Chapter 10

"She needs to learn her place, and that place is London."

It took William all of ten minutes to decide that he did not like Lord Coatsworth. Not the man that he had become, at least. His wife had died five years before, and he had seemingly never gotten over it. That was to be expected, of course, given how long they had been married for, but the man had nothing and it was as though he was completely unaware of it.

As soon as William entered, he jumped into a long rant about Miss Staunton and her devilish ways. He used the word devilish, and even William had to admit that he was going too far. She was rash, and outspoken, but she was far from being a devil.

"Why would she go to London?" He asked, "There is nothing for her there."

"There is society. There is order! You and I know perfectly well that the girl needs order. She is utterly unruly."

"In which case, London would be unbearable for her, do you not agree?"

"I do not care what she finds bearable and what she does not. What I care about is that she is not bothering our village."

"Does she truly bother the entire village?"

"She is a nuisance! I have lost count of the number of times she has awoken me from my slumber in the middle of the night whilst she is sitting in the garden. I believe she is smoking some sort of thing. It is incredulous, and she is roping your poor mother into it, too."

William tried to think back to a smell of smoke, but he couldn't remember such a thing. Nor had he ever seen any sign of her engaging in such a behavior. It was more likely that she was simply in the garden taking air. It was not an uncommon thing to do, after all.

"How is your mother, by the way?" He asked, and William's head started spinning.

His mother had been doing well, it appeared, until he arrived and began ruining things. Her friendship with Miss Staunton would inevitably become strained if he continued, and whether he liked it or not it would devastate her. He was campaigning for Miss Staunton to be married off and shipped away, but as soon as Coatsworth said it would be a good idea he realized how wrong he was about it.

He had been absent, and his absence had brought about a friendship, and now he was going to take that away, and then what? Return to London? He had been made aware of this, but now he realized just how cruel that would be.

"Does she… does she do anything that you have actual evidence of?" He asked carefully, so as not to offend him.

"Do you not believe my word?"

"Of course I do, but if I am to discuss the matter with her, or with my mother, I shall need something to back up your claims. My mother likes this girl. She will not simply cast her aside because you think it is a good idea, because she did not do so when I thought it was a good idea."

"Then ask her about the competitions."

"What competitions?"

"How do you not know about them? Miss Staunton has been running competitions since her arrival. The first was floral arrangements."

"That sounds rather nice, actually."

"You would think that," Coatsworth sighed, "But not the way she did it. They held it in your garden, and they invited all sorts of people to partake in it. What's more, they did not charge an entrance fee. They allowed all sorts of people to compete."

"So they were fair?"

"They were tempting scandal! They could have vandalized your home, or stolen from you, and you wouldn't have been any the wiser about it. I do not understand how you are so calm about it."

"Because nothing happened," William shrugged, noticing that he was behaving a lot like Miss Staunton with his reaction.

"But it could have. Regardless, you did not see the mess that was left behind. It rained the day of the competition, and instead of grabbing the blooms and rushing them inside, Miss Staunton had them dance. Dance, I tell you! They were all drenched by the end of it."

"I do apologize, but I do not see how that constitutes a mess."

"They could have caught an illness! Some of the people there were elderly. They could have caught their death. They were all reckless, and it was because of her. I do not suppose that you would care, though. You were not the one that had to clear the wretched things away the next day. They were trampled and wilted. It took hours."

"Why did you clean my garden?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"That is what you are trying to say, isn't it?"

"Heavens no. I would not have touched that garden that day no matter how much money was thrown at me. No, Miss Staunton did it the following day."

William wanted to understand what the problem was, but he had to give up. It simply did not make any sense. She allowed a mess to be made, but she had willingly fixed the issue herself. To be sure, it would have been an eyesore until she had finished, but how terrible could it have truly been?

"And the bread competition was even worse. Not only did they not charge an entrance fee once more, but she went on to offer the bread to those that are destitute. Does she not know that such behavior will only lead them to come back? Our neighborhood does not need that! We have standards here, and I will not allow that to change. As for the croquet…"

At least, William was in agreement about the croquet.

"What would you like me to do about it?" He asked eventually, "My mother loves this girl, but I will do what I can."

"Marry her off," he replied gruffly, "Or, at least, put a stop to these terrible soirees that they insist on throwing."

"Soirees?"

"Well, afternoon tea, but you would hardly know it. It is as if they are wild animals rather than respectable ladies. Yes, Your Grace, should you do anything, I beg of you to put an end to those wretched things. I could forgive the rest of it, all of it, if it were not for those."

As William said his goodbyes and boarded his carriage, he wondered just how terrible said soirees could be. Afternoon tea. If a tragedy was a simple flower competition, a travesty was giving bread to those in need, then afternoon tea would be…

Bedlam. It would be bedlam.

He could hear the supposed afternoon tea ongoing as he approached the house, and for the first time it was clear that Coatsworth was not exaggerating. It only grew worse as he entered his home to see dozens of women milling around. Some were gossiping, some were treating his household as if it were their own. They all looked at him as he entered, as if he were the intruder rather than the other way around.

Some were brave enough to greet him, some even tried to flirt with him, but he scoffed at each of them. The others took one look at him and scampered away. It was as though his house was infested with mice, and they all ran away from him out of fear.

Just as well, he thought, else he might have had to raise his voice and make matters worse.

Upon entering the drawing room, he realized the extent of what was happening. There, he found an assortment of women, even his own housekeeper, playing cards and drinking. He dared not ask what they were drinking, too shocked to even speak. He hadn't seen any musicians as he entered, yet there was music playing and it was loud, so loud that he could hardly hear himself think.

