Page 50 of Lady for a Season
“I cannot breathe,” he gasped.
She sat on the edge of his bed, stroking his arm, his shoulder. “You can,” she assured him. “Breathe, Edward. Breathe.”
“But if I cannot… if it is like this at the dinner…” He pulled away from her, staggering to his feet, pacing the floor, his breathing ragged and too fast. She followed him and as he came close to a wall, pushed him against it so that he could no longer pace the room, pressed a hand against his bare chest, her warm skin against his cold shaking body. “I will be there. You will do splendidly, I know it.”
It took a while before she felt his muscles relax under her hand, heard his breathing slow. When she lifted her hand away, he nodded, still trying to breathe normally.
“Lie down, now,” she said and he obeyed her, touching her hand again for reassurance.
“Sit with me,” he murmured, and she did so, perched on the edge of his bed, watching his eyes slowly close as he grew calm. She did not leave the room until he was asleep, her stomach tightly knotted with worry.
Celine oversaw Jane as she did Maggie’s hair, the back scooped up into a braided bun, the front curled into elegant ringlets after a hairdresser had been called to the house to cut the front of her hair shorter so that it could be more fashionably arranged.
“Keepstill, Miss,” Jane begged.
Maggie tried. But she was worried for Edward. Tonight would mark his social debut. No doubt she would be seated somewhere else, not by his side. What if he became afraid, began to breathe too fast, to grow dizzy? What if they asked questions about hiswhereabouts all these years and he stammered or withdrew into silence? If the evening went badly, word would sweep round thetonthat the Duke of Buckingham, on paper such a desirable catch for any young lady, was strange, odd, eccentric… a lunatic. What if questions were asked, what if the servants’ rumour-mill, so deadly accurate, were to begin churning?
“There,” said Celine. “Your hair is done. See how well you look. Jane, you may go down to your dinner.”
Maggie stood in front of the looking glass, clutching her reticule. The blue silk she was wearing made her look cool, though her colour was heightened, her cheeks over-pink. Her neckline was low, revealing too much cleavage.
“It seems immodest,” she murmured.
“You can see more than someone standing in front of you,” pointed out Celine.
“Can I go to him now?”
Celine nodded and Maggie hurried towards the door, then turned on the threshold.
“Thank you,” she managed. “I appreciate all you have done to make me… fit for this.”
You must not be afraid,” Celine said gently. “You are more a lady than plenty I have known.”
Maggie knocked on Edward’s room, but there was no answer. Cautiously, she opened the door, but the room was empty. Panic overtook her. Had he run away while she was having her hair curled into the absurd ringlets? Was he cowering somewhere, refusing to attend the dinner? She hurried out of the room and down the stairs.
“There you are. We have been kept waiting for you.”
The Duchess, magnificent in a dark plum dress, glittering with diamonds, a heavy velvet cloak on top. And by her side – Maggie let out her breath – Edward, immaculately dressed in formal black with white shirt and cravat, white silk stockings andblack buckled shoes, holding his gloves and looking entirely in command of himself.
“I’m so sorry,” murmured Maggie, hastening down the stairs to join them. Joseph held out her dark blue velvet cloak with a white fur trim and before Maggie knew it, they were in the town carriage outside, Maggie sitting uncomfortably close to the Duchess, Edward opposite her.
The carriage moved off and Maggie tried to catch Edward’s gaze, but he stared resolutely out of the window into the dark streets. Was he angry with her? A tight ball of fear lodged in her stomach.
There was no real need for the carriage, for the Godwins were only two squares away. Their daughter, Miss Belmont, was clearly to be the focus and purpose of the evening. Having been recently presented at court, she was now out in society and what could be more advantageous than for their dinner invitation to be the first accepted by the Buckinghams, since the Duke was clearly the most eligible bachelor of the season to come?
As they arrived Maggie looked over Miss Belmont, who was a small, dark-haired young woman, with pale skin and wide brown eyes. She gave an immaculate curtsey when introduced to Edward, but Maggie could not hear her, although her lips moved, so softly did she speak. Would she suit Edward? A kind person would be good, but would such gentleness survive the Duchess?
Edward was trapped in endless courtesies, the bow over his hostess’ hand, the firm handshake with his host, the offering of an arm to Miss Belmont to take her into dinner, the tedious small talk first to the daughter and then the mother, who was all but simpering at him as though she were the debutante, not her daughter.
The dining room shone with candles and glass and silverware,the dishes, from jugged hare to pheasants, fillet of beef, mushrooms, roast lobsters and more, were completed with a dazzling array of sweets, from tiny colourful jellies to iced biscuits, apricot puffs and even lemon ices, although Edward could not have sworn to what he had eaten, nor to what it tasted like.
Although the ladies went through the motions of retiring, the men kept their port drinking to a minimum, evidently keen to ensure Edward spent as much time as possible with the daughter of the house.
In the drawing room an older woman made small talk with him, possibly Miss Belmont’s aunt, placed there to gather information on him and report back to the family on his manner and character. The correct manners and words came from him as though he were only a puppet and all the while he was horribly aware of the never-ending scrutiny. As for his mother and Maggie, he could smell their fear that he would slip up, that he would be exposed for what he was: the spare who had become duke, the lunatic released from his cell only to play a part.
From his hosts and their friends, he could feel the greedy desire to secure him. Their smugness at having already got one up on the rest of thetonby having him attend their dinner as his first social outing. It would allow them to boast, to imply there might already be some kind of understanding between the families, that it was only a matter of time… their daughter Miss Belmont had been officially presented, the Duke was bound to… and yet, their covetousness making them all too willing to forget to think, to ask questions. Did it not concern them that nothing had been heard of him for years? Did they not think it odd that he had not been at either the funeral of his father nor that of his brother? Their questions, when they came, were so weak, so easily brushed aside, that he almost wanted to tell them the truth. He only murmured something about travel, a distantuncle, an interest in astronomy and they were nodding at once, of course, of course, so good for a young man to travel and have interests before settling down, this last with over-joyful smiles, as though this were an engagement party and not merely the prelude to the social season proper.
He both despised and pitied them all, so caught up in their foolish social rules that they could not see what he was, a broken man, a man who might fool them all but only for so long before the cracks showed, before they caught a glimpse of what was underneath and then? Perhaps they too would lock him away. Perhaps, he thought, he should be afraid of them. But the thought of being taken back to Ivy Cottage, where he could live quietly with Maggie, as he had done before… at this moment he would gladly exchange this life for that one. He could even endure Doctor Morrison if he could have Maggie by his side.
