Page 54 of Lady for a Season
He passed her the two small parcels and she pulled at the lace strips, which undid to reveal cardboard containers of exquisitely iced biscuits. One contained gingerbread iced in white, onto which appeared to have been painted roses, as though on to a miniature canvas. The other contained lemon biscuits in the shape of sunflowers, the icing tinted bright yellow with green stems. They were tiny works of art and Maggie exclaimed over them.
“Brown’s is the best maker of iced biscuits in London, theyspecialise in gifts for ladies from gentlemen who wish to show their regard.”
Maggie stared at the biscuits and flowers. “Last night…”
“Was a triumph,” said Joseph, smiling. “Everyone there believed you to be who you said you were. His Grace was considered charming, he is the catch of the season and you –” he gestured towards the table of gifts “– you have evidently made an impression on the gentlemen of theton.”
“But the Duchess…”
“… is not pleased that you are being seen as a good match also,” explained Joseph, voice lowered. “Thetonbelieves you to be a relation of the Duchess and therefore of good breeding. Regardless of a dowry, there are rich men who will consider you a suitable bride.”
Maggie shook her head, flushing scarlet. “I didn’t – I gave no– I would not –”
“There is no harm done,” said Joseph gently, seeing her flustered. “You played your part as planned and it worked. His Grace will be offered any bride he chooses, and you are under no obligation to accept any gentleman’s attentions. The flowers and biscuits are a sign of a job well done.”
The door opened to admit Edward and Joseph stepped away from Maggie and returned to his place by the wall.
They attended only one social occasion a week, as a result keeping their scarcity value, the Duchess receiving endless invitations but turning most of them down with the excuse that they were only attending a very few parties due to their recent losses, that they would be delighted to accept further invitations come the full season which would get underway more fully in March. Maggie would have been happy enough, for all seemed to be going well, had it not been for a conversation she overheard early one morning, when she came down to breakfast and foundthe drawing room empty, but heard voices coming from the morning room, one of which filled her with a familiar dread. She slipped back out into the hallway, then moved closer to the sound, recognising Doctor Morrison’s voice, speaking with the Duchess.
“I am delighted to hear things are going well, Your Grace,” he was saying, “though we must remember that what we see on the surface may not be the full truth. His Grace is still afflicted, and we cannot know in what way it may manifest at any time. We must maintain caution, especially when the season proper starts and greater demands are made of him.”
“Can he not be cured at all?” the Duchess replied. “He seems to have made great progress, better than I would have expected.”
“Alas, these afflictions rarely disappear altogether, Your Grace. We have only to think of His Majesty… but you must not worry yourself. Should he become ill again at any time, we can always withdraw him to the countryside, possibly to the comforts of the Dower House, so long as a bride can be found as soon as possible.”
Maggie stepped carefully and quietly away from the door, then sat in the drawing room, her appetite entirely gone. Was Edward never to escape the doctor? No matter how well he was doing, would these doubts always hang over him?
On the fourth of November Parliament opened and Edward would be expected to attend. Maggie’s nerves rose. This was one place to which she could not accompany him.
“You will do well, I am sure,” she whispered as he set off. Certainly, he looked the part, immaculately dressed, and at least he had attended enough social occasions to know he could hold his own.
Edward sat through the endless rituals and pomp of the opening. The Prince Regent gave a speech.
“My Lord, and Gentlemen, it is with the deepest regret that I am again obliged to announce to you the continuance of his Majesty’s lamented indisposition.”
Edward swallowed.Indisposition.Is that what they were calling it? The King himself, locked away from his rightful role, because of his madness, or his indisposition. While he, Edward, was sat here, where the King should also be, masquerading as a well man. Would it last? Could it last? The King had managed to hide it well enough for many years, but finally it had been too much to bear, and the madness had broken through the façade, had revealed itself and he had been locked away, allowing for the Prince to become the Regent.
“The great and splendid success with which it has pleased Divine Providence to bless his Majesty’s arms, and those of his Allies, in the course of the presentcampaign, has been productive of the most important consequences to Europe. In Spain the glorious and decisive victory obtained near Vittoria has been followed by the advance of the allied forces to the Pyrenees, by the repulse of the enemy in every attempt to regain the ground he had been compelled to abandon, by the reduction of the fortress of Saint Sebastian, and finally by the establishment of the allied army on the frontier of France. In this series of brilliant operations, you will have observed, with the highest satisfaction, the consummate skill and ability of the great commander Field Marshal the Marquis of Wellington, and the steadiness and unconquerable spirit which have been equally displayed by the troops of the three nations united under his command…”
It went on. More speeches, more ritual and ceremony. There was little for Edward to do, only to nod, to shake hands with various men who introduced themselves to him, nod his head atthe condolences, bow to acquaintances already met during the social occasions he had attended thus far. In the carriage on the way home, he allowed himself to relax again. Perhaps it would not be so bad. There were topics of interest to be discussed, he had always enjoyed reading about matters of the world and now he would take part in them, might even contribute something useful. If hisindispositionwould not rear its ugly head, would not take such glimpses of liberty away from him. It was already late in the day, and he made his way to his room, refusing food, needing to sleep, to rest after the nerves of the day had faded.
“I’ve joined a gentleman’s club,” Edward told Maggie.
“Which one?”
“Boodles.”
“Someone mentioned a club called Whites,” she said, thinking back to past conversations at various dinners and parties.
He shook his head. “That was my father’s club. I don’t want to spend my days being told what a fine fellow he was by his friends. I want a place of my own.” He looked at her. “Why are you smiling?”
“I like seeing you make your own choices, deciding who you want to be.”
“There are too many choices I’m not allowed to make for myself,” he said. “I must at least have some say in my life. Even if it is only the club I frequent.”
“Are the men there friendly?”
“I have met a Mr Mowatt and a Lord Lymington, both of them seem pleasant enough.”
