Chapter 6

Six

M aximilian groaned. His head was pounding, and he rolled over onto his back, staring up at the canopy above his bed.

"What time is it?" he said out loud, struggling to sit up and feeling suddenly unwell.

His chamber pot stood next to the bed, and he looked down into it, fearing he was about to be sick. A jug of water stood on his bedside table, and he grabbed it, drinking straight from it, the water running over his nightshirt.

"For goodness' sake," he exclaimed, soaked to the skin, as now he rose from the bed and staggered towards the window.

He pulled back the curtains, shielding his eyes from the bright sunshine, before pulling up the sill and breathing in the fresh air of the garden. Down below, a gardener was clipping the box hedge, and he looked up at Maximilian, shaking his head and tutting.

"What are you looking at? Get back to work," Maximilian shouted, even as he staggered back from the window, feeling again as though he was about to be sick.

He sat down on a chair by the hearth, struggling to recollect the events of the night before. He had gone to Lancaster with William. They had dined at the Gresham Club and stayed drinking in the smoking room until close to midnight. There had been a carriage ride home, and Maximilian had persuaded his cousin to have another drink – or perhaps two.

And the woman, too, Maximilian reminded himself, thinking back to the encounter with the woman outside the inn.

She had been a pretty creature – from what he could recall – and now he wondered who she was and whether he would see her again. But his musings were interrupted by a gentle tapping at the door.

"I've brought you some tea, my Lord," a timid voice called out, and the door opened to reveal one of the maids, carrying a tray with a cup and saucer on it.

As she entered the room, she made a face, and Maximilian could only assume the smell was not to her liking.

"Put it down there," he said, pointing to the table in front of him.

"Shall I open the curtains, my Lord," she said, and Maximilian nodded.

"Yes, but I'm not going down to breakfast. Bring it up to me," he said, for he did not relish the prospect of encountering his father and mother that morning in the dining room.

They would certainly have an opinion on his current state, and he would be compared to William, who had drunk only a sensible amount, and returned home in full control of his faculties. The maid nodded, curtseying, and hurrying from the room. Maximilian let out another groan, sighing, and closing his eyes. He would eat breakfast in his room, and then go out into the garden, intending to avoid his mother and father for the remainder of the day.

They'll only judge me – just as they always do, he thought to himself.

The maid returned a short while later, but she delivered a message, rather than the expected breakfast. The duchess reminded him it was the day of the ball at the assembly rooms, and that Maximilian was expected to attend. He had forgotten all about it and let out another groan as the maid waited expectantly for his response.

"I suppose they want me downstairs, do they?" he asked, and the maid nodded.

"Her Ladyship was most insistent, my Lord," she said, and Maximilian nodded.

"Very well," he said, dismissing the maid with a wave of his hand.

He pulled on the clothes from last night, not even bothering to comb his hair, before making his way downstairs. The effects of the previous night were still showing, and he paused in the hallway, steadying himself on the banister, the sight of the marble checkered floor making him feel ill.

"Is that you, Maximilian?" a voice called from the dining room – it was the duke, and Maximilian sighed, staggering forward towards the door.

As he entered the dining room, his mother and father looked up at him with expressions of resignation.

"Really, Maximilian, whatever do you look like?" his mother exclaimed, as Maximilian sat down at the table, and beckoned a footman to pour him a cup of coffee.

"Like a man summoned from his bed before he wished to be, Mother," Maximilian retorted.

"I'm sure William's managed to make himself look presentable after a similar evening to you," the duke said, but Maximilian only rolled his eyes and made no reply.

"It's the ball at the assembly rooms tonight. You'll need to be ready for it. It's an important occasion, Maximilian," his mother said.

Maximilian disliked the opening ball of the season. He disliked any occasion when his parents would be observing him. He did not like to be judged, and yet he knew he would be – it was inevitable.

"A few debutantes and maiden aunts dressed in peacock feathers and ill-fitting gowns. It's hardly an important occasion, Mother," Maximilian replied.

"It's expected of us – it's expected of you, Maximilian. Being a duke doesn't mean always doing what one wants to do. Don't you understand that? We turn out, we nod and greet, we're polite, and on show. Society sees us, and we benefit from their continued respect," the duke replied.

Maximilian did know this, but it did not change his attitude towards what was required of him. He hated the idea of being on show and would gladly have avoided the ball entirely, even as he had mentioned the possibility of it to the woman outside the inn the previous evening.

"Maximilian – why not think of the new season as an opportunity for a new start? Leave the past behind and look to the future. There'll be new people there – debutantes, invited guests, perhaps those from further afield. Wouldn't it be the perfect opportunity to present yourself in a different way?" his mother asked.

It was the usual tactic. His father would be angry, and his mother would be reconciliatory. Maximilian had no desire to upset her, even as he knew the prospect of change was far harder than she made it out to be. But Maximilian did not know if he wanted to change. His father would always compare him to William, and the rest of the ton had already made its mind up about him.

"And how might I do that, Mother? Won't I always be a disappointment to you? I can see it in your eyes. And if not yours, then Father's. I don't think I can change. I don't always set out to behave like this, but a few drinks, and…" he began, even as the duke threw his napkin aside and rose angrily to his feet.

"Maximilian, you're to be the Duke of Lancaster one day – you're to be looked up to as a model of respectful living. Can't you see that?" he exclaimed.

But Maximilian had heard enough. He, too, rose to his feet, and pointed angrily at his father in retort.

