Page 84 of Lady for a Season
“Yes?”
Maggie embraced her. “Thank you. For everything.”
Celine’s arms came round her back in a warm embrace. “I am sorry to see you go,” she said, voice muffled. “I hoped…”
Maggie pulled away, her eyes glistening, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. “So did I,” she said. “But it was not to be. I know my place. I have done everything I can for Edward, and now he has chosen a life, a path forward. I need to step out of his way.”
Down the staircase one last time, past the grand portraits, past the gilded plasterwork and along the thick carpets, onto the polished wooden floors. A breath of cool air reached her as Bartholomew held the door for her and she stepped out onto the cold hard stone of the steps, felt the crunch of gravel under her feet and climbed into the carriage. She settled herself, then looked out at Celine’s anxious face.
“Write to me to tell me you are safely settled,” said Celine, one hand on the windowsill of the carriage.
Maggie nodded, unable to speak and the carriage rolled forward, swept round the gravel driveway and headed down the avenue of trees towards the main gates.
The bustling coaching yard of The Golden Grouse greeted Maggie as she stepped out of the safety and comfort of the carriage. The footman set down her pitifully small trunk and bowed to her.
“Goodbye, Bartholomew.”
“Goodbye, Miss.” He hesitated, then said, in a rush, “Sorry you’re not staying at the Park, Miss. We – we all thought you was a – a good influence.” He paused, shocked at his daring, then added, “Pardon for speaking out of turn, Miss. I wish you well.”
Tears stung her eyes, and she opened them wider so that they would not fall and embarrass them both. “Thank you, Bartholomew. I was very happy there and will think kindly of you all.” She swallowed, but could not help adding, “Look after His Grace, he is a good man.”
He nodded earnestly. “He is, Miss. I’m proud to serve him.”
She patted his arm, touched. “Thank you.”
He bowed again and returned to his place on the carriage. The coachman nodded, and the Buckingham carriage moved swiftly out of the yard. Maggie watched it go, her last glimpse of thefamily crest, the bulrush and acorn, held by the ducal coronet. The dark blue exterior disappearing from view.
“Are you waiting for someone, Miss?”
Startled from her thoughts, Maggie realised the inn porter was speaking to her. “Yes,” she said hastily. “The stagecoach. I am travelling to London.”
“It’ll be along in half an hour, Miss, I’ll see you on it safely. Inside or outside?” he added, looking over her clothes with a frown. She had arrived in the Buckingham carriage, a footman had bowed to her, she was too well dressed to be a common maid, but her small battered trunk, a woman alone without a companion, let alone taking a stagecoach, meant she could not be high ranking. Perhaps he thought her a governess or similar, well-bred but fallen on hard times.
“Outside,” said Maggie. It would be cheaper, and she must think carefully about how she spent her money. There would be no private carriages, no grand London homes to stay in. But it was a sunny day; the outside of the stagecoach would not be too terrible.
She waited nervously for the stagecoach to arrive. Mail coaches came and went, even the post chaise, faster and more expensive, but, finally, the stagecoach came into view, the interior already full, four people on the outside seats, all men.
Maggie’s trunk was swiftly thrown up and lashed into place, before she was helped aboard, climbing up and trying to make herself safe, tucking her skirts tightly about her and getting a firm grip on the railing surrounding her, as well as keeping one hand on her trunk.
The driver cracked his whip and the coach pulled out of the yard, gathering speed. Maggie clutched at her bonnet which was threatening to fly away should the ribbons tying it come undone. This was a far cry from the comfort in which the Athertons travelled, in their private carriage, well-sprung and upholstered,with blankets and footwarmers in the winter, chilled drinks and open windows in the summer for a gentle breeze without any fear of bonnets being lost or the risk of falling from a perilous seat, their servants hurrying ahead at every stage to prepare meals and additional comforts for them as they arrived at each inn along the way. Her new life would be a world away from that which she had known for this last year.
Edward returned to the house unable to hide a smile on his face. He paused for a moment outside Maggie’s room, but it was still so early, he did not want to wake her. Well, no, that was a lie, he grinned to himself. He very much wanted to wake her. The idea of her lying soft and warm in her bed, of kneeling by her and stroking her unbound hair, touching her cheek…
That would all come later, he promised himself. He had things to do. He knew every step he wanted to take now; his path was shining clear in front of him. He rang the bell and told Joseph he wanted breakfast in his room to avoid making tedious conversation with the guests who would shortly descend to the dining room. There was only one person to whom he owed an explanation and an apology and that was Miss Belmont. He must put things right with her before he spoke to Maggie, but it would not take long. Hopefully, she would understand; she had a gentle heart, and he would be honest with her. No more lies. No more pretending.
He ate heartily, then washed and allowed Joseph to re-dress him in a more fitting manner. At ten, he made his way to the drawing room where he asked Miss Belmont into the rose garden, causing Lady Godwin to flutter her eyelashes at him as though she were the one being courted.
Outside among the roses he led her to a little bench behind a tall hedge and waited until she had taken a seat. He remained standing, aware that he could not be observed from the windowsof the house, where no doubt their curious guests would even now be trying to spot them.
“Miss Belmont,” he began. It would be hard to say what he must, but he was done with lying and pretence.
“Your Grace, may I speak first?”
“Of course,” he said, taken aback by the mouselike girl having the boldness to interrupt him.
“I know what you are about to say and… I beg you will not say it.”
He stared at her. In all their conversations together, she had always acquiesced to anything he said, to the point where he had wondered if she had any opinions of her own at all. He took a moment to recover. “I have been… strongly encouraged –”
