Page 76 of Lady for a Season
“It is I who am the lunatic,” Maggie murmured to herself. “It is a wonder Doctor Morrison has not put me in Bedlam.”
The journey back to Atherton Park was long and silent. Maggie stared out of the windows as the carriage rocked along the roads, mile after mile. She tried to think of ways in which she could free Edward of Doctor Morrison. She dozed from time to time, her tired mind unable to find a way forward.
They stopped at a coaching inn for the night. Maggie nodded eagerly at the offer of a tray of supper brought to her bedchamber and spent the evening alone, retreating to bed early. The next day, her only consolation was that each mile travelled brought her closer to Edward.
She sprang out of the carriage when they drew up. Ignoring all the other servants who were gathered to welcome them, she hurried to Joseph.
“Where is His Grace?” she asked, her voice low.
Joseph’s face was serious. “Visiting the Dower House.”
“The Dower House? Why?”
He shook his head, reminding her of the listening ears surrounding them. “He has been there most days.”
Maggie looked down at her clothing. A pale blue muslin gown and kid slippers, they were hardly the thing for the walk across the grounds and down beyond the stable block, especially after the recent rain, but she did not want to take the time to change.
The Dower House stood a half mile from the main house, a handsome mansion set within its flower gardens. Maggie had seen it from a distance but had never been inside. Merlin was nibbling at the grass outside and she stopped to pat him, feet sore from the gravel. The front door was ajar, and she pushed it open, stepped into the large hall, which felt cold and empty, despite its elegance.
“Edward?” she called out.
There was no answer. She opened the door on her left to find a parlour, elegantly painted in rose pink, with delicate plasterwork in white. There was a thick carpet, couches and chairs, side tables, all draped in holland covers, lending the room a ghostly air, as though it were waiting for someone to come and reclaim it from its forgotten state.
“Edward? Edward!”.
There was no reply. She left the parlour and headed up the stairs.
Edward sat on the bed in the main bedchamber, shoulders hunched, staring down unseeing at the swirls and flowers of the carpet. A gracious room, well decorated. The whole of theDower House was elegant; no Dowager Duchess could complain of being mistreated by being sent to live here, so he, a mad duke, could hardly complain if this were to be his fate. He was unfit for society, unfit for the role he had not, after all, been born to play. Being sent here to live out his days was a kindness. There would be staff. Loyal servants who could be trusted to keep their mouths closed and not gossip. Enough to live well but without risking unwanted tattletales. Perhaps Joseph might come with him. He was a good man, a man with heart.
Edward thought of the young women to whom he had been introduced. They were pleasant girls, doing their best, as was he, but however much they lied about their accomplishments or personal charms, were any of them telling as big a lie as he was? No. One of them would be chosen, would wear his ring and be crowned with a Duchess’ coronet, would believe herself to be lucky… and then she would find out the truth, that she was wanted only to breed, to secure the estate by providing an heir as quickly as possible, that her husband would see her only a few times perhaps, enough to sire a child and the rest of the time he would be closed away, hidden in the Dower House. What a lonely life for her. What a sad life. He hoped, at least, that she might find solace in their children.
Their children. Would he be allowed to see them? To have some joy in their existence, or would he be kept at a distance, for fear of frightening or corrupting them with his madness? Would they, too, be watched incessantly for any signs of strangeness, or inability to take on the mantle of heir?
“Edward?”
Her voice, calling from somewhere below. Ah, Maggie. Would she, perhaps, come and live with him here, care for him? He could bear anything, if she would be by his side. They could live quietly here, bothering no-one. But what sort of a life would that be for her, caring for him all her days, not allowed to… tomarry, to have children. The thought of Maggie marrying made his stomach turn over. It would mean her leaving him, going away to her own household, where she would one day be loved by another man…
“Edward?” Her voice again, louder this time, closer.
The idea of Maggie marrying another man brought jealousy flooding through him. But if he were to declare that he loved Maggie? That he wanted to marry her? A duke, marry the maid hired to care for him? He could already feel the cold clamp of the buckles on Doctor Morrison’s cursed chair closing around his wrists. The bleeding, the purging, the vomiting, leaving him shaken and whimpering, without even the solace of Maggie’s soft hand on his, her warm brown eyes on his. Because they would send her away at once. If he should ever say that he loved Maggie, he would be locked up for the rest of his life and she would be sent far away. He would never set eyes on her again. In her place would be some monstrous nurse unworthy of the name, a woman who would grip his arm even harder than Doctor Morrison, who would agree with whatever the physician prescribed, who would keep her cold eyes fixed on him to ensure his compliance. Maggie, his beloved Maggie, would be lost to him forever.
She stood in the doorway before him, her shawl slipping from her shoulders, slippers muddy, cheeks flushed pink from the cold brisk walk to find him. “Edward! What are you doing here?”
“Doctor Morrison said he would lock me up in the Dower House. I thought I should look over my future home.”
She stared at him, eyes filling with tears.
“Seven bedrooms,” he said. “A dining room that seats twelve. Do you think I shall be allowed guests, Maggie? Do you think people will want to stay and stare at the mad Duke of Buckingham?”
“You are not mad,” said Maggie. Her voice trembled and hewanted, more than anything, to stand and take her in his arms, but that way led to never seeing her again. And, surely, that would be true lunacy, to do anything that might lead to such a fate.
“Ah, but you’re wrong, Maggie,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I must be mad, because Doctor Morrison says so, and so does my mother, the woman who gave birth to me. They should know, should they not? And after all, I do have delusions, they are right about that.”
“What delusions?”
“That I might be allowed to live my life as I choose? That I might be happy? That I might be allowed to choose a woman I love for my wife?” He gave an unhappy laugh. “That proves to you, Maggie, how delusional I must be. That I should even think to marry for love, when all thetonthinks otherwise.”
“I would want you to marry for love,” she said, her voice very small.
