard to be sure in the dim light. The roof was covered with elaborate pleats of the same velvet, drawn towards a circle outlined in silver scrolls. At the centre, the image she recalled from the man’s livery button: the acorn and bulrush, bound by a coronet, in silver. Swagged curtains framed the windows; a dangling tassel might summon a servant from the driving seat. Maggie edged away from it. On the seat opposite her was a thick woollen blanket, soft when she touched it. At first, she did not use it, but despite her coat she was cold and eventually she wrapped it about her, bringing instant warmth.

The carriage rocked onwards. Maggie could see little out of the window. For a while she felt nauseous, from the rocking of the vehicle or from fear or both. But after some time the warmth of the blanket, the endless motion and her tiredness from three nights of broken sleep made her lean back against the thickly padded backrest, drowsiness overcoming her. She slept.

She half-woke when they pulled into the dimly lit stable yard of a coaching inn, felt the carriage jolt as fresh horses were harnessed to the carriage. The change happened twice more, and each time Maggie peered about for signs of where they were. In one yard a boy pressed his face against the glass to look in and was cuffed round the head by an unseen man for his insolence. They were always gone again in a short space of time, pulling away from each inn and back onto the roads, Maggie dozing again as they drove on into the night.

In the cold light of an early dawn, she woke with a dry mouth and bleary eyes, limbs stiff with cold. Pressing her face against the window she saw ornate gold and black gates swinging open, the wheels crunching on fresh gravel through an endless avenue of towering trees lining a well-kept road. Maggie pushed at the window to open it. Cold air struck her, but now she could lean out and what she saw ahead left her open mouthed.

A vast building, set amidst gardens and grounds. A castle-like facade, with two turrets and a wooden door large enough to drive a carriage through. She had barely taken it in when the carriage swept round in an arc, forcing her to lean to one side to keep her balance, and then stopped.

A lurch and a crunch of gravel as the man jumped down and came to the door, opening it. He folded down the steps and held out his hand and this time Maggie took it, stepped down, her limbs protesting.

“Welcome to Atherton Park,” said the man. He turned to the driver. “To the stables,” he said, and the carriage pulled away, disappearing round the corner of the vast building. “Follow me,” he added to Maggie, and strode away from her, rounding the side of the building, away from the vast front door. Maggie stumbled after him, limbs heavy and clumsy.

“Wait,” she said.

The man turned. Up close, now that there was more light, she saw that his skin was not really black, but dark brown, his eyes also a deep brown. He was dressed in a rich blue velvet that matched the interior of the carriage, the jacket heavy with silver frogging, his buttons shining.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Joseph,” he said.

“Whose livery is it you wear?” she asked, expecting him not to answer

“Buckingham.”

This meant nothing to her. They were in Buckinghamshire; he had told her that much. He had already turned away, was walking down the side of the building till he came to a smaller door, on which he rapped smartly. It was opened at once by a boy in matching livery, who bobbed his head at Joseph and gaped at Maggie.

“Less of your staring,” said Joseph. “Go tell Mrs Barton I’m back. Come,” he added to Maggie.

He walked briskly through a vast empty corridor, the flooring a dark timber, the walls painted a pale greeny-blue and hung with stern portraits of grand men and women, all of them with expressions of superiority. Hurrying after him, Maggie saw a white ceiling intricately moulded with swirls and highlighted in gold leaf above her.

They came to one staircase and another, everywhere decorated with grandeur like the Governors’ ‘court’ room at the Hospital, the walls painted or papered, gold touches everywhere and sweeping staircases, making Maggie feel small and lost. If Joseph were to leave her here, she would not even be able to find her way out.

They came to a smaller staircase and a corridor, less grand than those lower down in the house, although there was still a dizzying array of doors. Joseph stopped outside one and gestured Maggie forwards.

“He’s been asking for you day and night,” he said, and opened the door into a dimly lit room.

Maggie almost cried out in relief, for there, on a plain wooden bed, somewhat too short for his long frame, was Edward, asleep in his clothes, the rumpled sheets and blankets suggesting that he had slept but restlessly, a lamp burning low on a table. She advanced into the room on tiptoe so as not to waken him, looking about her in curiosity.

It was a room for children, a nursery, for there was a globe and a blackboard, dusty but still with faint marks of long-ago chalk. She could see another bed through an open door, also too small for a grown man. The green curtains were faded and the room, although large, felt neglected, as though its occupants had long gone.

“Does he – is he – is this his home?” she whispered.