"Yes, but I wasn't ever supposed to be, was I? And neither were you. You grew up not believing you'd ever inherit the title. I've known it since the day I was born. You've always expected so much of me, and yet it was never meant to be. It was William all along," he exclaimed, and before his father could reply, Maximilian had stormed off from the table.

The footmen by the sideboard exchanged puzzled glances as he passed, but Maximilian did not care what they thought. He was angry, and he had been angry for a long time. It was not just his father's attitude and expectations, but the very nature of what he was born into. Maximilian had no choice but to inherit the title of Duke of Lancaster. It was his, whether he wanted it or not. He had felt the burden of responsibility even at a young age and had always felt second best in his father's estimations. The responsibility should have been William's, and the fact it was not left a bitter taste in Maximilian's mouth.

But they'll still expect it of me, won't they? he thought to himself, as now he made his way out into the garden.

The roses were his solace, and Maximilian was glad to breathe in their sweet scent as he made his way between the beds, pausing to examine the new blooms. He was something of an expert in roses – entirely self-taught – and had propagated several new varieties in the abbey gardens.

"Gallicanae Miriama," he said to himself, taking the bud of a crimson rose in his cupped hand and breathing in the perfume.

The rose had been named in honor of his mother – the first he had propagated, and it now trailed over an arbor, its flowers blossoming in the early summer sunshine. Maximilian found roses far easier to understand than people – and certainly women. A rose could be trained and trailed. It blossomed in the sunshine, and was cut back in winter. There was a predictability to roses, but the same could not be said for women.

Not that I try much, I suppose, Maximilian thought to himself.

He had taken a pair of pruning spears with him, intending to trail the rose into a comely shape, but as he began clipping, he heard footsteps approaching, and looking up, he found his cousin standing at the entrance to the rose garden.

"Were you sent as an envoy?" Maximilian asked, as William approached.

"No, I've only just arrived. I came through the gardens. I thought I might find you here. I wanted to see how you were – after last night, I mean," he said.

Maximilian shrugged. Last night had not been so different from so many others. Maximilian had got drunk, and his father had been disappointed in him. It was the usual pattern, or so it seemed, and Maximilian shook his head, returning to his pruning, as William stood at his side.

"I'm expected at the assembly rooms ball tonight – these things are always so trying. But it's my duty, apparently – that's what my father told me at breakfast. I'm a perpetual disappointment to him. But I'll go, I suppose – what choice do I have?" he said, with a sigh.

"I'll be there, and so will Anne, too. It's important, Maximilian – you know it is. Besides, you might enjoy it," William said – ever the optimist.

"I don't enjoy occasions where my parents are watching my every move. I don't care about making favorable impressions for their benefit," Maximilian retorted, snapping the spears together with an angry force.

His cousin raised his eyebrows.

"Yes… I saw that last night. You were hardly making a favorable impression with that woman outside the inn. What were you thinking of? You accosted her in the street. It was quite extraordinary," he said.

Maximilian turned to his cousin in surprise. His own recollection was quite different. He and the woman had enjoyed a perfectly civilized conversation. She had been alighting from her carriage as Maximilian and William left the Gresham Club, and as William had gone to find their carriage driver, he and the woman had struck up a conversation. Maximilian had thought himself chivalrous in keeping the woman company whilst her bags were unloaded from the carriage, and in his mind, there was no sense of impropriety.

"What do you mean? I behaved perfectly well towards her," Maximilian retorted, but his cousin laughed.

"Really? You lunged at her, expecting her to kiss you. I'm surprised she didn't scream. I just hope she's not there tonight – you might find yourself in a difficult position if she is," William said.

Maximilian scowled at his cousin. He recalled the encounter quite differently and did not think his behavior had been anything but courteous. The woman had been attractive, but Maximilian really knew nothing about her. She had come from London, or so he thought, and was visiting a friend. He could not remember how she had introduced herself – was her name Lily?

"Well, it hardly matters, does it? She was just a flight of fancy. Nothing more. I spoke to her. Is there any harm in that?" he asked, looking up at the rose bush, as he decided where the prune next.

"There is when it happens so frequently, Maximilian. You leave a trail of destruction behind you wherever you go – broken hearts and jealousies. How many women have you claimed to fall in love with, only to jilt them once you've grown bored with their company?" William persisted.

But Maximilian had heard enough. He had been lectured at the breakfast table, and now he was being lectured in the rose garden, too – his rose garden. Lowering his pruning shears, Maximilian turned to his cousin and fixed him with a hard stare.

"I don't need your opinion on my morals, Cousin. You're lucky to have a wife and find yourself settled – thanks, in no small part, to my father. As for me, I don't need further advice. I know what you all think of me, and I know I'm not going to change, either," he said, and William sighed.

"I just want you to be happy, Maximilian – that's all. And you won't be – not until you stop this nonsense and settle down," he said, and turning on his heels, he marched off across the garden, leaving Maximilian alone.

Maximilian sighed. He was not looking forward to the ball that evening, though the prospect of seeing the woman from the previous evening was somewhat enticing.

She won't be there. She's not that type, he thought to himself, even as he could only remember scant details of their conversation.

Had he asked her about the ball? What had she said? He was struggling to even picture her, though he knew she had been pretty. His recollection of their conversation was entirely different from William's perception – he felt certain he had been charming, even as his cousin gave a very different account.

Well, it hardly matters – she's just like all the rest, he thought to himself, returning to his pruning, and feeling glad of the certainty his roses provided – they would bloom, even as so much of the rest of his life was still waiting to blossom.