Chapter 2

Two

Lancashire, England, 1816

" B e quiet, we'll wake the whole household," Maximilian hissed, as he fumbled for the key in his pocket.

It was late at night, and the full moon above cast a silvery light over the forecourt of Burnley Abbey. Maximilian found the key in his pocket, his young companion standing giggling at the bottom of the steps.

"Am I really to be allowed into the house? I've always wondered what it's like. Could I be the duchess?" she said, as Maximilian was still fumbling with the lock.

"Oh, yes, you can be the Duchess of Lancaster one day – as long as you kiss me very nicely. But keep your voice down, we don't want to get caught, do we?" he said, finally finding the lock and turning the key with a grating noise.

The sound echoed in the still night air, and the door creaked open, as Maximilian almost fell through it.

He had been drinking for most of the day in the village inn, and Elsie – or was it Clara? – had kept him company.

"It's so dark. I can hardly see a thing," she said, following Maximilian into the hallway.

Maximilian was used to navigating the house at night. Even in his drunken state, he knew to step over the third stair on the staircase to avoid its creak, and that the butler, Mr. Gregson never retired before midnight.

"Take my hand, and watch out for the table in the middle of the hallway," Maximilian said, reaching out in the darkness, but finding only empty space.

"Where are you?" Elsie – or Clara – said, for with the door closed, the hallway was plunged into darkness.

"Wait there, I'm coming back," Maximilian replied, but as he stepped back, he stumbled, falling into a suit of armor – one of three displayed in the hallway.

The crash was enough to wake the dead, and Maximilian found himself sprawled on the floor, struggling to regain his feet. The girl screamed – a piercing scream, echoing around the hallway.

"What's happened?" she exclaimed, as footsteps now came hurrying on the landing above, and the light of a candle appeared from the door leading to the stairs down to the servants' hall.

"Who's down there?" came a voice from above.

It was Maximilian's father, Ralph, the Duke of Lancaster, and now the face of Mr. Gregson loomed over Maximilian, peering down at him with a look of disdain.

"Lord Maximilian, your Grace," he said, as a cry of exasperation came from above.

"Get off me, Gregson, I'm quite all right. I just fell, that's all – these stupid suits of armor…" Maximilian exclaimed, stumbling to his feet, as the butler held his candle aloft.

The light illuminated the figure of Elsie – or was it Clara? And now, the butler raised his eyebrows, as the duke himself came hurrying down the stairs. He was dressed in his nightgown, and he glared angrily at Maximilian, who stood sheepishly in front of him.

"What's the meaning of this? Where have you been – drinking? I can smell it on you. And who's this?" the duke demanded, turning to the girl, who looked terrified.

"Elsie Greenwood," Maximilian muttered.

He was sobering up now, angry at having been caught, and angry at being treated like a child. He was twenty-two years old, and yet his father treated him as though he had not yet reached any kind of maturity.

" Clara Greenwood," the girl said, fixing Maximilian with an angry glare.

"From the village, I suppose? Well, you're not the first," the duke said, and Maximilian scowled.

Clara looked indignant.

"He told me he'd never invited any woman to the abbey. I was the first. I was going to be the duchess," she exclaimed.

"The only thing you'll be, Clara, is disappointed. Now, I suggest Mr. Gregson sends for one of the footmen – he can walk you home. As for you, Maximilian – get to bed. We'll talk about this matter in the morning," the duke said.

Maximilian had no grounds for protests, and as the butler led Clara away, he stalked upstairs, ignoring his father's further words about his rakish behavior.

"I don't care," he exclaimed, rounding on the duke, who had followed him to his bedroom door.

"If you want to inherit the dukedom, you'd better start caring, Maximilian. You're behaving like…like the worst kind of man," Ralph said, shaking his head.

Maximilian did not reply, opening his bedroom door and stepping into the darkness. He slammed it behind him, leaning heavily back and sighing. It was always the same – his father was disappointed in him, and he would go on being disappointed in him, whatever Maximilian did to try to make amends.

