Lady Marjorie

The sound of the opening door woke Charles from his sleep. With the interval balance of the footsteps, coupled with the implicit knowledge that none other would visit his bedroom without his permission, especially when he was in, he knew right away that it was Albert, his valet.

Charles opened his eyes slightly and saw the young man pulling back the curtains. "Did she make it?" His voice was broken from sleep and almost inaudible.

Albert was startled. "Your Grace, I am sorry to disturb your sleep. I only wanted to draw back the curtains." He bowed.

Charles turned to lay supine, ignoring the apology. "Black? How is she?"

Albert stood upright, held his hands together. "As was feared, Your Grace, she passed away last night. The stable hand said it was painless and peaceful."

The covers fell to his hips as he sat up. Albert quickly rushed to him, picking up his robe and helping him put it on. "Death is never painless. Peaceful maybe, but who has discovered it out?" He rose and walked to the window, the valet trailing after him. His robe stayed on his shoulders and his trousers rode low on his hip bone. The green fields outside the window made him wished Black had been able to run around just one more time. "Let the horses run free today."

"Yes, Your Grace." He bowed and crossed the room, making his way out to the wardrobe.

Charles stopped him. "Has she been buried?"

Albert walked back and bowed again. "No,Your Grace. We assumed you would want to see her."

He took his time facing the man. "To what end?" What good will come of that? "She served me well. Let her burial be as such."

"Yes, Your Grace." Repeating the journey, the valet began laying out his clothes for the day. Charles watched him from the mirrored glass diligently placing one piece of clothing after the other. The valet chose his clothes how he liked it: all in dark shades. Through the opened window, he saw his doorman, Thomas, speaking to a young maid.

His thoughts travelled, searching. They found Lady Beth.

Lady Beth! The young sort-of-strong Irish lady, who stood against marriage with him and was brave enough to face all odds in her beliefs, captured his morning. He wondered if it was cowardice to have the note delivered to her relative, but deep down he knew she would refuse him a visit if the note came directly to her. Crossing his hands behind him, he cleared his throat. "Was my note received?"

The valet stood straight. "Yes, It was sent immediately, Your Grace."

Perfect! "Have Thomas send a coach to fetch her and he must let her in immediately she arrives, no formalities needed." He turned to his valet. "Before that, have the kitchen prepare a worthy breakfast." He paused, raising a finger to emphasize, he said. "It must be perfect."

"Of course,Your Grace, it will be nothing less." He bowed and returned to the task at hand.

Charles turned once more to the windows and stared for a moment at the fields. It was a beautiful day and he intended to make use of it to the fullest. He had no ulterior motives. He told himself calmly. All he wished for was to know her further as she was an interesting creature. He would seek out her friendship and obtain it truly. That much he wanted. That much he would get.

His thoughts were interrupted. "Your Grace, the Dowager Duchess left a note last night for you." Albert crossed the room once more and handed him his Mother's message.

Charles sighed and torn it open. There was no need for a note; he knew already what she intended to tell him.

Charles,

I will visit on the morrow wanting your reason for such uncultured behavior. The ball was perfect without your presence and my night went well. I hope yours was uneventful.

Love Mother.

He sighed again and tossed the note to the bed. He expected nothing less. "Lady Marjorie will be here soon, entertain her accordingly."

"Yes,Your Grace." Came the faithful reply. Charles walked to the table and helped himself to a cigar from the box. Albert spoke up. "If I may, Your Grace, Lady Beth, I wonder who she is." An eyebrow went up as his interest was piqued. "A recent achievement? Someone to entertain before the wedding to Lady Cossington?"

He turned to the man whose eyes glistened from the enjoyment he anticipated from the expected answer, and slowly said. "Set out something proper for breakfast." Albert's smile died. "And have the maids draw me a bath. Then see to the burial of my dead horse."

He swallowed. "Right away, Your Grace. Please forgive me." He bowed once more and almost ran out of the room.

Charles returned the cigar to its box, pushed it aside and glared at the door. He was offended, he admitted. That the valet had thought so, he was offended. If the morning light and the light from the moon was anything to go by, Lady Beth was a lovely lady, but he had no intentions of taking her to his bed and he refused to foster one. It was not his intent to dishonour her, nor have her disrespect him.

He only wished to be her friend!

* * *

Charles stepped in from the stables and found his Mother by the kitchen giving a bunch of flowers to the maid, smiling as she always did. When she saw him, her expression fell. She started towards him in anger, her eyes, blazing from the rage she made no effort to contain. He knew she would never let his disappearance of the night before go, he knew she would come after him, but he never expected her to keep her words of a morning visit. She marched to him but he held his ground, walking to her to finish off the reason for her visit before Lady Beth arrived.

Her strides, though vengeful, were with grace and purpose, bringing her closer even as he walked towards her. At that moment, her small statue could intimidate anyone. She was born to wield power and she did it well. "You!" She accused. "How dare you ruin my ball?"

That was an overstatement. "Good morning to you too, Mother." He walked past her and she changed directions, walking by his side, fuming in her rage. They stepped into the main hallway.

"What could be good about this morning when you perfectly ruined my party?"

He slowed down to help her catch up, aligning his steps with hers. "Your ball was far from ruined, Mother. I can assure you that all who attended enjoyed it." He remembered and added. "In fact someone praised it last night, calling your parties the very best."

She stepped abruptly onto his path. He stopped quickly. "You were supposed to be there. How could you be completely absent? You were supposed to be at my side, Lady Harriet by you, greeting everyone who was in attendance. How could you abandon her, and me?! Do you think you can do as you please because you are Duke?"

He exhaled. "No Mother. I shouldn't do as I please and I am sorry." Sidestepping her, he walked by. "And I apologize to you, my beautiful Mother."

She set out after him again. "Your flattering words and a simple apology would not be enough. I am very angry at you!" The clicks of her irate shoes gave life to the silent halls. "It is beyond strange for a host to be absent from his very own ball."

He spared her a brief glance. "You were the hostess. I was simply a guest."

"How can you possibly say that? What about Lady Harriet?"

He didn't stop. "What about Lady Cossington?"

She held his left arm, stopping him again. Made to look at her, Charles stood by the Suits of Armour that stood diligently, looking out the window. "She didn't dance with anyone last night, saving her first dance for you. A dance you never came to claim."

"Whatever gave her the thought that I would want her first dance for the night?"

"It was her choice." His Mother defended.

"And it was mine to leave the ball." He started for the green salon.

She followed after him. "What are you saying, Your Grace? This isn't right."

He stopped. "Mother, please." She almost collided into him. "She could have danced with all that asked her for a dance, if she wanted to. She needn't save her first dance for me. She knows I will never claim it. She simply wanted to look pathetic and gain your pity."

His Mother walked closer to him and he again was reminded of how much his height dwarfed her. He was momentarily reminded of Lady Beth. She stretched her hand to his face to touch him and he allowed her, bending slightly. "Do you hate her?" Nothing. "Do you hate Lady Harriet?"