Joseph nodded silently.

Maggie had known so little about Edward, she now realised. He came from a grand family, a rich family and yet… “Isn’t this a nursery?”

“He would not go to the rooms set aside for him.”

Maggie saw a stool in a corner of the room and took it, placed it by Edward’s head and settled herself, waiting for him to awaken. The blanket had fallen from his shoulder, and she pulled it up to keep him warm. When she looked over her shoulder Joseph was watching her.

“Are you thirsty?”

She realised, suddenly, that her mouth was very dry, she was indeed thirsty. “Yes. Is there some water?”

“I will fetch some,” he said. “And tea?”

“If it is not too much trouble,” she said, her voice still low, unwilling to wake Edward by speaking too loudly. “Thank you.”

He hesitated, then disappeared from the doorway. She could hear his heels down the corridor, brisk, confident in this house. Her relief at seeing Edward drained from her. Where was she? Some grand house, where Edward, it seemed, belonged, and yet he was sleeping in an abandoned nursery, wearing the same suit he had been taken in, crumpled and sweat-stained. His clothing had been simple, but always clean. Were they not looking after him? Joseph had said Edward had been asking for her and clearly whoever lived here had grown desperate enough to send for her, to send Joseph out again on the long journey, traveling dangerously by night to avoid notice. She gazed down at Edward’s sleeping face, his skin pale, hair tangled on the pillow, one foot uncovered, knees bent to fit in the small bed made for a child.

The fire in the grate was laid but not made and the room was chilly. Maggie looked about for a tinderbox and saw one on a small side table. She lit the fire, kneeling and blowing gently to encourage the flames to take hold. As she finished, she heard fast footsteps again and Joseph appeared in the doorway bearing a tray.

He looked startled at the sight of her on her knees by the fireplace.

“What are you doing?”

“The fire needed lighting.”

He put the tray down. On it were two glasses of water and two bowls of steaming porridge. “Cook sent us this, she’ll send up more when His – when he awakens. I’ve taken most of my meals up here when I’m attending him.”

“You have been attending him?”

“Briefly. Within two days it was clear we’d have to fetch you, or he’d not settle down.” He rubbed his face. “I’ve not had much sleep, this past week.”

“Is Doctor Morrison here?”

He shook his head, seemed for a moment as though he were about to explain further, but closed his mouth.

Maggie made short work of her glass of water, passed Joseph one of the bowls of porridge and took the other for herself. It was thick, hot and well-made and she ate it gratefully. If Edward should awake, she must be ready to care for him.

Edward woke, but kept his eyes shut. Perhaps if he kept his eyes closed long enough, when he opened them, he would be back in Ivy Cottage, but he already knew he was not, knew by the too-small bed that would not fit his long frame, by the fact that he was still in his clothes. His stomach clenched in cold fear at the thought of another day here, another day of being cajoled or coerced, threatened with the imminent arrival of Doctor Morrison when all he wanted was to see Maggie’s face again, her wide eyes, her ready smile, to feel her comforting presence nearby, a friendly face to help him through what he must endure. He had begged for her to be sent for, but who knew whether she would come or whether she would be too scared to do so, whether Doctor Morrison might withhold her? The morning sunshine made the light seem blood-red through his eyelids. He could hear the crackle of the fire and could smell porridge.

“Do you not have clean linen for him?”

Edward’s eyes flew open. Maggie. Sitting by his bed, turned away, towards Joseph, who at once saw that he was awake. The expression on Joseph’s face alerted Maggie, who turned to him.

“Edward!”

Happiness rushed through him. She was here. He was safe. No matter what else happened, she had come, she had come to him.

“Maggie,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from the past few days.

“Edward! Are you well? What happened? Why were you brought here? What is this place?” All her questions came tumbling out in a rush.

Relief washed over him at her concern. He had been right to beg for her, she was the only person he could trust to care for him in this awful new situation. Pulling himself upright in the bed, he pushed back his unkempt hair. “I am well enough; I am glad to see you.”

She returned his smile, then frowned. “But where are we? What are we doing here?”

Joseph cleared his throat. “You must come downstairs with me.”

“Why?”

“I was told to take you there at once, I only brought you here so you could see one another and eat. She’ll be waiting.”

Maggie turned, frowning, to Edward, but he waved one hand at her, his face weary.

“Go.”

Maggie stood to follow Joseph.

“Wait.” Edward gazed at her, miserable. “Promise me you will come back?”

“Of course I will come back,” she protested. “I have not come all this way to run away the moment I leave your side.”

