Chapter 9

Nine

" W here is he?" Ralph hissed, looking around him for any sign of Maximilian.

Miriam looked worried. Maximilian was nowhere to be seen, despite having promised to attend the ball at the assembly rooms that evening. Ralph and Miriam had arrived by carriage with much pomp and ceremony, to be greeted by the Lord Mayor, and feted by the great and good of Lancaster society. But Maximilian was notable by his absence. It was expected of him to be present – he was the heir to the dukedom, and Ralph felt only exasperation at the absence of his son.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Miriam replied.

"But what he's going to be like when he does arrive?" Ralph replied, shaking his head, as several fashionably dressed young women curtsied to him as they passed.

"Your Grace, I really must speak to you about an urgent matter concerning the wheat prices – they've gone up so quickly lately, I fear we'll have a riot on our hands if bread becomes too expensive," the Lord Mayor said, approaching Ralph with a glass of sherry in his hand.

Ralph forced a smile to his face and nodded. He was distracted, but he knew he could not let it show. But Maximilian proved a perpetual problem to Ralph, and his absence from the ball would not go unnoticed.

"Ah, yes…a terrible thing. Wars in Europe, I suppose, and importing problems," Ralph said, having only a vague knowledge of what the Lord Mayor was talking about.

"Well, yes, that's part of the problem. But it's not the whole problem, your Grace. There're unscrupulous farmers pushing up the prices for their own gain. Now, I'm not accusing anyone particularly, but…" the Lord Mayor was saying, but Ralph's attention was now drawn to a commotion in the entrance hallway, where a familiar figure had just appeared.

"Maximilian," Ralph snarled, and Miriam, too, turned and gasped.

Maximilian was drunk, and he was causing a scene with the master of ceremonies. But it was not just his drunken state attracting attention, but the astonishing outfit he was wearing. It had something of a continental style about it – foppish and bawdy. Maximilian was wearing a long, orange frock coat, and a waistcoat of colored patchwork. He had a tricorn hat on his head, and a ruff and cravat in yellow and white silk. His boots were highly polished, and his socks pulled up over his breeches, attached with clasps in the shape of golden lion heads. It was a remarkable sight, and the whole room was staring at him.

"Oh, goodness me," Miriam said, raising her hand to her mouth in astonishment.

The Lord Mayor was momentarily distracted from his exposition on the price of wheat, and he, too, stared at Maximilian in disbelief.

"I demand entry. Don't you know who I am? Can't you see who I am? Or are you just stupid, man?" Maximilian was exclaiming, and Ralph groaned.

But to his relief, it was William who stepped forward. William, the ever-reliable Baron of Mowbray. A good and trustworthy pair of hands. The very opposite of Maximilian.

"It's all right, William can take him aside. He won't cause too much of a scene," Miriam whispered.

But the damage had been done, and Ralph knew his son had a very long way to go before he could be called the heir to the dukedom, a title he was far from yet worthy of.

"I demand you allow me entry. I'm not drunk. How dare you suggest such a thing, you arrogant little man? Get your hands off me," Maximilian exclaimed, as the master of ceremonies tried to maneuver Maximilian back towards the doors of the assembly rooms.

"If your Lordship would be reasonable. I know very well who you are," the master of ceremonies replied, but Maximilian dismissed him with an angry shove.

"Get out of my way," he snarled, but before the insulted man could respond, William had appeared at Maximilian's side.

"Come now, Cousin. Come and sit down. You can listen to the music and watch the dancing," he said in a hushed tone, taking Maximilian by the arm.

Maximilian scowled at the master of ceremonies, who dusted off his lapels, straightened the creases in his waistcoat and glared at Maximilian, who waved his hand dismissively.

"What are you all looking at?" Maximilian snarled, as William led him past a group of men and women tutting and shaking their heads.

Maximilian had been drinking that afternoon at the inn, though he could not remember precisely what time he had arrived there – it may have been the morning. Eventually, the landlord had refused to serve him anymore drink, and Maximilian had staggered down the street to the assembly rooms, demanding entry on accord of his rank and privilege.

"Sit down here. I'll get you some…not punch," William said, looking suddenly uncertain.

