Chapter 5

"He'll be all right, Teresa, I know he will," Miriam said, as they stood watching William's carriage drive away.

Teresa turned to her and nodded, giving Miriam a weak smile. There were tears in her eyes, and Miriam could well imagine the pain Teresa must be feeling at seeing her only son set out into the world on this new adventure.

"I'll miss him, but I'm so grateful to you both for what you've done for him. I really am," she said, and Miriam and Ralph glanced at one another.

"Well, it was the least we could do," Ralph replied.

They said goodbye to Teresa, and now Ralph suggested they might walk together through the parkland. It was a beautiful day, and everywhere Miriam looked, new life was emerging in the gardens, soon to be filled with budding blooms and blossom.

"He was certainly pleased to go, but I know he'll miss Teresa too," Miriam said, as she and Ralph walked hand in hand through the woodland surrounding Burnley Abbey.

Ralph smiled. Miriam knew he enjoyed helping his nephew – the nephew who did not know Ralph was his uncle. It gave Ralph pleasure to do so, and he had vowed to always honour his brother's legacy in this way. A letter of introduction and an allowance was but a small thing, but it had clearly meant so much to the one who had received it.

"I'm glad I could help him. It's what Max would've wanted, I know it," Ralph replied.

Even after twenty years, Miriam knew how much Ralph missed his brother. He was never meant to be the Duke of Lancaster. The inheritance had come on him unexpectedly, and under such tragic circumstances. Ralph often spoke of his brother, and Miriam knew he saw his brother in William, and wanted to do all he could to help him.

"I'm sure he'll work just as hard in London as he did here with Professor Murray," Miriam said, for she was always astonished at William's learning, and all he had already achieved in the first flush of manhood.

"I've no doubt about it. That's why I wanted to send him to London. He'll certainly make more of it than Maximilian would do," Ralph replied, shaking his head.

Miriam sighed. William was everything their own son was not. She despaired of Maximilian at times – he did nothing to his own benefit, and lived only in the shadow of his inheritance, always taking it for granted. He was lax in his studies, unmotivated and uncaring when it came to diligence in those things he ought to be learning. His days were spent in idle pursuits, or worse, nothingness. He was idle, and would stay in bed until luncheon, rising only to eat, before spending the afternoon and evening indulging in vain pleasures.

"What are we to do about Maximilian, Ralph? It was possible to dismiss his idleness as growing pains before, but not any longer. If he doesn't make an effort soon, well…he'll never amount to anything more than his inheritance," Miriam said, despairing of her son, in contrast to William.

"But that's his problem, isn't it? William seizes the opportunities afforded him – he wants to better himself from his lowly position. Maximilian looks down on William from the lofty heights. He doesn't need to soar any higher," Ralph replied.

They had reached the edge of the woodland now, and before them lay the meadows, replete with early spring flowers, blowing gently in the breeze. Burnley Abbey lay behind, its sandstone walls catching the sunlight with a pleasant glow. It had been Miriam's home for twenty years. She loved the abbey, and all the memories it held. Like Ralph, she would not change a moment they had spent together, and looking back, she could only feel glad as to how the events surrounding William's birth had played out. She and Ralph still visited Briar Heights on occasion – the house in which the duke had hidden with Teresa in the days of her pregnancy. It was part of the estate now, bought to preserve its wild and lonely setting – the perfect place for the solitude they so often craved.

"I'm sure he'll find his place. Perhaps London would be good for him, too," Miriam ventured, though she could not imagine her son jumping at the opportunity, as William had done.

Ralph shook his head.

"We'll see. Come now, let's walk past the graves. I'd like to visit my brother's," Ralph said.

Miriam nodded. They often visited the family graves, and Miriam would cut flowers to lay there in memory of her brother-in-law, and more recently, the dowager duchess, Ralph's mother. She had died five years previously and was buried alongside the son she had mourned every day since his passing.

"And tell him about William's good fortune?" Miriam asked, as they walked arm in arm towards the family burial plot in the churchyard of Saint James' – the church of the estate. The graves were well tended, and the headstone, though worn, still clearly displayed the lettering of twenty years previously.

"Maximilian Oakley, VIIIth Duke of Lancaster, 1774-1794, Rest in Peace," it read, and Miriam and Ralph now paused before the grave, their heads bowed in reverent silence.

"I wonder what he'd be like if he was here now, twenty years later," Ralph said, turning to Miriam, who smiled.