"Just because I'm nothing like William," Maximilian said to himself, as he lay fully clothed on the bed, his mind racing, unable to sleep, and wondering what the morning would bring…

Maximilian slept late the next morning. He had no desire for the inevitable confrontation with his father, and it was only when a gentle tapping came at his door, after he the clock had struck the eleventh hour, he summoned the strength to move.

"I don't want any tea, go away," he called out, groaning as he sat up on the side of the bed.

He assumed it was a maid, but the voice of his mother, Miriam, the duchess, now came from the corridor.

"Maximilian, your father wants to speak to you. But I thought you might like to speak to me first. Can I come in?" she asked.

Maximilian sighed. Whilst he and his father existed in a perpetual state of opposition, his relationship with his mother was less strained. He got up and went to the door, opening it to find his mother standing outside. She was a pretty creature, with long auburn hair and bright green eyes – similar to Maximilian, himself. She smiled at him, rolling her eyes and sighing.

"I don't want to speak to him," Maximilian said, as he stepped back to allow his mother to enter his bedroom.

It was messy – his clothes strewn over the floor, and open books and papers lying on the table. The bed was unmade, and only one of the curtains was drawn.

"I heard all about your antics of last night. What were you thinking – bringing a girl from the village here? Can you imagine if word got out?" the duchess said, shaking her head.

"I don't care. I've brought plenty of girls from the village here," Maximilian retorted.

His mother's eyes grew wide, but she made no immediate reply, crossing to the window and pulling back the other curtain.

"You can't go on like this, Maximilian. Your father's at his wit's end. We're worried about you. You get drunk, you neglect your responsibilities, you do nothing to make amends for your behavior. What's going to become of you?" she said.

Maximilian threw himself back onto the bed with a sigh. He had no interest in responsibilities. His father already considered him a lost cause, and Maximilian was not about to make any effort to change. He was happy enough, or so he told himself.

"I'm going to inherit the dukedom from my father. Isn't that what's going to happen to me? I thought that was the point of hereditary titles. It doesn't matter what I do. It's mine because of birth. I don't care," he said, as his mother came to sit on the bed next to him.

"But I care, Maximilian. I care about my son, and I fear for the future. I'm worried about you, and I want you to be happy, but I can't imagine you are – not living like this. Where's your passion?" she said.

Maximilian did not like it when his mother used such tactics on him. His father would be angry with him. He would shout at him, and Maximilian would shout back. But it was different with his mother. She was more subtle and would speak instead of disappointment rather than anger. Maximilian did not like to think of her as being disappointed in him, and he sat up and sighed.

"Mother, I…I don't know what I'm expected to do. I know how it's going to be. I'll go downstairs, we'll shout at one another, and my father will end by telling me I'm a disappointment because I'm nothing like William," Maximilian said.

His cousin, William, was, according to the duke, everything Maximilian was not. He had proved himself as the Baron of Mowbray, a worthy inheritor of the title the duke had bought him as a safeguard for his future. William was married to Anne, and she had just given birth to a baby boy, whose name was Jacob. William was hard working and diligent. He had come from nothing and discovered himself to be the son of Maximilian's uncle, the deceased Duke of Lancaster, after whom Maximilian was named. The relationship of the two cousins was not widely known. William was the duke's Godson, and it was said he had favored him with the barony because of this. In their youth, Maximilian and William had not seen eye to eye – they had often been at odds – but their relationship had mellowed in recent months, and Maximilian now counted William as a friend, albeit one his father often compared him to.

"That's not what he thinks, Maximilian. Your father loves you, and he wants what's best for you. As do I," the duchess replied, but Maximilian shook his head.

He knew his father had always favored William. The duke felt a particular affinity towards his nephew, one he had expressed in the education he had provided him with and shown in his gift of the barony. Maximilian felt second best and often compared himself to his cousin. It was for this reason – amongst others – Maximilian indulged his rakish behavior. He had no intention of changing now, and his father would simply have to get used to it.

