Chapter 5

Five

L ily could not believe her luck. She had stepped down from her carriage, after the long journey from London over the course of three days, only to be accosted by a man claiming to be the son of the Duke of Lancaster himself. At first, Lily had assumed the man to be an idle drunk, but as he had spoken, she had become ever more convinced he was telling the truth.

What remarkable luck, she thought to herself, as she watched the young heir's carriage drive away.

He had treated her with nothing but entitled lasciviousness. There was no doubt in Lily's mind as to what the duke's son was like – he was a rake, and rakes were the sort of men who created scandal.

" He'd have kissed me if his friend hadn't interrupted him. What an awful man, " she said to herself, shaking her head, as the carriage disappeared from sight.

Lily smiled to herself, imagining the things she could write in one of her scandal pages. But the journey north had been long, and Lily was tired – she would think more about the matter the following morning, and how best to use this new acquaintance to her advantage, for it surely would be. She had overnighted at a number of dubious inns, the landlords treating her with suspicion – an unaccompanied lady was a rarity – but Lily was not like other young ladies. She had inherited her father's guile and was nobody's fool. As she entered the inn, she found herself in a noisy taproom, where drunken men were carousing over cards and dice.

The perfect place for the duke's heir to embroil himself in scandal, Lily thought to herself, imagining what might be done to lure Maximilian into a trap.

Behind the counter, a tall man with a wispy beard and an eagle-like nose was drawing a tankard of ale from a barrel, and he looked up at Lily with suspicion – a greeting Lily was now used to.

"Be off with you – I won't turn my inn into a house of ill-repute," he snarled.

Lily fixed him with a stern expression.

"I'm not what you assume me to be," she said, even as some of the men at the tables nudged one another and winked.

"Then what do you want?" the man asked.

"I want a room for the night, and lodgings for the coming days," she said, pulling her bags over to the counter.

"We don't allow unaccompanied women. Where's your husband? Your father? Your brother?" the landlord asked.

"Not here – I've traveled north alone. I'm to stay with a friend for the season – Alicia Saunders. You might know her father – Timothy Saunders, a merchant in these parts. Those are my credentials," Lily replied.

But the circumstances of her arrival were not as firmly set as she claimed. Lily had written to her friend, Alicia, telling her she was coming north and hoping to have the favor of a previous stay on Alicia's part repaid, but was yet to receive a reply. The previous year, her friend had lodged with Lily and her mother for a month whilst her parents were abroad, and Alicia had always promised to reciprocate the kindness. The two had known one another for several years – having met at a ball in London when they were both eighteen – and Lily was certain there would be no difficulty in securing an invitation to stay. To Lily's relief, at the mention of Alicia's father, the landlord's expression softened.

"Ah, yes, I know Mr. Saunders – a wine and spirit merchant. His company supply me with claret. Very well, though I'm making an exception," the landlord said.

Lily glanced around her – several of the men were still watching her with interest, but the others had returned to their card games and dice. The landlord took down a key from a hook behind the counter, beckoning Lily to follow her, as a young boy appeared from the kitchen to serve the next customer. Lily was led through a door at the far end of the taproom, and up a rickety flight of stairs to a landing above.

"I'll only need the room for a few nights," she said, as the landlord lit a candle for one burning in a sconce at top of the stairs.

"And what brings you north? By your accent, I presume you're from London," he said, and Lily nodded.

"As I said, I'm here to visit my friend Alicia – she's terribly bored in the north. Society isn't the same as it is in the south," Lily said.

The landlord gave a wry smile.

"Yes, that's always the opinion of southerners. But we have society here – not that they frequent my inn, of course. If you want society, you'll need to look to the Duke of Lancaster and Burnley Abbey. Perhaps Mr. Saunders can get you an invitation – he has dealings with the duke," the landlord said, and now he unlocked a door at the far end of the corridor, opening it into a small bedroom with a bay window looking out over the street.

It was furnished with a bed, washstand, and a small writing desk – just what Lily wanted – and lit by a number of candles burning in sconces on the walls.

"Very good, thank you – I'm sure I'll be very comfortable. I'll write to Alicia immediately. Can you have it sent for me? Once she knows I'm here, she'll send for me at once, I'm certain," Lily said.

The landlord nodded.

