TWENTY-TWO
Never in her most fanciful dreams had Maddie imagined how spectacular an event could be. She stepped out of the carriage at Epsom Downs and took it all in, from the grandeur of the upper classes to the ordinary appearance of the gentry and farmers, a rich variety of people who came together to share a love of horses. So many introductions were made, so much idle chatter filled the air, and Maddie was in the center of her own universe, the object of interest and one of the more rare prizes on display.
“Do not trouble yourself about those who appear cold towards you,” Lawrence said. “There are fools aplenty who continue to denigrate all who were not born on this island.”
“The Admiral loves me, and I care not what any other man may think of me,” Maddie said. “Nor do I care about the opinions of their mothers.”
“Fully half of them are only concerned with a girl’s income,” Lucy said. Negotiations in regard to a marriage settlement had driven a wedge between Mr. Ellsworth and his grandfather, whose avarice had soured Lucy on the union. Lady Jane, however, had invested too much time and effort to see the match come undone. “Little wonder that so many marriages are unhappy.”
“Such hypocrites,” Maddie said. “I am sure that many of them try to dispose of their daughters at a minimum of expense and hope to pair them with a fortune.”
Within days of the annual race, Maddie was sucked into a whirlpool of activities that Lady Jane mulled over, setting out invitations on the tea table and sorting them, debating merits of one over another, and finally making a pile to be accepted and a larger selection to be rejected. It was Lady Jane who sifted through the cards left by callers and determined who would receive a courtesy visit. Only when Maddie bumped into Cecily at a private ball did she discover how restrictive her aunt had been. If Caroline Thompson’s call was not considered worthy of a return, who else might have been turned away without Maddie’s knowledge?
The notion of being so tightly controlled became an irritant that blossomed into an open, painful wound, leaving Maddie on edge and snappish. To add more weight to her burden, she had to tolerate her aunt’s incessant corrections, as if she had never learned as a child in Charleston that a lady never accepted more than two dances with the same man. She did not have to be told that she was not to speak to a man at a subscription ball before they were properly introduced, but her aunt would remind her before they left for such a ball, twice on the drive to the ball, and again as they entered the ballroom. Maintaining a pleasant countenance was nearly impossible. She chaffed at the restrictions, at the attempt to break her American spirit and file her down to a dull nub of British boredom.
By the end of June, Maddie longed for the freedom she enjoyed in the Grosvenor Square house, the liberty she had been forced to abandon when it was decided that she would reside with her aunt and uncle during the season. What kept her rooted in place was her love for Lucy, the two girls as close as sisters who shared confidences and laughs while debating the merits of the various gentlemen of their acquaintance. When a letter came from Mrs. Powell, asking Maddie to call for an extended visit, she jumped at the chance to breath freely for a few weeks, to recuperate from an onslaught of harping.
Seeing Nipper again was a balm for her ears, satisfying a yearning to hear the soft drawl of South Carolina. The head groom had essentially been banished back to the country after he delivered Maddie to London, with Lawrence declaring that the groom’s services were needed at Farthingmill Abbey, doing the job for which he had been engaged. With work on the new stable getting underway, Maddie saw the value in her uncle’s decision, even though she came to regret it.
“Mr. Turner selected several brood mares but we don’t see eye to eye on some of them,” Nipper said as he handed Maddie up. “It is your choice, of course, but you cannot delay. And the yearling sale in September, he needs your approval of the buyers.”
“As long as you can settle this business before Lucy’s wedding,” Lady Jane said.
Something in the set of Nipper’s jaw suggested that his words had deeper meaning. “I shall not be away long,” Maddie said. She was about to wave goodbye when she noticed Sophie squirm in her seat and retrieve a book that had been left on the bench, hidden under the cushions. “After the wedding, I would like to return to the country and retire for the remainder of the season. The pursuit is more than I expected, and I must have the Admiral’s advice before I can proceed.”
“Such a clever girl,” Lawrence said. He leaned into the open window of the carriage door. “I shall write to him and tell him how sensible you are. It will be a great relief to him.”
After waving good-bye to her jailers and watching their forms shrink into the distance, Maddie took the book that Sophie was examining. “This belongs to Mrs. Monroe,” the maid said. “How did it come to be here? So odd.”
The bulge in the middle of the leather-bound biography of George Washington proved to be letters, one from Eliza and one from Stephen. Like a tiny flame sparked from a glowing ember, an awareness fired in Maddie’s heart, an awareness that made her fingers tremble. She put the book on her lap and retrieved the letter from Mrs. Powell that she had stowed in her skirt pocket. “How delightful,” she said, regaining her composure. She wanted to trust Sophie, but it was not safe to trust anyone who spent time in Lawrence’s household. “Mr. Edmund Powell is home on leave and will be visiting his sister. I shall be happy to see him again. And how lucky I am, that you found the book I had lost. When we are back in London I must return it.”
As if her heart were not beating with excitement, Maddie opened the book and pretended to read, turning pages until Sophie dozed off. With care to make no noise, she unfolded the message from Eliza. The news was startling. Mr. Monroe had made enquiries and determined that several letters had been carried overseas by trustworthy masters, who in turn swore that they posted the letters upon making port. For unknown reasons, those same letters had not made the overland trip to London or the country estate. Cautious again, Maddie folded the note and tucked it back into the book. How foolish she had been, how trusting. Every morning, Lawrence Ashford was handed all correspondence that arrived, just as Lady Jane was in charge of the calling cards. Not at all difficult to keep something from a naïve young lady.
Acid tickled the back of Maddie’s throat, as if her outrage was boiling up from her belly. It was one thing to regulate a person’s life, but this went beyond the limit. Her American family, not suitable companions? This could not stand, but neither could it become known that Maddie had discovered such vile trickery. Where she once longed to escape the pettiness of Lady Jane, it was now critical to get out from under Lawrence’s roof. Her one true ally was Nipper, who would do anything for her. Which meant she had to reside close to the head groom. The stud farm would be her refuge, where she could compose a declaration of injustice to her stepfather and put an end to the tyranny of his brother.
With a plot taking shape, Maddie turned to the cramped tangle of sentences that was Stephen’s letter. Every available inch on the page was covered in ink, an enormous volume of information that was squeezed onto a single sheet. Her anger at the Ashfords expanded as she read that Ethan was the father of a baby girl, an announcement of such importance that it was inexcusable to withhold it from her. Stephen was engaged to one of the Willoughby girls, whom Maddie scarcely remembered, having been gone from Charleston for so long. Grandfather Mahon was ailing, sinking at an alarming rate. The words blurred and sharpened, then spun in circles. She folded up the letter and tucked it back into the book.
“You are unwell?” Sophie asked when she stirred minutes later. “We must turn back. You are too pale.”
There would be no turning back. “The fresh air of the country will be more beneficial to me than the stink of London,” Maddie said.
She jumped out of the carriage when it stopped outside of Guildford, to find Nipper waiting for her next to the horses. A great urge to slap the triumphant grin off his face took hold of her. So sm
ug in his victory; he had been correct months earlier and Maddie could not deny it. “In future, I will entrust my correspondence to you,” she said, keeping a low voice in case Sophie was listening. He nodded, as if he had planned it himself and she was left to meekly agree. “Send for messengers under the guise of urgent communications with buyers or any other matter related to the stud.”
“Miss Monroe will be the conduit, she stands ready,” Nipper said. “You write an answer to Mr. Stephen, and I’ll get it to London in no time.”
The Second War of Rebellion Page 31