"To be left alone, that's what's best for me, Mother. I'm going to the garden. I'll get some peace there, at least," Maximilian replied, rising to his feet, as his mother sighed.

"Won't you speak to your father? He wants to help you, Maximilian," she said, but Maximilian shook his head.

"He wants to shout at me, Mother. If it wasn't about this, it would be about something else. It's the only thing he knows," Maximilian retorted.

He had not bothered to undress before bed, and now he left his bedroom, making his way along the corridor to the landing and down the stairs to the hallway. He was making for the rose garden – his one solace in an otherwise miserable existence. Maximilian loved the rose garden and tended it with great care. He had cultivated all manner of different varieties and found a sense of peace and solitude amongst the blooms. But as he crossed the hallway, the door of his father's study opened, and the duke appeared, beckoning Maximilian inside.

"I want to talk to you," he said.

The words were not an invitation, but Maximilian shook his head.

"I don't want to talk to you. We'll only argue, you know that," he said.

But to Maximilian's surprise, his cousin now appeared at the study door. William smiled at Maximilian, shaking his head as he did so.

"Have you recovered from last night?" he asked.

Maximilian knew what they were doing. This was a three-pronged attack. His mother's weapon had been to use an air of disappointment, his father's would be anger, and William's would be understanding.

"There was nothing to recover from," Maximilian replied.

He was more than able to handle his drink and would gladly have returned to the village inn that very moment if it meant escaping from his father and cousin.

"There was everything to recover from. You disgraced yourself, Maximilian," the duke exclaimed, but William now stepped forward.

"If I may…perhaps Maximilian and I should spend some time together," he said, fixing his gaze on Maximilian, who shrugged.

"Don't we do so already?" he replied.

William had been appointed as the land agent, and rarely went by when he was not present at Burnley Abbey, advising the duke or discussing some matter of business. Maximilian's father insisted Maximilian take part in these meetings, but the pair rarely saw eye to eye, and William was often the arbiter of disputes between the two.

"We do, but not in the way you might benefit from," William replied.

Maximilian laughed.

"And how might I benefit, Cousin? I spend my time drinking and carousing – isn't that true, Father? I doubt you'd wish to lower yourself in such a way," Maximilian replied.

His cousin smiled.

"There're different ways of drinking and carousing, Cousin. Some are more respectable than others. We could go to one of the gentleman's clubs in Lancaster. There're several, as I'm sure you know. We could talk," William said.

Maximilian glanced at his father. He wondered whether this tactic was to prove an alternative to the usual angry outburst. Was his father giving him a chance?

"What about?" Maximilian replied.

"About your future, Maximilian. You'll be the Duke of Lancaster one day. Don't you realize the responsibilities that brings?" the duke exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

Maximilian did know the responsibilities his future title brought. He saw them expressed each day, and he knew his father took his role seriously, even as it should never have been his. The death of Maximilian's namesake had brought with it a seismic change, and had the previous duke not died, it would have been William who would have inherited the title.

"And perhaps he's better suited to it than me," Maximilian thought to himself.

But he knew William was only trying to help, and he nodded.

"We could make a day of it – just the two of us. Luncheon, a walk, and then some drinks – no rakish behavior," William said, and Maximilian smiled weakly.

"Very well, since I'm to get no peace, unless I agree – we can talk, but I won't promise anything, and I don't know what you intend to achieve by talking," he said, as his father sighed.

"Thank you, William. You've managed to talk some sense into him," the duke said.

But Maximilian was not about to have anyone talk their version of sense to him. His behavior was as he desired it, and not according to anyone else. He would talk with William, but it would not change anything. Maximilian was a rake – society described him as such, and his reputation preceded him.

"We'll go to Lancaster tomorrow, Maximilian," William said, and Maximilian nodded.

"Very well, but for now, I'm going to tend to my roses. I'm sure you can't find anything wrong with that, can you?" he said, and turning on his heels, he marched off across the hallway, determined not to be changed by anyone.