"Things would be very different for us all. We wouldn't be married, for a start," she said, and her husband nodded.

"I know that, it's just…one can't help wondering, that's all," he said, but Miriam shook her head.

"Don't start going down rabbit holes, Ralph. What if this? What if that? It doesn't help anyone, I don't think. We exist as we are, and we live with what we have. Your brother died, you remained. That's all there is to it. Who are we to ask why?" she said, and Ralph sighed.

"You're right. I'm just…imagining what isn't. I don't mean it, though – I wouldn't change things. You know I wouldn't," he said, and Miriam slipped her hand into his.

"I know you wouldn't – we've all learned to live with the way things are. That's all there is to it," she said.

They walked away from the graves, taking the path back towards the abbey. The gardens had grown and matured considerably in the years since their marriage, and they paused amidst the rose bushes, where buds were forming, soon to bloom and burst forth with their scent.

"You've been happy, haven't you?" Ralph said, turning to Miriam, who smiled.

"You know I have. What's brought this on, Ralph? You've been brooding all day – is it because William's gone away?" Miriam said, taking his hand in hers.

"Oh, I'm being foolish, Miriam. I want to do what's right for William, and I know I have, but I worry about Maximilian, too. We always knew the question of inheritance would come. There's the Barony for William, and the dukedom for our son – not that William knows anything about it. It just feels…well, as though we've reached the point where the vase shatters. We've got to tell them the truth, haven't we?" he said, shaking his head.

Twenty years previously, Miriam's marriage to Ralph had saved her own father from financial ruin. The duke had bought Miriam's father's Barony and intended it for William. When her father had died, Ralph had taken the title for himself, intending to pass it to William when the time came. That time had come, but to tell the truth would mean the shattering of so many untruths, and neither Ralph, nor Miriam, nor Teresa were ready for that.

"Let him establish himself in London, Ralph. Don't be hasty. And as for Maximilian, well…perhaps seeing William make something of himself might spur him into action. Come now, we should find him. He's been on his own all morning," Miriam said, beckoning Ralph to follow her.

A great deal had changed at Burnley Abbey over the years, servants had come and gone, and the old guard, under the housekeeper Mrs. Mason, had largely been replaced. All except Mr. Gregson, the butler, who appeared ageless as he opened the door for them, bowing curtly, as a footman stood waiting to take their coats.

"Is Maximilian in the library, Gregson?" Miriam asked, and the butler nodded.

"Yes, my Lady…but I don't think he's reading," the butler said, clearing his throat and looking disapproving.

"What use is there in reading when one can idle away one's time doing nothing," Ralph said, with a withering tone, as he marched across the hallway.

Miriam followed, casting a glance back at the butler, who remained standing stiffly at the door.

"Even the servants are talking about Maximilian," she whispered, catching Ralph up as he strode towards the library door.

The library at Burnley Abbey was impressive, and the duke often received requests for access from scholars and interested readers. Miriam had tried to interest her son in learning, and Professor Murray had been stalwart in his attempts to impart an interest in study to his charge, but all to no avail.

"Yes, and it has to stop. I won't allow him to become a laughingstock," Ralph said, as they reached the library door.

From inside, Miriam heard the odd sound of a dull thud, and then another, and another.

"Whatever could he be doing?" she asked, as Ralph sighed.

"I don't know, but I think we're about to see," he said, and opening the door, they entered the library.

To Miriam's astonishment, and, by the look on his face, Ralph's obvious anger, they found their son engaged in a game of quoits, tossing the rings over stacks of books arranged at intervals on the library floor. At that moment, he was balanced precariously on a Queen Anne chair, leaning forward, and about to toss a quoit towards the furthest pile.

"Maximilian, come down from there," Miriam exclaimed, as their son turned to greet them.

"I'm practising my aim, Mother," he replied, and he tossed the quoit with some inaccuracy, so as to land it, not on the pile of books, but on the library table, where it sent a pile of periodicals scattering left to right.

"What's the meaning of this, Maximilian? How dare you use my library for such idle pursuits," Ralph exclaimed, but their son only rolled his eyes and climbed wearily down from the chair.

"Really, Father. It'll be my library one day. Why won't you let me have a little fun? I've been terribly bored today. I thought I could liven things up a little," he said, grinning, as he proceeded to pick up the discarded quoits lying across the floor.