“You have not yet heard what she has to say,” he said.

“Who?”

“My mother.”

Maggie followed Joseph down the first staircase and then another. He showed her into a vast room, lavishly decorated in primrose yellow with ornate furniture, gilded looking glasses and large vases of flowers. Sitting by a fire burning below an elaborate stone mantelpiece, in an imposing velvet armchair, was an older woman. She was dressed in black from head to toe, although even Maggie, ignorant of current fashions, could tell that the dress was silk and expensively made. The woman had Edward’s face, the same vividly blue eyes, the same high cheekbones, but her pale skin was lined, and Maggie was reminded of Edward after Doctor Morrison’s treatments, the same exhaustion showing on an otherwise beautiful face.

The woman stared at Maggie but did not speak. Maggie bobbed a curtsey and stood, uncomfortable under the woman’s scrutiny. There was another woman in the room, standing to one side, neatly dressed in grey. She was older than Maggie, but younger than Edward’s mother, with warm brown eyes and a pleasant face. She gave a small nod when Maggie caught her eye. A servant of some sort.

At last Edward’s mother spoke.

“He has done nothing since he arrived back here but lash out and scream to leave Atherton, to be returned to Ivy Cottage. We have had to confine him to the rooms he has chosen and tell the servants that he is overcome with grief. My maid, Duval here, waited on him while Joseph collected you.” She looked Maggie over, her lip curling with disdain. “Are you his mistress?”

“No!”

“Then what are you to him that he should demand your presence here?”

“I am his companion, ma’am, hired by Doctor Morrison to look after Edward, I –”

“ Edward? You call him Edward?”

Maggie gulped. What had she done wrong? “Is that not his name, ma’am? It is what I was told to call him.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “The man you call Edward is Edward Robert John Atherton, the twelfth Duke of Buckingham. He is the master of Atherton Park. He is addressed as His Grace or to those with whom he is familiar, as Buckingham. I am his mother, the Duchess of Buckingham. You address me as Your Grace.”

A dizziness came over Maggie, whether from tiredness and fear or from this sudden news that Edward, gentle fearful Edward, was a duke. It could not be true. She had known he must be from the gentry, and had guessed, once she had seen this house, that his family must be rich, but a duke? And yet… all the comforts they had enjoyed at Ivy Cottage. A simple cottage in a tiny village and yet there had been feather beds and cream with their porridge, ample supplies of food and fuel, and Doctor Morrison to care for a young man considered mad and sent away from his family… now Maggie understood why there had been no shortage of money, no expense spared in Edward’s treatments, however unpleasant they were.

“But…”

“But what?”

“He has been at Ivy Cottage for years, I was told…”

“He has been there since he was fourteen years old.”

“Then why has he been brought back now? Has Doctor Morrison said he is cured?” For a moment Maggie was hopeful, for after all she had never seen much wrong with Edward, and the doctor’s treatments had only weakened him, not changed his behaviour except to make him quieter and sicker.

“His father and elder brother have died.”

“Both?”

“His father died of an apoplectic fit four months ago and my older son died in a hunting accident more recently. Edward is the only heir. If he does not take up the title, the whole estate will go to a distant cousin. Which cannot be allowed to happen.”

Maggie stayed silent. There was too much information coming at her; she was still trying to imagine Edward as a duke. Would such information make him better or worse? Would the responsibility be too much to bear, would it make him ill again?

The Duchess cleared her throat, then spoke reluctantly, as though what she was suggesting was displeasing to her. “I have an offer for you. We have one social season in which to find Edward a bride and get him married. If we leave it any longer, it will cause gossip. Edward has…” She paused. “Edward has insisted that you be always by his side. Not just at home, though that would be preferable. He wants you to be at all the social occasions he must attend during the season, he says he has not the strength, the – the confidence to partake in them otherwise. Obviously, the Duke of Buckingham cannot be seen to require a nursemaid, people will talk. I have devised a plan. You will stay here, posing as a distant cousin of the family so that you can keep Edward calm without anyone realising you are effectively nursemaid to a lunatic. Once he is safely married off, you will be paid one thousand pounds, and you will leave Atherton Park and never speak of your time here again.” She stared at Maggie. “Do I make myself plain?”

The offer and the sum of money were breathtaking. A thousand pounds would allow Maggie to live comfortably for years. But… “What happens when he is married?”

“He will sire an heir, which will secure the estate and the title for another generation.”

“I meant, what will happen to Edward?”

