Montagu House, London, Sunday, 31 December 1865
SIX MONTHS AND WHAT SEEMED like a lifetime ago, Margaret had stood in front of this very desk in her father’s oak-panelled study, quaking in her torn ball gown. It was the last time she had seen her parents. They had arrived half an hour ago, and neither of them had greeted her, inquired after her well-being, nor even looked her directly in the eye. At least this time she was permitted to sit.
Her father pushed a copy of the Morning Post across the desk with the tip of his finger. “This unwanted gift arrived at Drumlanrig on Christmas Eve.”
The pendulum of the case clock made a metallic clicking sound as it swung to and fro, emphasising the tense silence as she read the proffered article. The newly lit fire sparked in the grate, the damp coals causing smoke to billow into the room. Across from her, her father sat stony-faced, drumming his fingers on the blotting-pad. Reading the piece again, Margaret’s stomach churned as she struggled to make sense of the vile insinuations, the way the facts had been twisted to concoct a scurrilous, vulgar story that was untrue in all but the bare bones of it.
Though she had concluded, from the tone of the telegram summoning her, that her reunion with her parents was unlikely be a joyous occasion, Margaret had worked determinedly to keep her spirits up as she waited, rehearsing and refining her apologies, her explanation for her behaviour, and most of all her heartfelt resolve to embrace her fate. Never in a hundred years had she imagined she would be confronted with this. “I don’t know what to say,” she said, feeling sick to the pit of her stomach, “except that it is obviously a pack of lies.”
“Damned footman!” Her father hurled a brass paperweight in the form of a lion rampant at the fireplace. “Felt obliged to quit our service for the sake of his civic duty, indeed! The wretch was a sot with a taste for my burgundy! We should have had him clapped in irons when the extent of his pilfering was discovered, but instead we let him go on the understanding—as with all our staff—that he would keep his counsel about his time here. I’ve a good mind to have him tracked down and brought to book.”
“Walter, my love, calm yourself.” Mama picked up the paperweight and returned it to its rightful place, taking the chair beside Margaret. “To do so would only serve to generate yet more salacious gossip. What’s done is done. We must focus our thoughts on how best to repair the damage.”
Her father, however, was far from finished. “To have the Buccleuch name dragged through the mud like this is bad enough, but to add insult to injury, we received that rag in the Christmas post—from a concerned well-wisher! Ha!”
“Indeed, my dear,” Mama intervened, “but really, when you think about it rationally, this nameless person has done us a favour. If we had remained unaware—”
“Little chance of that! I’m told that blasted paper sells thousands of copies. What have we come to, that our press is permitted to make such unfounded allegations? This should cost the guttersnipe editor his job.”
“My dear, we agreed we would strive to remain calm. For heavens’ sake, Walter, you know that would be quite the wrong approach. To engage in any way with the press is simply not done.”
“Why not?” Margaret dared to ask. “Why would it be so very wrong to contradict what amounts to libel? I don’t understand why that is so beyond the pale.”
Uttering an impatient oath, the duke pushed his chair back, striding over to the bookcase to pour himself a glass of his favourite Glenlivet whisky. He almost never swore. Margaret had never in her life seen him partake of strong spirits until after dinner, never mind before noon. “You explain, Charlotte, though why an explanation is needed—does the girl know nothing?”
Mama sighed. “It is not libel, Margaret, because our names are not actually printed; but even if they were, one simply cannot respond. To acknowledge that one has even read the piece grants it credibility. To defend oneself implies that there is an element of truth in what has been alleged. If you don’t understand that, at least accept that those in the public eye have no other option. If only the press had not taken you so much to their hearts last year . . .”
“That isn’t my fault! You asked me to endeavour to make a good impression. It’s not as if I deliberately courted—”
“‘A breath of fresh Scotch air,’” her father quoted bitterly. “And now you are most decidedly an ill wind that blows no-one any good.”
