London, 1853
ill watched his mother survey the efforts of her lady’s maid upon her hair, turning her head this way and that, admiring her own reflection. The duchess reminded him of the butterflies in the gardens of Carrington House. Bright and beautiful, forever flitting from one flower to the next. He longed for her presence, but she was always leaving.
“This will do, Ganley,” she told the servant. “Thank heavens the third attempt took. Pray take more care studying the latest styles. I cannot spend so many hours each evening upon my toilette. You are dismissed.”
The servant, who was always ready to sneak him sweets whenever he ventured belowstairs against the strict edict of his father the duke, curtseyed formally. Her expression was grave. His mother’s rebuke had stung. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will again study the lady’s magazines Your Grace has so kindly lent me this evening.”
“Mind that you don’t crease the pages, Ganley. I can’t bear to look at a magazine that looks as if it’s been riffled through.” The duchess directed a regal nod in Ganley’s direction.
The lady’s maid whisked her skirts past Will, but she took care to meet his gaze and give him a wink that told him she’d have his sweet ready when next they crossed paths. He certainly hoped it would be one of Mrs. Rufton’s seed cakes. Perhaps even a curd tart. His stomach rumbled with anticipation at the thought. His father forbid him from eating sweets, saying they rotted the mind and body. All he was served in the nursery was cold meats and hard bread, the disciplined diet befitting a future duke, according to his father.
Will hated bread, and he hated cold meat, but he hated his father the most.
“William, darling,” his mother trilled. “Come and give me a kiss before I must leave.”
Another ball, he supposed. Or dinner. Or musical evening. Or the opera. She was eternally headed somewhere, and she was ever saying goodbye, calling for him just before her departure, all gilded and glittering and beautiful. He knew how to tell time. He had his own pocket watch, engraved with a Latin verse he’d yet to decipher. According to the timepiece, he spent less than ten minutes with his mother each day.
He didn’t hate his mother. She wasn’t cruel and harsh. She had never told him he was stupid or sinful or unworthy of being the heir to a duchy. She wasn’t repressive or commanding. She didn’t force him to eat cold meat and sleep with only one blanket and recite the bible with a tutor who caned him when he confused a verse. But neither did she stop his father from doing all of those things. Nor did she notice Will, aside from her daily call to join her as she completed her toilette, just so that she could disappear again, having committed her maternal obligation.
No, he didn’t hate her, but he wished most wholeheartedly for her to care. For her to notice that he was her son and not another servant to dismiss at will so she could carry on with the next round of parties.
Dutifully, he crossed the soft carpets to her side, entering her enchanted circle just for a moment. She leaned down to buss a kiss on his cheek. Her perfume enveloped him so forcefully that he sneezed.
She drew back, a look of horror marring her features as she inspected her bodice. “William, just look at what you’ve done.” Her tone was appalled.
Specks of his saliva mottled the otherwise flawless silk and lace of her pink gown. “Pray forgive me, Mother,” he apologized.
“Now I shall have to call Ganley back, and I shall be late to the Featherston ball, you awful, careless boy.” Her voice was shrill in her anger.
He winced. “I’m sorry for my imprudence.”
“Sorry does not fix my gown. Do you understand?” She grabbed his shoulders with both hands, shaking him. “Have a care. You’ve ruined everything. You always ruin everything!”
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, his teeth snapping together under the force of her violence. He thought then of what he’d meant to tell her, what he’d been planning all day. “Please, Mother. I found a puppy, and I mean to keep him but Father won’t allow it. Can you tell Father to let me keep the puppy? I’ve named him Ferdinand.”
She released him, making a sound of disgust. “You’ve ruined my dress, and all you can think of is yourself. Be gone from my sight. I’ve no more patience for you this evening.”
“But Mother—”
“Be gone!” she yelled, her eyes dark with fury. “Gone, I say!”
Will bowed and left the chamber. He knew better than to remain when his mother was in one of her black moods. Off to the nursery he went with Miss Greenley. He washed his face and behind his ears and said his prayers before settling into bed for an uneasy sleep. When he woke the next morning, the puppy lay dead at the foot of his bed.