Page 35 of Debtor’s Daughter

“Can I get into your bed? It’s freezing!” she exclaimed, running across the bare wood floor on tiptoes and leaping onto the mattress.

Maggie watched, amused, as Caro burrowed under the covers and pulled them up to her neck. She looked so very young, her hair all tied up in rags to make it curl, her lovely features gilded by the candlelight.

“Wasn’t it a marvellous day?” Caro said with a sigh.

“Marvellous,” Maggie agreed, smoothing the cream into her neck.

“Lady Montagu was very kind, wasn’t she? And so sweet to Auntie. I admit I was holding my breath when she explained about Cecil. People have been so cruel to her in the past, I was simply quaking in case the lady took exception to her eccentricities, but she was simply wonderful.”

“She was indeed, and she looked genuinely interested too, not just politely going along with her,” Maggie said, putting the lid back on her cream pot before slipping under the covers beside her sister.

“Do you think her son is as kind as she is?” Caro asked tentatively.

“Caro,” Maggie said, smiling at her. “Love, don’t go getting ideas about Lord Ashburton. I know he is very handsome and that he has piqued your interest, but he’s heir to a vast and powerful inheritance. I’m afraid even a girl as lovely as you is unlikely to capture him. People of that station rarely marry for love, though I grant you his parents did. Still, he’ll be looking for a powerful alliance, I don’t doubt.”

Caro rolled her eyes. “Oh, Maggie. I wish you would not take everything so seriously. I’m not planning on throwing my cap at him. He’s just so beautiful and—” She sighed, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

“But what of Mr Weston?” Maggie asked, smoothing the bedsheets with her hands and not looking directly at her sister.

“What of him?”

“You thought he was handsome too, did you not?”

“No, you did,” Caro said, looking sulky now. “I mean, yes, he is handsome, but he’s not someone I’d like to marry.”

“B-But whyever not?” Maggie said, genuinely outraged, for she could think of no finer man than Mr Weston, who was the kindest and most caring man, not to mention gloriously handsome and athletic and funny, and intelligent too. “Has he not shown you how worthy he is of your admiration? He has done everything he can to help us, to make the way easy for us and—”

“Oh, drat Mr Weston,” Caro said crossly. “I do esteem him and like him very much, and he has been most kind to us all, but I shan’t marry him. He’s too old, for one thing.”

“But I’m certain Lord Ashburton is the same age as he is, and you said—”

“Oh, Maggie!” Caro exclaimed, throwing back the bedcovers and getting out. “I just came for a bit of a gossip with my sister, to laugh and exchange silly nonsense about a handsome fellow I saw today. I know I must marry, for you’ve explained over and over that there is no other choice if I want to have a life of my own and be safe, but I can you not understand that I don’t want to! I don’t want to marry anyone yet! Not Mr Weston and not Lord Ashburton. I want to go home to the manor and go back to our lives, that’s what I want, but I cannot and whether or not I know it to be true, it’s still not fair!”

With that, Caro went out, slamming the door behind her.

Maggie stared at the door for a moment and then put her head in her hands, her throat tight and her eyes burning. She breathed steadily, trying to calm herself. Caro was right, it wasn’t fair, but what else could they do, any of them? They could not impose upon Lady Montagu for a second season, and even if they could, by then they would all need new wardrobes, something Maggie could not possibly pay for. The London house was the best they could afford in a genteel neighbourhood that would not make them look too shabby, but it was shockingly expensive. Papa had outfitted them all splendidly for the year, as he always had, though after his death she’d discovered he had not been able to afford it, as the bailiffs had quickly come knocking. But next year, their gowns would be out of fashion and the little nest egg Maggie had put aside all gone. Only hers and her aunt’s income would support them all, and they would not be able to remain in this house beyond the summer, as small as it was compared to the manor.

A soft knock at the door heralded Aunt Connie, who took one look at her and bustled in.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, the voluminous fabric of her nightgown fluttering with dozens of pink ribbons and lace frills as she hurried around the bed. “There, there, Maggie, darling. As soon as I heard that door slam and Caro’s raised voice, I knew you were getting yourself into a tizzy, fretting yourself to death over every little thing. You cannot control our fates, love, but I’m certain Cecil is looking after us. All will be well, I promise you.”

“Oh, but how can you promise?” Maggie said, more startled by her aunt’s perspicacity than her certainty that Cecil was keeping them safe, which was nothing new. Still, it was nice to cossetted and Maggie could not help but give into the tears that seemed always too close to the surface of late. “I knew it from the start, but I fear Caro is simply too young to marry. If she cannot see that Mr Weston is the best chance she has for happiness, then I despair of her.”

Her aunt gave her an enigmatic smile and stroked her hair. “I know just how you feel, darling,” she said with a touch of amusement. “But Cecil is certain it will all come right, and I believe him. You’ll see.”

“But what are we to do? All this is to launch Caro into society so that she can find a husband. She has this one chance, auntie, only one! Whether or not it is fair does not come into it. We simply cannot afford to keep her clothed as well as she ought to be, not to mention feeding us all, on top of the cost of rent and all the staff, and Giddy is growing like a weed and wearing through clothes at such a rate—”

“I know, love, but it is only October. The season does not begin until February, and that is a lifetime when one is only eighteen. Let us see what the coming months bring. We have Christmas to look forward to, remember, and you know how much you enjoy that now that Gideon is old enough to get excited about it.”

“Yes,” Maggie said, wiping her eyes. “But we all ought to be at the manor for Christmas. All our little traditions are impossible here. We can’t go gathering holly and ivy on Regent Street, can we!”

“Now, now, pet. You’re becoming overwrought,” Connie said sternly.

Maggie sniffed and nodded. “I am. I know it. I’m an ungrateful wretch who has not the good sense to realise how lucky she is. Forgive me, Auntie. I beg your pardon for being such a trial.”

“Goodness, Maggie, you are not a trial. We are the trial, as we all know. We all look to you, expecting you to put things right, to know just what to do and how and when, and you have always done so, but it is a strain on your nerves, anyone can see that. My brother was a dear man, and we all miss him despite the trouble he has brought down upon us, but I think his death has been hardest on you, so soon after losing William, and with a lively son to care for too. Now, stop being so hard upon yourself and do stop fretting. We have a lovely outing promised tomorrow, so let us just look forward to that and let the future take care of itself for now. I promise you it will.”

“Yes, Auntie,” Maggie said too weary to object, laying back against the pillows.

“There’s a good girl,” Connie said soothingly, pulling the covers up and smoothing them out. “Night, night, dearest. I’ll see you in the morning.”