"The boy can take it in the morning. I serve breakfast in the parlor at eight o'clock. There's no maid, though I'm sure you'll manage," he said, and bidding her goodnight, he left the room.

Lily lit another candle, placing it on the writing desk, and pulling out her journal from one of her bags. She was eager to write down her first impressions of the duke's heir, even as fatigue was getting the better of her.

What sort of man was he like? A rake…yes, and a drunkard. He had a sense of self-entitlement – I was a woman, he wanted to kiss me, and he thought he could do so because of who he is. A dozen other women can surely testify the same – more, I should think, Lily mused to herself, and she wrote down her observations, smiling to herself at the sight of the emerging scandal sheet before her.

But Lily was exhausted, and having written hastily to Alicia, she readied herself for bed. But as she lay down to sleep, Lily could not help but smile at the thought of what luck had brought her, and as she fell asleep, it was with a vow to use that luck to her advantage in securing revenge for her father.

Lily awoke to the smell of breakfast wafting up from the parlor below, and having washed and dressed, she made her way downstairs, eager to learn more from the landlord about the Duke of Lancaster. It was the kitchen boy who greeted her, showing her to a table in the window. There were only two other guests staying at the inn – an elderly gentleman buried behind a periodical, and a young man hurrying to eat before setting off for an appointment with the local magistrate.

"Two boiled eggs, tea, and a slice of bread," Lily said, and the boy hurried off to the kitchen, just as the landlord entered the parlor.

"I've sent the letter to Miss Saunders," he said, for Lily had left it outside her door the previous night.

"Thank you – I'm sure she'll be in touch very soon. But I'm keen to know more about the season here in Lancashire – is there a ball to open it?" Lily asked, and the landlord nodded.

The duke's son had mentioned such an occasion, even as he had given no further details.

"Yes, they all gather at the assembly rooms – not far from here. It's quite an occasion – for the north. It's taking place tomorrow night," he said, and Lily blushed.

"Yes, well…compared to London. And does the duke himself attend?" she asked.

"He does. He and the Duchess are the patrons. Not that any of it concerns me. I'm the landlord of an inn, I don't attend such things. But yes, they'll be there, along with the Baron of Mowbray and his wife – he was a fortunate man, the son of a servant, but the fortunate favorite of the duke. A title bought for him – can you believe it?" the landlord said, shaking his head.

Lily was intrigued. The son of a servant? A bought title? Such things reeked of scandal, and her mind immediately turned to the possibility of illegitimacy.

"How extraordinary? And he has a son, is that right?" Lily asked, pressing the landlord for further details.

Lily was used to extracting information in this way. In London, she had built up a string of contacts – maids, valets, footman, hall boys, and even butlers – anyone who could be of use in furnishing her with details for her work. The landlord of the inn was proving to be her first there in Lancaster, and it seemed he was a mine of information concerning the local aristocracy. But to her surprise – and delight – the mention of the air brought a grimace to the landlord's face.

"Ah, yes, Lord Maximilian – he's quite the rake," he said, shaking his head.

"Really? I can hardly believe that. The respectable son of a duke…" Lily said, dangling the possibility of response.

At this, the landlord laughed.

"Respectable? Him? I don't think so. When he comes in here… I've never seen such behavior. He's a drunkard, always carousing, and with a different woman every week. It's a scandal," the landlord exclaimed.

The kitchen boy now brought Lily's boiled eggs, but she was far more interested in hearing more about Maximilian than eating the breakfast placed in front of her.

"Goodness me – I always thought aristocrats to be the most respectable sort of people. But you say the duke's son runs riot – like father, like son?" Lily asked.

She knew just how to ask a leading question, and it seemed the landlord was only too happy to continue talking.

"Well…the duke's a respectable man, though…one hears rumors. He was never meant to be the duke. His brother died fighting the French in Corsica. His name was Max – Lord Maximilian's namesake. The Duchess was the daughter of the Baron of Mowbray, who lost all his money in a failed business venture. That's why the duke bought the title – or so I'm led to understand. But one never knows the whole story," he said.

Lily nodded, smiling to herself at the thought of the intrigues she had already uncovered – a dead duke, an unexpected heir, a bought title, a servant's son, and a rakish heir. She wondered where her father fitted into it, and now she sought to push the landlord further.

