Westcott Villa, London, 1812
The Right Honourable Lord Graham Hancock, Duke of Westcott, stared out of the rain-streaked window at the street below. Large puddles had formed where the cobbles were unevenly laid or where the stones had begun to subside, carriage wheels splashing through them and soaking anyone walking by.
Not that many people were simply walking by. More likely, they dashed along the pavement, beneath big black umbrellas, trying to avoid their own puddles or even, in some cases, the very rain falling from the sky.
A fire blazed and popped in the hearth behind Graham, and his mother, Lady Edith, the Dowager Duchess, sat in an armchair beside him. She had not uttered a word to him since breakfast time, had simply worked at her embroidery hoop, and occasionally looked up to glance out of the window. Before he had gone away to war, it was rare to see his mother in the drawing room before noon. Now she claimed she was keeping him company, but it was no different to when she had remained in her own rooms upstairs.
The clock on the mantelpiece bonged eleven times, indicating that the visiting hour was upon them. But as there were no young ladies in the house, no visitors were expected.
Graham sighed heavily, causing his mother to glance up from her sewing before returning her attention to the fabric in front of her once more. He leaned forward slightly to scratch at an itch at the nape of his neck, then slumped back heavily into his chair.
I am so bored! he thought to himself. I can’t even acknowledge anyone walking by. They are all either hiding beneath their umbrellas, or they don’t look up to see me at the window. He sighed again. His eyelids drooped drowsily, and he closed his eyes, allowing sleep to overcome him. After all, it was better than being bored.
A flurry of skirts and a rustle of silk beside him woke him from his nap with a start.
“Do wake up, Graham,” said his mother, leaning forward and sticking her needle safely into the fabric of her embroidery. “We have a visitor.” Without waiting for his response, she jumped up and moved instead to an arrangement of seats in front of the fire from where she could face the door to the room.
Graham rubbed his eyes, stretched, and looked out of the window. Sure enough, a carriage awaited at the bottom of the steps. He watched as Jackson, their butler, held an umbrella aloft to protect the lady alighting from the vehicle.
He sighed again but nevertheless stood up and joined his mother on the settee in front of the fireplace, limping slightly as he crossed the floor. Together they waited. A visitor was surely most welcome to help relieve his boredom, but perhaps not necessarily this visitor at this time. It is too soon, he thought.
The door to the room burst open, and in walked Jackson. Instead of addressing Graham, however, he addressed the dowager duchess.
“Lady Emmeline Broughton, Your Grace,” he announced, nodding his head slightly.
Lady Edith stood up and said, “Thank you, Jackson.”
The butler stood to one side as the lady duly entered the room in a rustle of pink silk. She was closely followed by a slightly older woman, somewhat dourly dressed in grey.
Lady Emmeline hesitated for just a moment before sweeping towards Graham with enthusiasm, a bright smile upon her pretty face. He merely stood stiffly to greet her, clicking his heels and bowing over her outstretched hand to kiss her gloved fingers. Then she turned to Lady Edith and curtsied before indicating the woman who had come in with her.
“May I introduce my chaperone, my distant cousin, Your Grace?” she said. “Miss Mary Broughton.”
Lady Edith nodded at the chaperone’s curtsy before the woman crept to stand against the wall. She did not sit until she was given permission.
“My dear Emmeline,” said the dowager. “You have no need of a chaperone when you are already engaged to my son. And in any case, I shall be with you the whole time.” She turned to the butler, who was waiting for further instructions. “Do take Miss Mary down to the kitchen, Jackson, and ask Cook to make her a pot of tea. Then Cook may send us a tray up.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” said the butler, bowing his head. He turned to Mary. “Do come with me, miss.” He closed the door tightly to behind them.
When she was quite certain that the butler and the young woman were out of earshot, Lady Edith said, “My dear, why on earth did you bring a chaperone?” She said the word ‘chaperone’ with a little distaste.
“She is not really my chaperone,” replied Lady Emmeline. “She is a poor cousin who has fallen on hard times. If she accompanies me as my unofficial chaperone, she has a chance to enjoy at least some aspects of polite society. I do feel so very sorry for her. It is the least that one can do.”
“You are most generous,” said Lady Edith. “Please, my dear. Do be seated.”
She indicated the settee next to Graham. When he glanced away and made a point of taking up almost the entire settee himself, the dowager adjusted and pointed to a pair of armchairs instead.
Lady Emmeline hesitated again before joining her future mother-in-law beside the fire. “How are you, my love?” she asked Graham. He shrugged his shoulders and stared into the flames of the fire. “You must tell me all about your recent journey,” she said. Still, he ignored her, this time looking to his mother for help.
Puzzled, Lady Emmeline also looked at his mother. “Did I do something to offend His Grace?”
Lady Edith patted her hand and said, “No, no. Not at all, my dear. But Lord Graham was ... injured in battle ...” She drifted off.
Lady Emmeline’s head snapped around to face him, and her big blue eyes examined him from head to foot. She turned back to his mother. “But ... but ... I do not see any injury,” she said. “What has he done?”
And there it was. Lady Emmeline, his very own intended, had automatically stopped addressing him directly and now, instead, discussed him as though he were an ignoramus. A thing. An inanimate object. Just like everyone else he had encountered since returning from France. And before she even knew the extent of his condition. Graham fixed his gaze once more on the fire as the two women talked about him as though he were not even in the room. If he listened in silence, perhaps they would forget he was there altogether.