“He will live here, unless his madness is too obvious, when he will be kept elsewhere, as he was before. The title and the estate will be safe.” She shrugged again and, in that moment, Maggie despised her casualness, as though she were speaking of Edward occasionally taking the sea air or the waters for his health, as and when he chose, not the reality of being locked away from the world, subjected to the torment of Doctor Morrison’s treatments.

“Well?”

Maggie wanted to ask for time to think. Everything was too much, she was still trying to understand all she had been told, but the Duchess was not granting her time to think. Among the thoughts whirling through her mind was the line from the Hospital’s letter to her when she had been sent out into the world: Lying is the beginning of everything that is bad; and a Person used to it is never believed, esteemed or trusted. Maggie felt muddled and uncertain of what exactly she was being asked to do, what would happen, what her assent might lead to. What was most important?

Edward. She would be with Edward, and that was all that mattered for now. She would care for him as she had done at Ivy Cottage. That part, at least, was simple. But she was to pose as a cousin? Pose as a lady? That she could not imagine, but it did not matter for now; all she needed to do was care for Edward. Everything else was unimportant. Even the money, a life-changing sum. She set that thought aside. Perhaps he would be happier with a wife and a child, perhaps it would help him. He might find a woman who was kind and gentle, who could lift his spirits. And if all else failed, Maggie could return with him to Ivy Cottage, or somewhere like it, and life could go on as it had before.

“Yes. I will stay.”

The Duchess took a deep breath, whether of relief or apprehension, Maggie could not tell.

“Very well. Leave me now. You will spend the day upstairs in the nursery. Neither you nor Edward must leave those rooms unless otherwise instructed. Food will be sent up to you. Joseph will attend to you both. I will send for you later today when I have had time to plan. Go.”

Maggie bobbed another curtsey and followed Joseph back to the nursery rooms.

Edward was standing by the window and turned as the door opened, Joseph backing away, leaving them alone. “Did she frighten you off?”

Maggie shook her head. “You asked for me to be by your side while you find a wife,” she said, “and I will be. I will do whatever will help you find happiness.”

“Is that what marriage will do?” he asked in a low voice. “Make me happy? Make me well?”

“I don’t know,” said Maggie. “But it might. If you had a good wife by your side… someone you… love.”

He gave a small unhappy laugh. “I am not sure that is how the ton views marriages. It is a cattle market. Best breeding and most money wins the auction.”

“The ton ? What is that?”

He threw himself down into an armchair, legs under him, shoulders hunched, his old posture. “The rich and powerful. The finest society. The people with whom we shall be forced to spend our days in order to secure a wife my mother and the rest of society deems appropriate to be a duchess. You’ll see when the social season begins.”

“The social season?” All these new words, new meanings, things she had never heard of, which tripped so easily off Edward’s tongue. A world of which she had known nothing at all.

“It is when the ton goes to London and sets up its marriage market. Young ladies are presented at court, available for sale to the highest bidder. Endless balls, picnics, walks, dinners, luncheons, social calls, house parties at estates like this one, until at last everyone is sick of one another and returns to their homes to wait out the summer months and go hunting, before starting all over again.”

“Not in the summer?” asked Maggie, trying to imagine what he was describing.

“It begins in the autumn, September to November, that is the Little Season. Then home for foxhunting and Christmas. The season proper begins again from January, although the greatest crowds form in March, since there is better weather for picnics and pleasure gardens. By July it is done, the marriage bargains have been struck or one is left on the shelf for another year and considered a failure if you are a woman, or a promising rake if you are a man.” He sighed. “It is supposed to be the time when the gentlemen sit in Parliament, which follows those timings, so their families accompany them to London. That is how it started, I suppose, but it has now turned into a marriage mart. That is what I will be facing to find a bride. I am not sure there will be room for finding love.”

Maggie nodded. What could she say by way of comfort? The picture he had painted was bleak. “At least you will be out in the world,” she tried.

“At least I will have you by my side,” he replied. “You will keep me safe, Maggie.”

“I will do my best. You forget that I must pretend to be a lady. I am not sure I will succeed.”

“Then we will both be pretending. I to be sane, you to be a lady. We will have to help one another.”

She held out her hand. “It is a bargain,” she said, trying to make him laugh, but he took her hand in his and shook it, eyes serious.

“A bargain,” he repeated.

Food was brought by Joseph at noon, a large tray containing soft white bread, good butter, thickly sliced ham with a salad of fresh leaves, as well as baked apples served with cream. With it came a teapot and cups, as well as fresh cold water.