"Out," he said suddenly, though quietly, before raising his voice, "Out! Go on, the lot of you."

The music died, and they all turned to him. There were whispers among them, and he was sure that he heard someone ask who he was. Granted, he had not shown his face in the village in a long time, but for them to not know their own duke was inexcusable, and he couldn't stand it.

"One more please, Sir," one lady asked, her speech slurring, "Yes, some of that lemonade there shall do quite nicely. The one next to Olivila"

Olivila…

Olivia.

Amongst them all, there Miss Staunton sat. She was perfectly centered and clearly adoring the attention. She smirked as the woman spoke, covering her mouth in a not at all discreet fashion so as to hide the fact that she was laughing.

"I suppose you find this amusing, Miss Staunton?"

"No, Your Grace. Of course not."

But she was still smirking at him.

"Your Grace?" One lady echoed, "Do you mean to say that he is-"

"The Duke of Bolton, yes. You are in my home, and unless I am mistaken I do not recall inviting any of you. Leave. Now."

A few looked at him before scurrying away. He didn't understand why the first ladies he had seen knew to avoid him, but these ones seemingly did not. They did not seem to take him seriously at all, and he had no doubt that Miss Staunton had something to do with that.

"Am I speaking a different language?" He asked, exasperated, "This is my home, and none of you are welcome. Leave before I take the matter further. Do not forget that I know all of your husbands."

This worked, and he was glad that it did because he had been bluffing completely. He did not know their husbands, of course, because he had no idea who any of the ladies were themselves. Regardless, they left and he had achieved his goal. He should have been content with this, and he would have been had Miss Staunton not still been smirking at him.

It was not as though he wanted her to fear him, but he thought he at least deserved a modicum of respect. As was often the case with her, however, she either did not understand that or did not care, and he was unsure of which would be worse.

Eventually, the household was quiet once more, save for him, Miss Staunton, and his mother, the latter of whom stood to leave.

"Sit back down," he commanded, and she obliged.

"Do not speak to her that way," Miss Staunton said firmly, "This was all my idea. I practically forced her to-"

"No you didn't."

"You always say that she is under my thumb."

"Yes, but I also know my mother far better than you think I do."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

William looked at his mother, who had shrunken into the sofa, unable to meet his eye.

"Will you tell her, Mother," he asked, "Or shall I?"

"Your Grace, that is enough-"

"I will tell her," his mother said quickly, "I know it seems unfair, Olivia, but he is right. I have done this before."

William stood nearby, his arms folded, and waited for her to explain. Miss Staunton glared at him, but it appeared that his mother was the only one that could have some semblance of control over her.

"When I was married," she began, "My husband forbade me from doing anything he disliked. That was a rather long list in and of itself, but it only ever increased, particularly when he… When he knew he did not have much time left."

William knew at that moment he was being cruel. He went to tell her to stop, but Miss Staunton held a hand up to him, not allowing him to interrupt.

"But I-"

"No, Your Grace. You have succeeded in pestering her into submission."

"But I didn't mean for this."

"You didn't mean to feel guilty. That is the truth, isn't it? Well, unfortunately for you, she is going to continue, yes, Virginia?"

"She clearly does not wish to."

"She needs to," she said firmly, her eyes burning into his, "You need to see what you do to people before you become that man completely. You wanted this."

He looked at her, knowing perfectly well that she was as angry as he was, perhaps even more, but he hated that she felt such an innate need to make him loathe himself entirely. He nodded at his mother.

"He had already lost the boys. They had gone away into their own lives. I knew that I wouldn't see them, at least not until my husband passed, and that knowledge made me all the more isolated. I was not allowed any form of friendship. He said it would ‘give me ideas' if I had an outside influence."

"It would have made you eventually stand up to him, he meant," Miss Staunton sighed.

"Precisely. Either way, it was forbidden. I could not speak with the staff; it was deemed low class by him. I had nothing, and so I had to find my vices when I could."

"And so you held parties in his absence?"

"The moment he left the household. I had a small circle of ladies that were aware of his comings and goings and they would rush in and out of here before he returned. It worked for a while, but then my husband came home early and saw them. I… I do not remember what happened that day anymore."

"Your Grace," Miss Staunton said sharply, "Would you care to tell me where the problem was in that situation?"

"The issue came when people talked," he sighed, "I was told all about these soirees, not afternoon teas, and it made our family seem riotous and uncultured. It was her job to make us seem stronger, notweaker."

"And it was your job to protect her, and look how well you did that."

"You know nothing about that. You were not there."

"And you were?"

"You do not understand. I had no choice. I had to begin fixing his mistakes."

"So much so that you allowed him to continue making them at home, is that it? Well, it is not as though that was a mistake, was it? It was deliberate, and you saw your chance to leave and you took it."

"I did what I had to do."

"At the expense of your mother."

"She understands," he huffed, "Don't you, Mother?"

"Yes, dear, of course I do."

"She might," Miss Staunton sighed, shaking her head, "But I never will. You were a terrible son, and it is no doubt to me that you will be a terrible husband, too, should you ever find a lady that sees you as worthy."

"And what sort of wife will you be?" William snapped, "Have you any idea how difficult it shall be for me to find you a husband when you are so determined to be this willful and spiteful?"

"What did you say?" His mother asked suddenly.

William realized what he had said too late.

"Nothing, Mother."

"No, it certainly wasn't nothing. You had me talk, now it is your turn. Explain yourself, and do it now."

Miss Staunton smirked at him.

"Yes, Your Grace," she gasped with mock surprise, "You ought to tell her what you have done."