"But these are valuable books, Maximilian. Haven't you got a care for anything? Look at all these piles. I'm sure you don't even know which shelves you've taken them from, do you?" Ralph said, tutting and shaking his head.

"I took some from over there, some from here. Besides, does it really matter if botany gets mixed up with agriculture? No one reads any of these books anyway," the boy said, as he began to replace the books on the shelves at random.

"But…oh, what's the point in trying to talk to you, Maximilian? You don't care, do you? You don't listen," Ralph said, raising his hands in indignant exasperation.

Miriam sighed. She knew Ralph despaired of their son, but Maximilian did nothing to help himself. He lived in his own world of idleness, and it was not surprising to find himself engaged in such a pursuit. He had few friends, and those he did have were as idle as he.

"Maximilian, why don't you try reading some of these books? You might learn something from them. Hasn't Professor Murray encouraged you to do so? You've got to start taking some responsibility now you're grown up. Thinking of what a future wife would say if she saw you behaving in this way," Miriam said.

Professor Murray had been engaged as tutor to their son for several years, but in that time, Maximilian had made little progress with his studies, and the professor had admitted to being somewhat frustrated by the future duke's lack of effort.

"He doesn't care anything for history, and his command of French is non-existent," Professor Murray had told Miriam, when she had asked him for a report on her son's progress.

But it was not only Professor Murray's opinion Miriam feared for. She had been approached by a well-to-do woman in the south, a Lady Muriel Flintshire, who had a Goddaughter of marrying age. There was the prospect of an introduction, and Miriam hoped it might prove a possibility for Maximilian to make a match – it could be the only way to save his reputation, even as the thought of an arranged marriage was far from ideal, at least in Miriam's eyes.

"He might encourage it, Mother, but I'm not interested in doing so. Why would I want to read any of these books? Can't I use them to practice my quoit throwing instead? And as for a future wife, well…she can throw quoits, too, for all I care," Maximilian said, scowling at Miriam, who sighed.

"No, you can't," Ralph exclaimed, and he grabbed hold of the boy's arm and pulled him roughly towards him.

Miriam hated to see them fight, but she knew how disappointed R alph was in their son, the son he had hoped would prove a worthy heir.

"What's wrong, Father? Can't I have a little fun? I'm stuck here all the time. There's no excitement, none at all," Maximilian complained, as Ralph clasped him by the shoulders.

"Why can't you be more like William?" he demanded, with an exasperated tone in his voice.

Miriam knew this was the wrong thing to say. Maximilian hated to be compared to William. The two boys had played together when they were young, but Maximilian had treated William terribly, lauding it over him, and telling William he was only the son of a seamstress and destined to be nothing more than a bell boy or a labourer. William had retorted by calling Maximilian stupid, and the two boys had barely spoken since.

"Because I've no desire to be anything like the son of a pensioned off maid. He's just a commoner, Father. I don't understand what either of you see in him. He might be your godson, but he's nothing to me," their son said, rolling his eyes.

Ralph gritted his teeth, but Miriam raised her eyebrows warningly. There was no reason why Maximilian should think any differently about William than precisely what he had said. He did not know they were cousins, nor did he know of William's claim to the title and dukedom. William, too, knew nothing of their connection, and it must have seemed strange to him, too, to be godson to a duke and duchess.

"You idle your days away, Maximilian. You do nothing to better yourself or increase your knowledge. The servants are talking about you, others are talking about you, you make me…embarrassed," Ralph said.

Miriam was glad he had not said "ashamed," but she knew her husband was thinking just that. The duke was ashamed of his son, and the more he grew into a man, the more readily he was compared to William. Maximilian's response was rebellion, and it was a rebellion Miriam feared the consequences of.

"And why would I care about that, Father? Aren't I your heir – whatever anyone else says. I'm bored, and I don't care about Professor Murray's Greek poems, or being like that bell boy you're always lavishing your attentions on – has he gone yet? I don't know what you see him. But whatever it is, I don't care to share in it. I won't be like him, because I don't want to be," Maximilian said, and with that, he stormed out of the library, slamming the door so violently behind him as to cause several of the piles of books to topple over.

Miriam shook her head, stooping to pick them up, whilst Ralph muttered under his breath.

"I'm tired of this – I'm tired of him," he said, with a frustrated tone.

"I know, Ralph, but…we must make allowances," Miriam replied, even as she felt unsure what either of them could do, and wishing their own son could be more like Teresa's.