"Yes, punch," Maximilian demanded, even as William appeared to look around for something other than alcohol to provide him with.

At that moment, Anne came over, smiling at Maximilian, who looked up at her as though through a haze. Maximilian liked Anne. She was a kind and considerate woman, gentle and thoughtful. William had made a good match, and her appearance was that of a woman in the first throes of motherhood – radiant and rosy-cheeked.

"How are you, Maximilian?" Anne asked, sitting down next to him, as William brought a cup of warm milk mixed with nutmeg.

"I'm quite all right. Everyone always asks me the same question. But I'm quite all right," Maximilian replied.

He spoke emphatically, even as he could hardly remember his own name.

"Your parents are worried about you," Anne said, taking Maximilian's hand in hers.

Maximilian rolled his eyes. His parents were not "worried" about him. They were concerned about their own appearance. That was always the way, and Maximilian resented it. He had deliberately dressed in an outlandish and continental fashion and was not ashamed of being flamboyant in his appearance. He sipped the cup of warm milk and sighed.

"Then why don't they come and speak to me? Am I such a pariah?" Maximilian replied, glancing over to where his mother and father were talking to the Lord Mayor.

"It's not that…well…no one thinks that, Maximilian. But you don't do much to help yourself, do you?" William replied.

Maximilian looked up at his cousin and scowled. He did not like being lectured – he did like being told what to do by anyone.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

William and Anne glanced at one another, and Anne took William's hand in hers and squeezed it.

"It's not meant as a criticism, Maximilian. But you've got to think about the future. You're to be the next Duke of Lancaster. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Anne asked.

In truth, it did not mean much to Maximilian. He had always known of his privilege, even as the thought of one day inheriting the title from his father filled him with dread. He did not want to be the next Duke of Lancaster. But birthright and hereditary meant he had no choice but to be so. With a sigh, he shook his head, setting aside the cup of milk and pulling his hand away from Anne, who looked anxiously at him.

"I don't care about the dukedom. I'm not interested in it. Let it all go to ruin. If I tried, it still would. If I didn't, well…we'll see. I'm good for nothing, and I might as well embrace the fact," Maximilian replied.

William and Anne exchanged worried glances, but Maximilian had heard enough, and now he rose to his feet, glancing around him at the other guests, and suddenly remembering Lily Porter. She was meant to be in attendance that evening, and Maximilian looked around him, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the throng. But his head was hurting, and his vision blurred. The room was filled with brightly colored dresses, twirling and whirling in the midst of a waltz. It made Maximilian feel quite ill, and he rose to his feet, dismissing William and Anne with a wave of his hand.

"Where are you going?" his cousin asked.

"I'm going to take the air on the terrace. It's stifling in here. Besides, I'm not wanted," Maximilian replied, glancing towards his parents, who were now talking together in a far corner of the room.

"Shall I come with you?" William asked, but Maximilian wanted to be alone.

He shook his head, and staggered off through the throng, catching the hems of several dresses, and causing something of a rumpus as he pushed his way towards the doors leading out onto the terrace.

"Watch what you're doing," one man exclaimed, as Maximilian barged into him.

"Watch what I'm doing? Don't you know who I am?" Maximilian demanded, grabbing the man by his lapels.

The man shook him off, pushing Maximilian back and laughing.

"I know just who you are – a pitiable excuse for a man, and entirely unworthy of his apparent succession," he said, straightening his lapels, as the woman he was dancing with laughed.

"Yes, if it weren't for his title, they'd throw him out," she said, as the couple returned to their waltz.

Maximilian cursed under his breath, and made his way out onto the terrace, where several other couples were taking the evening air. It had been raining, and the gardens were sodden, with large puddles creating patches on the terrace. Maximilian leaned on the parapet, looking down at the flowers in the borders below, the heads of a rose drooping under the weight of the water lying in the petals.

I know how it feels, he thought to himself, wishing he had not come, and feeling the burden of expectation lying heavily on his shoulders.