Clasping her hands tightly together in her lap, Margaret strove for a conciliatory tone, determined to say her piece. “When I was at Dalkeith I had more than enough time to reflect on my actions, just as you hoped I would. I can see now that my behaviour was selfish, that I should have put my duty to the family before everything else, and I am determined to prove that I am capable of doing so from now on. I am quite resolved to accept Killin, if you still wish the match to proceed.”
Though her mother looked gratified by this homily, her father was quite unmoved. “That horse has well and truly bolted.” He slammed his empty glass down on the silver drinks tray before throwing himself back into his chair. “Killin is an eminently respectable man placed in an impossible position. If the press decides the child is his, he is a lascivious cad. If not, he is a cuckold.”
“For pity’s sake, there is no child! That should be obvious to even you!” Hurt and angry in equal measure, Margaret jumped to her feet, determined to be heard. “Your Grace, it has been six months since you saw me last, here in this very room. I have had ample time to reflect upon my position in this family and my future.” Her father’s dispassionate gaze, still pitched at a point over her shoulder, made her confidence wither, but she held firm. “If I am still required to marry Killin, I will do so willingly.”
“Too little and very much too late,” the duke responded icily. “While you have been languishing at Dalkeith examining your conscience, I have been expending a great deal of time and effort pouring oil on troubled waters. And until that damned footman sold his story, I was pretty sure we had weathered the storm. Despite the very public insult of your jilting him, Killin had been willing to forgive and forget, but I cannot see him taking you on after this.
“As a matter of fact,” the duke continued, his voice rising, “I have no idea how I’ll find any man willing to have you, let alone one of note. You’ve put a stain that may very well prove indelible on the family name. Can you imagine the nods and winks I will have to endure now?”
“What about the nods and winks I will have to endure?” Margaret interjected. “Thanks to that horrible rag, everyone in London will be fixated on my figure. For all the wrong reasons, I hasten to add.”
Finally, the duke met her gaze and she wished with all her heart that he had not. His deep-set eyes, so very like her own, were like shards of ice. “You cannot possibly imagine that your feelings are of any relevance whatsoever. I leave you to deal with her as you see fit, Charlotte,” he said, getting to his feet. “I will play my part in public for the sake of our family, but in private, I want nothing more to do with her, and beg you will keep her out of my sight.”
The contempt in his voice was too much for Margaret. Though she tried desperately, the tears which stung her eyes leaked down her cheeks as the door slammed shut. “Why won’t he listen to me? It’s not my fault the footman blabbed and the newspaper chose to publish vile innuendo.”
“The duke values his good name and his hard-earned reputation above all else.” Sighing, her mother picked up the Morning Post, shredded it neatly, and threw it into the smouldering fire. “I have never in my life seen him so upset as when he read this. To have it arrive as it did, in the last post on Christmas Eve, too, when we had a houseful of guests. Have you any idea how difficult it was for us to continue with the celebrations as normal? Some of your cousins look forward to the occasion all year long, you know. Our little family traditions and ceremonies mean a great deal to everyone.”
Including her! And yet she had been excluded and forced to spend a solitary and miserable Christmas alone at Dalkeith. But she was resolved not to look back, only forward. “How can we repair the damage done, Mama? Whatever it takes, I promise I will do my utmost. Ex adversis dulcis. Ex adversitas felicitas.”
She was rewarded with a very small smile. “There is certainly no shortage of adversity for you to take strength from. Do you mean it, when you say that you are resolved?”
“With all my heart. If it is in the family’s best interests for me to marry Killin, then so be it.”
“You sound as if you are about to step into the tumbrel and head for the guillotine.”
“I assure you I am wholly reconciled to the situation.”
He mother narrowed her eyes. “That is a significant volte-face.”
“Yes, it is, but it is a genuine one.”
“I don’t doubt your intentions, Margaret, only your resolve. Can you truly curb this habit you have of questioning every decision your father and I take with regards your well-being, and simply heed our wishes?”
Before her exile, Margaret would have assured her mother that she could do exactly that, because she would have desperately wanted to avoid disappointing her. But the new Margaret tried very hard to think before she spoke, and was set upon trying to be scrupulously honest. “I understand where my duty lies and I am eager to discharge it. Even if it means marrying Killin.” Despite her best intentions, his name made her shudder slightly. She straightened her shoulders. “If he will have me.”