“Your cook is very generous,” observed Maggie.

Edward tilted his head at Joseph. “Is Mrs Barton still the cook?” he asked Joseph.

“She is, Your Grace.”

“Will you ask her to send up her seedcake tomorrow? And her bread pudding.”

“Are those delicacies from your childhood?” asked Maggie. It was the first time she had seen Edward respond with enthusiasm to something from his past.

“She was very kind,” said Edward. How often he had escaped his father’s rages or his mother’s icy silence by creeping down the back stairs to the servants’ dining hall and the great kitchen, where Mrs Barton would stand him on a chair and allow him to stir her seedcake mix, or let him layer slices of bread in a dish, ready to pour a custard mix over it, foods which would later be served in the nursery for dinner.

“Her Grace has asked that you both join her in the drawing room after you have eaten,” said Joseph.

The warm apples and cream went dry in Maggie’s mouth and it was hard to swallow, but she tried to smile and nod as though this were a delightful summons, mindful that she must not let Edward’s fears rise up. He had already put down the dish from which he was eating, his appetite gone as quickly as hers.

The drawing room, grand and spacious as it undoubtedly was, made Maggie feel as though she could not breathe. She sat stiffly by Edward, facing the Duchess, Joseph and the maid. Joseph was better dressed than Edward, who sat barefoot and hunched in his working man’s clothes, wretchedly uncomfortable beneath his mother’s cold gaze.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Maggie Stone.”

“That will not do at all, it is a housemaid’s name. You will be known as Margaret. Margaret…” She paused. “… Seton. I believe there are some Setons in the north who have acceptable connections. If anyone asks, we will imply you are distantly related to them.” She nodded to herself, rapidly inventing. “You will be a third cousin once removed on my side of the family. Your mother made an unfortunate marriage and your father recently died, leaving you to my care. You will address His Grace as Cousin Edward and he will address you as Cousin Margaret, to allow for the closeness which your role as his nurse may require. We cannot have any suggestions of impropriety, we have enough to conceal as it is.” Her lip curled, as though the idea made her feel ill. “In addition, you will call me Aunt Caroline. We must maintain the falsehood of being related at all times.”

Maggie, who had spent years wishing she had a family, could not, at this moment, think of anyone to whom she would less like to be related than the Duchess, with her cold eyes and forbidding manner.

“As few people as possible must know who you are and of our plan.” The Duchess looked down at her hands, counting. “Doctor Morrison, of course, should treatments be necessary. For now, I have asked him to stay away, as regular visits by a physician may draw unwanted attention. Joseph will act as His Grace’s valet from now on. We cannot risk hiring a new valet who does not know of his affliction. My lady’s maid, Celine Duval, will dress you and correct any failings in your manners. That is three people, and we must not allow any other people to know the truth. His Grace’s natural grief at the loss of his father and elder brother, the sudden shock of becoming the Duke of Buckingham, all of these can be used as excuses for any behaviour that may seem less than… normal, but overall he must appear sane. We cannot have servants gossiping or the ton suspecting anything is amiss. There can be no whispers, no suggestion of anything untoward. He must find a bride and be married by the end of the season.”

She turned to look at Joseph and Celine. “You will both, always, refer to Margaret as Miss Seton.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” they chorused.

“Margaret, you will address them as Joseph and Duval.”

Maggie blinked, confused.

“What is it?”

“Joseph by his first name but Celine by her surname?”

“Yes. That is how it is done. Footmen are referred to by their Christian names. A maid, also. But a lady’s maid is given the distinction of being called by her surname. You will have to learn these things.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “If it is possible.”

“I am a fast learner.” Maggie lifted her chin. “Aunt Caroline,” she added for good measure.

“Very well. Duval, take Margaret to the Wisteria Bedroom. Arrange for her to be…” she looked Maggie up and down, evidently displeased by what she saw “…appropriately dressed, at least for now. Do whatever is necessary, purchase whatever is required. You can ensure she has a more extensive wardrobe when the season starts, but she must at least pass muster as a member of the family until then, should we receive any visitors or be seen in public. His Grace must choose a room he is happy with since he refuses to use the ducal suite. However, neither His Grace nor Miss Seton are to be seen outside the nursery by any of the servants or outside the house until they are properly attired. That must be our first matter of business.”

Maggie glanced at Edward, who gave her a small nod.

“Yes, Your Grace,” murmured Celine Duval, before turning to Maggie. “Please follow me, Miss Seton.”