Page 20 of Debtor’s Daughter

“Fanks,” Giddy said, before settling himself back on the chair and squishing the giraffe in his chubby little fist. “Make a helephant now,” he announced with a grin.

“Well, missus? Did it all go a’right?” Mrs Moody asked as she set the kettle on the range to heat.

“It went perfectly,” Maggie said, too elated to bother that she was discussing personal family business with the staff.

At home, the staff had been more family than employees, having been at the estate since before Maggie was born. It was a hard habit to break, and Mrs Moody did not strike Maggie as the sort to tattle about her family’s doings.

“Then Miss Caro will get her come out?” Mrs Moody asked, looking as pleased at the news as if she had been her own flesh and blood. But then everyone loved Caro.

“She will,” Maggie said, settling herself down at the kitchen table. “I still cannot believe it.”

“Caro go to the ball, like a princess?” Gideon asked seriously.

“Yes, just like a princess, for Lady Montagu will provide her court dress for her.” With that, Maggie’s voice trembled and the tears that had been threatening all day finally overcame her. She put her head in her hands, sobbing at the table like the greatest ninny in Christendom.

“Mama!” Gideon said in alarm, scrambling off the chair and running around the table to clutch at her arm. “Mama!”

“Oh, darling, it’s all right,” Maggie said, laughing and crying at once now. “Mama is just very happy and so… so very relieved.”

Without saying a word, Mrs Moody went off and returned with a bottle under her arm, a glass in one hand, and a clean handkerchief in the other. She handed Maggie the handkerchief. “Have a tot of my peapod wine. It’s good for what ails you, pet.” So saying, she uncorked the bottle and poured Maggie a generous glass.

“Get that down you and it will set all to rights,” she promised with a wink.

Maggie wiped her face and blew her nose. She eyed the pale liquid dubiously but hadn’t the heart to refuse. “Thank you,” she said, and took a tentative sip. The wine hit the back of her throat and turned into liquid fire. “Heavens above!” she exclaimed, coughing and spluttering.

Mrs Moody grinned at her. “Not bad, eh?”

“Mama cough?” Gideon said, pounding her on the back as Maggie’s eyes watered.

“Fine…” she croaked, gazing at the glass with dawning respect. “I’m fine, Giddy.”

“Go on, try again. I dare you,” Mrs Moody said with a chuckle.

Maggie did, more cautiously this time. Though the fiery liquid still took her breath, a warm glow began in the pit of her stomach and the muscles in her shoulders eased a fraction.

“Oh,” she said, letting out a breath which she was certain must be flammable.

“Good, isn’t it?” Mrs Moody said with a knowing smile.

Good wasn’t exactly the word Maggie would have chosen, but as she sipped, she found she grew used to the rather astringent flavour and the way it had of stealing her breath. It was worth it for the lovely glow that surrounded her and made her feel more relaxed than she had since before Papa had died.

“Good?” Gideon said, sniffing the glass and wrinkling his nose. “Pooh! Bad. Very, very bad,” he exclaimed, and hurried back around the chair to continue mangling his pastry scraps.

Maggie laughed, deciding this reaction was for the best and finished her glass, believing she might sleep soundly for the first time in months, and it was all thanks to Mr Weston. She closed her eyes, sighing, and allowing herself the wickedness of remembering how handsome he had looked out in the wilderness of their back garden. Once more, Maggie could not help but consider those powerful arms and wondered idly what it might feel like to be held in such a strong embrace.

Guilt hit her square in the chest. Not only was she daydreaming about a man she hoped would marry her sister, but she was betraying the memory of poor, dear William. Yet those scant weeks they had shared seemed like a dream to her now, faded and grown misty with time. The harder she tried to recall William’s face, the more difficult it became, for she had no portrait of him, no drawing or likeness to gaze at and help bring him to mind. He had been a gentle soul, quiet and bookish and ill-suited for army life. He’d confided to her once that he found it hard to believe he had dared to court her so assiduously, but that he had fallen in love with her at first sight and it had given him courage. Maggie had never been a romantic soul, having been occupied with the running of the house since a young age, but William had spoken to some long-neglected part of herself that still believed in dreams. During those strangely idyllic days she had forgotten her self-imposed responsibilities and become someone else, a carefree girl with foolish hopes. For a time, she had been content to sit and listen to him read love poetry to her—both his own and others he admired—or to gaze up at the stars for hours in silence.

In recent months, she had looked back upon their all too brief marriage and wondered how they would have fared if he had come home to her. They had been so young. Maggie had just turned twenty when they married, and William was only two and twenty. Having lost his own parents when he was young, he loved Maggie’s irreverent father and aunt and thought her sister a delight. She thought perhaps he had married her because of them, as much as for her own sake, but perhaps they would have grown up together and found their way to a happy future. She liked to think so. But such a short life it had been for her poor, sweet boy, gone before he’d even had time to understand he would be a father.

Maggie’s eyes grew misty as she looked across the table at Gideon. He looked more like her than William, she realised, and felt her throat tighten with regret that even this echo of his father was lost to her. She swallowed hard and lifted the glass to her lips, a little shocked to discover it was empty.

Mrs Moody came over and topped it up again, giving Maggie a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Drink up, missus. It’s all right to feel things now and again, it does a soul good to let go and to feel sorry for oneself. So long as it’s only now and then, the world won’t end, I promise.”

“You’re very kind, Mrs Moody,” Maggie said, thinking the woman was wiser than she had given her credit for, and sipping at her drink as she watched her son, so strong and healthy and happy, and counted her blessings.