He knew what was expected of him, but the way he was treated was such as to make him believe no one would ever take him seriously. He was a joke – the whole ton was talking about him, and amidst the limitations of Lancashire society, Maximilian was a laughingstock. He played up to it, of course, and certainly there were times he took delight in it. But it was not the anger of his father he took to heart, but the evident disappointment on the duke's face. Maximilian was a disappointment to his father, and he knew it.

" Good for nothing, " he said to himself, as though to reinforce what he was certain others thought of him.

It was beginning to rain again, and Maximilian made his way back inside, standing next to a column across from the refreshment table, and looking around him again for a sight of Lily Porter. He did not know why his thoughts were so drawn to her. But she had interested him – there was a spark about her, a difference not entirely discernible, but alluring, nonetheless. She was not quite the same as the silly, giggling, women he was used to. Lily Porter was a challenge, one Maximilian liked the thought of…

"I wonder if she's here? Perhaps she's seen me already," Maximilian thought to himself, and now he looked around again, his eyes alighting on a young woman standing alone by one of the columns close to where the musicians were playing.

She appeared to be unaccompanied – though Maximilian assumed there would be a chaperone somewhere. She was pretty, dressed in an orange gown with a blue shawl, and a fascinator made of peacock feathers. With no sign of Lily Porter anywhere nearby, Maximilian stepped forward, clearing his throat, and causing the woman to turn. She looked at him curiously – though with what was surely a little fear.

"Have I seen you before?" Maximilian asked, by way of an introduction.

The woman blushed.

"It's my debut," she admitted, and Maximilian smiled.

The warm milk had sobered him, and now he offered the woman his arm.

"But you know me, don't you?" Maximilian asked, smiling at the woman, who nodded.

"You're Lord Maximilian, the duke's son," she said, as Maximilian drew her closer towards him.

"That's right – and what pretty name do I call you by?" he asked.

"Amelia Fox, my father's Sir Christopher Fox," the woman said, and Maximilian smiled.

Christopher Fox was a landowner in the north of the county, and whom Maximilian's father often had dealings with. Amelia was a sweet creature, pretty, with blonde hair and bright green eyes. Maximilian ran his fingers along her hand, smiling, as he raised it to his lips.

"What a pleasure it is to meet you," he said, his lips lingering for a moment.

"I'm sure the pleasure's mine, too, thank you," Amelia replied.

It was always the same. Maximilian was well practiced in the art of seduction. He used his position with impunity, and it was rare for a woman like Amelia to resist his charms.

"You're very welcome, Amelia. What a pretty name that is. French, I suppose," Maximilian replied, drawing Amelia back into the shadows behind the pillars.

Another waltz was taking place, but Maximilian was far more interested in seduction than dancing. His reputation was already in tatters, and another woman would hardly do anything to dent it further. Besides, Maximilian no longer cared what others thought about him. His mind was on one thing, and one thing only.

"I don't know. Perhaps it is. My grandmother was Amelia, too. That's why my mother chose it, I believe," Amelia replied.

"And she chose very well. She certainly did," Maximilian replied.

He was trying his best to be charming. It usually worked – a compliment here, a show of feigned interest there…

"It's kind of you to say so," Amelia replied.

"Come a little further back. I hate talking in public. One never knows when one's overheard. Tell me, Amelia, have you ever been to Burnley Abbey before?" Maximilian asked.

This was another a ploy – the mention of the house, the estate, its grandeur, and nobility. It was rare for a woman to resist such enticement, for there were few daughters of society who had not entertained the dream of marrying a duke…

"I haven't, no. But I hear it's a beautiful house. The finest in the county. And you live there with your parents? How extraordinarily wonderful," Amelia replied.

"I'd take you there, if you wish. Would you like to see it? You'd be very welcome. We could sit in the rose garden – I propagate them myself. I'd pluck one for you – a beautiful rose for a budding debutante," Maximilian said, leading Amelia further back into the shadows.

He wanted to kiss her, even as he knew it would cause a scandal if they were seen. But the columns hid them from sight, and with the dance continuing, all eyes were on the throng. Amelia blushed.

"Oh, I'd be delighted to see it. One hears of Burnley Abbey, but as for seeing it for myself…" she said, as Maximilian slipped his hand around her waist.

"I'd be delighted to show you," he replied, as now he brought his lips to hers and kissed her .