“He has a head injury,” the older woman explained. “My poor son had only recently been promoted to major-general,” Lady Edith continued, “when he was injured on the battlefield. Of course, they did not understand how much damage had been done at the time. But his good friend Thomas Hatcher, who you know, I believe, was with him. Carried him to safety himself, he did.”
“Oh,” murmured Lady Emmeline. “Yes, I do know him. They have been friends since childhood, have they not?” When Lady Edith nodded, Lady Emmeline continued. “Thank goodness he was there. Are we able to thank Mr Hatcher for this brave deed?”
“Sadly, no,” replied Lady Edith. “Young Thomas went back to the battle, but now he is missing. Presumed dead.”
“That is dreadful,” said the younger woman.
Graham blinked at the memory of his friend. Good old Thomas, always there when he needed him. Apart from now.
“Indeed it is,” agreed the dowager.
“So ... so ... what exactly is wrong with him?” asked Lady Emmeline. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Nothing ... too personal, I trust?”
Graham felt as though he wanted to laugh out loud, but he restrained himself, pretending instead to be stifling a cough.
“Oh no, my dear. Nothing like that,” said his mother. “Well, not as far as I am aware at any rate,” she admitted. “Although I would not expect them to tell his own mother of such an, er, ailment.”
There was a tap on the door, and a kitchen maid appeared carrying a heavy tea tray. She glanced around the room and placed the tray on the low table in front of the settee.
“Thank you, Fanny,” said the dowager. “Will you do the honours, my dear?” she said to Lady Emmeline. When Lady Emmeline nodded, Lady Edith indicated to the maid that she was dismissed.
“Would His Grace like a cup of tea?” Lady Emmeline asked his mother.
Graham tutted and shook his head lightly. I am here, you know! He wanted to shout. But no, his mother answered on his behalf.
“Yes, please, my dear. He will have it with lemon.”
But I do not want it with lemon! He felt his brow furrow with annoyance. I do not even want any tea. I would much sooner drink coffee. In fact, he would very much sooner have a glass of whiskey, but it was still too early in the day.
Once the women had finished fussing over the refreshments, Graham’s fiancée pressed his mother for more information.
“You were saying, Your Grace?” she prompted.
“Ah, yes. Well, when he came to – he was unconscious for several days – he had completely lost the power of speech.”
“You mean —”
“I mean, my dear, the events of that day literally left my son speechless!”
Graham noticed for the umpteenth time the self-satisfied look on Lady Edith’s face when she said that. He had heard his mother say it to so many different people by now that it no longer amused him. It did not appear to amuse his fiancée either.
“That is awful,” said Lady Emmeline. “Has he seen a doctor since he has been home?”
“Yes. The family doctor consulted a specialist right here in London, who examined my son most thoroughly.”
“And what did he say, Your Grace?”
“He said that Lord Graham must have suffered a great trauma on that day and that he has been left without his voice.”
“But is there anything that can be done for him?”
Lady Edith spread out her free hand. “The doctors do not know.”
“Does this mean that he is ... simple?” asked Lady Emmeline.
Graham’s head shot around to look at her when she said that, and he immediately saw the look of shame on her face when she realised he had actually understood her. He reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled it back sharply.
“No, my dear,” soothed his mother. “He still has all of his faculties. He can write and communicate and read. And he understands everything that is going on around him. He is also more than capable of managing the country estate and the London home, but he is happy for me to help him with that for the time being – with his complete knowledge, of course. He does not seem to remember what happened on that terrible day. He is simply unable to speak. It is a tragedy.”
The look of disgust on Lady Emmeline’s face told Graham that she believed it was a tragedy of quite a different meaning, and it should have broken Graham’s heart. Instead, he was glad to see precisely how shallow she truly was.
“He will not be able to go out in society, then, surely?” she asked.
“There is no reason why that would be the case,” said his mother. “He simply has no desire to at the moment.”
Nor will I ever again, he thought to himself.
Suddenly, Lady Emmeline finished drinking her tea so quickly it would be deemed unladylike had they been in any other company than themselves. She stood up and clattered her cup and saucer onto the tray.
“Well,” she said. “I had better be off.”
“So soon?” asked Lady Edith. “You have only just arrived.”
“I am afraid that I must. I have, er, a very pressing engagement. I cannot be late.”
“Very well, my dear,” said Lady Edith, also coming to her feet. “It was very nice to see you ... was it not, Lord Graham?” She tapped his foot with her own, prompting him to also stand rather belatedly.
The dowager duchess went to the fireplace and pulled on the service cord, but their visitor was already on her way out through the door. “Do not trouble the servants,” she said over her shoulder. “I will collect Miss Mary from the kitchen and ask Mr Jackson to summon the carriage.”
And in a cloud of expensive floral scent, she was gone.
“Well,” said Lady Edith, quite clearly affronted.
Graham simply shrugged and resumed his former seat next to the window.
“I do hope she will still be coming to our dinner party later in the week,” said his mother, pulling the curtain to one side so she could watch Lady Emmeline’s carriage drive away. Then she too resumed her former seat and returned to her sewing.