“I am more optimistic in that regard than the duke. I believe Killin is still willing to consider—and I emphasise consider—the possibility of taking you as his wife. That demonstrates great generosity of spirit on his part.”
“Or a good deal of ambition. Not,” Margaret amended hastily, recalling Lochiel’s thoughts on the subject, “that there is anything wrong with a man wishing to better himself.”
“Or with a daughter wishing to help augment her family’s fortunes,” her mother replied tartly. “It is because both of these aims can be satisfied that this match is such an advantageous one. All you have to do is apply yourself diligently, as Victoria did, when she married Kerr. The proof of the pudding, so to speak, is that she is now expecting an interesting event. If you put your mind to it, I am sure that you could come to care for Killin as a wife ought.”
“If Victoria can do it, so can I.”
Her mother studied her silently for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Once these allegations have been shown to be vindictive mischief-making I am confident that between us, you and I can bring Killin round. Provided, of course, that they can be demonstrated to be arrant nonsense.” The duchess got to her feet and made her way to the window, which faced out onto Whitehall. “I am obliged to obtain your assurance on that.”
“Mama, really! You shouldn’t need to ask.”
“Spare me the indignation and tell me in plain terms what happened. One cannot blame that blasted footman for drawing the conclusions he did. Anyone who saw you that night would have thought the same.”
“My gown was torn when I hid in the bushes.”
“Why did you feel obliged to hide in the bushes?”
Damn and blast! I can’t betray Lochiel. “There were two sailors,” Margaret said, grasping at this partial truth. “They were singing. I thought they sounded drunk, so I hid.”
“Good heavens.”
Mama continued to look out of the window. The urge to blurt out the whole truth was strong, she longed to wipe the slate clean, but trying to imagine her mother’s reaction when she heard that Margaret had been exchanging confidences with Fraser Scott and was escorted home by another male guest at the ball—no. The Morning Post had made something vile out of the scant details it had obtained; what anyone would make of the real truth didn’t bear thinking about. Anyway, she wouldn’t embroil Lochiel in the debacle, not when he’d acted so nobly and gone to such lengths. . . .
“Oh my goodness, I completely forgot!” With a mental apology to the man who had gone to the trouble of retrieving the bracelet and sending it express to Dalkeith, Margaret took the item from her pocket. “It was when I was hiding that I must have lost this. I took the opportunity to look for it the other day while I was awaiting your arrival. I couldn’t believe my luck when I found it.” She offered a silent prayer of contrition for this necessary white lie.
“My bracelet! My goodness, I thought I had lost it forever.”
“The catch . . .”
“Oh, it is faulty, I know. I should have told you when I lent it to you. Thank you, Margaret. It is not a particularly valuable piece, but it is of great sentimental value to me.” Tucking the bracelet into a pocket, her mother resumed her seat. “Now,” she said briskly, “let us to business. First and most importantly, I must ask you to retain a dignified silence regarding the events of that evening.”
“I am more than happy never to have to discuss that evening ever again.”
“Good. Officially, it remains the case that you were taken suddenly ill and have been recuperating at Dalkeith. You are now fully restored to health. The first and most immediate priority is to put an end to any speculation that your innocence has been compromised. Therefore we need to show you off in public. There are not many opportunities until the Season starts, of course, but we will accept every invitation and I shall make a point of hosting a soirée myself. You will naturally be the focus of attention. Stand up and let me take a look at you.”
Studying her closely, the duchess’s expression lightened. “I do not have my measuring tape to hand, but it looks to me as if you have finally managed to refine both your appetite and your figure into a form more befitting a lady. However, it would do no harm to lose another inch or two. Fortunately, we have a few weeks before Parliament resumes at the start of February for you to go on a strict reducing diet as of now. In the meantime, Molly must spare no effort in lacing you up as tightly as can be managed. The next few months are critical. You may leave it up to me to make the overtures to Killin. I beg of you, Margaret, don’t let us down again. A cat, however endearing, has only so many lives.”