"My father had some dealings with the Duke of Lancaster, he didn't care for him very much," Lily said, and the landlord shrugged.

"He owns most of the city – thought not my inn, I'm glad to say. What was your father's name?" he asked.

"Oh, er…. Joseph Porter," Lily said, knowing she could not reveal the truth about her father to just anyone, and the landlord furrowed his brow.

"Ah, I don't remember a Joseph Porter. But I suppose it's a long time ago, isn't it? Over twenty years ago. Goodness me, how times change," he said, as Lily cut the top off her boiled egg and smiled.

"They do – but people don't always change with them. I must say, I'm surprised to hear such things said about the duke's son. One always imagines the aristocracy to be a model of virtue," she said, but the landlord laughed.

"If it's a model of virtue you want, you won't find it in the son of the Duke of Lancaster. He's not fit to inherit his father's title, that's for certain. But he will – how could he not? He'll make a poor duke, though, and for now, he'll play the rake. You'll see him at the ball – or he'll see you. Be careful – you and Miss Saunders are just the sort of women he'll be interested in," the landlord said, and Lily smiled.

That was just what she was hoping for…

After breakfast, Lily stepped out into the morning sunshine, keen to explore her new surroundings. She wanted to acquaint herself with the city and learn more about the dukedom. Any information was valuable, and she took with her a small pocketbook, ready to note down anything of interest she discovered. In London, Lily kept copious accounts of everything she learned, and she had an encyclopedic knowledge of the ton, so as to connect one piece of information with another, always ready to find scandal lurking beneath the surface.

And I've already learned so much, she thought to herself, making her way along the pleasantly appointed high street, pausing to look into the window of a modiste, where a beautiful pink dress was on display.

The ball would be an opportunity for observation, for Lily had no intention of preempting scandal. She could easily write a penny copy about the rakish heir – the landlord had already furnished her with tantalizing possibilities. But Lily knew the real skill in scandal mongering was to wait for the perfect opportunity to publish. A reputation could be destroyed in a moment, and it was often prudent to wait for a subject's stakes to be higher, before publishing a scandal from the past. In this way, Lily set herself apart from the many other scandal writers in London, for her copies were always perfectly timed to cause the most damage to reputations deserving of destruction.

A new gown would certainly help draw in the rakish heir, she thought to herself, deciding to invest in the pink dress as a means of securing the information she required.

Stepping into the modiste, she was greeted by a large woman in a purple dress, with a red face and bouffant hairstyle.

"Good morning, madam, and what can I do for you? A new dress, is it? I don't think I've seen you before," the woman said, and Lily smiled and nodded.

"Yes, I'd like to be fitted for the dress in the window. It's something of an urgency. I've traveled from London, and my trunks were misplaced by a careless carriage driver. I've nothing to wear for the assembly rooms ball tonight. I've sent my maid to buy the other things I need, but if you can do something for me, I'd be ever so grateful. I'm here for the season, you see," she said, as the woman nodded.

"Certainly. I'll take your measurements, and can make the alterations this afternoon. It's no trouble, and how terrible for you to lose your things like that. This way, please, stand on the stool," she said, and Lily was directed into a fitting room, where she slipped off her shoes and stood on a red plush stool, the modiste taking out a tape measure, and holding it up to Lily's skirt.

"I don't know much about the season here, though I assume the Duchess hosts a great number of events," Lily said.

Such leading questions were always to her advantage, and she felt certain the modiste would know a great deal about the Duchess of Lancaster.

"Oh, yes, Madam – the Duchess hosts several grand balls at Burnley Abbey, and a picnic in the grounds. She was here only yesterday to buy a new dress, and admired the one you've chosen," the woman replied.

"It must be difficult for her – not having a daughter. A son isn't much use when it comes to society events," Lily replied.

The modiste noted down her measurements and nodded.

"Certainly, Madam – but she's used to it, I'm sure, and she's got Lady Anne to help her now. She's like a daughter to her. The Baron's her godson, you see. The way she speaks about him… well, sometimes I wonder who she prefers – her own son, or him," the modiste said, tutting and shaking her head.

Lily smiled. It seemed there was no shortage of opinion as to the family of the Duke of Lancaster, and with every conversation, Lily was learning something new…