Chapter 1

London, England, 1816

“And you’re certain it was Lady Sandra Allington you saw with the stable hand?” Lily said, holding her quill poised, as the maid nodded.

“That’s right, Miss. I knew it was her – I’ve seen her in the mews before. She always wears red – I think it’s their sign. He came straight out and beckoned her into the stable with him,” the maid replied.

Lily smiled. This would make a tantalizing story for her readers and be worth enough to keep her in new dresses and fine living for a month. She scribbled down the details in her pocketbook, nodding, as the maid continued to divulge the unfolding scandal of one of London’s richest belles and a stable hand who worked in the stables of the Duke of Bicester.

“And you saw her come out, did you?” Lily asked.

The maid – whose name was Ellen – shook her head.

“That’s the thing, Miss. She stays the whole night. Right there, in the stables. The two of them together. It’s wicked,” she said, even as she left no detail of what she had seen untold.

“Are you certain? They sleep there, in the stable?” Lily exclaimed, her eyes growing wide with delight at the thought of the slanderous things she could write about Lady Sandra Allington.

Lily was always interested in scandal. She made it her business to be. It was her business. Her days were spent collecting titbits of gossip – salacious stories about dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses, and even princes and princesses. Her sources were numerous – a network of maids, footmen, grooms, and carriage drivers. Lily would pay them handsomely for whatever information they could provide her with, and she, in turn, would write it into the scandal sheets for the various editors who were willing to pay large sums for the downfall of aristocratic men and women.

“My bedroom looks out onto the mews, miss, and I can hear the gate being opened – it squeaks terribly. I saw her go in, and it wasn’t until the early hours I heard the gate squeak again – long before the other stable hands came to see to the horses,” the maid said, looking pleased with herself.

They were meeting in a coffeehouse – Sloane’s of Mayfair – and it was here Lily conducted much of her business. She was always discreet, and few knew her true identity. She used false names, played her informants off against one another, and was always careful to give just as much information as was necessary so as not to divulge her sources.

“Poor Lady Sandra, or, rather, poor Lord Frederick – he’s going to be quite upset when he reads about his betrothed’s infidelity,” Lily said, shaking her head, as she closed her notebook.

“You’ll ruin her then, miss?” Ellen asked.

She had a glint in her eye, and it was clear she had relished this opportunity for revenge. That was often the reason information came Lily’s way – a dismissed lady’s maid, a scolded footman, a carriage driver made to wait in the rain. There were many reasons why Lily’s informants did as they did, but Lily’s own purposes were purely financial. She did not care whether her words were enough to break the betrothal between Lady Sandra and Lord Frederick, and blackmail was never something she engaged in. Lily wrote facts, and if the facts were harmful to those to whom they related, so be it.

“I won’t publish immediately. I need something else. Keep an eye on the mews, see who comes and goes. I’d not be surprised if she’d told her friends about the stable hand’s services,” Lily said, smiling, as the maid nodded.

In Lily’s experience, where one scandal lay, others were waiting to be unearthed. A woman like Lady Sandra would not wish to share her prize, but men were fickle, and if the stable hand could boast of one aristocratic conquest, he could surely boast of others, too.

“I’ll keep watch, miss, but… I’d need further compensation,” Ellen said, and Lily smiled.

She reached into the pocket of her dress and took out her purse. Everyone had their price, and Lily was fortunate in being able to offer considerable incentives for the rendering of her informants’ services. She held out ten shillings, and Ellen’s eyes grew wide.

“Will that be enough? I want you to keep watch, Ellen. Tell me every coming and going. Record how many times Lady Sandra makes her nighttime rendezvous with the stable hand, but watch for other young ladies, too – there’s bound to be some. I’m going to keep an eye on Lord Frederick, too. Perhaps Lady Sandra isn’t the only one of the pair to be…otherwise engaged,” she said.

The maid smiled, taking the ten shillings, and rising to her feet.

“I’ll return at the same time next week, miss. You won’t be disappointed, I promise you,” she said, and nodding to Lily, she hurried out of the coffeehouse.

Lily smiled, writing the last of the details in her pocketbook, and beginning to compose the opening sentences of her next scandal page.

“Lady Sarah Allington and the stable hand…no, the lady amidst the horses. Or perhaps…an equine scandal,” she thought to herself, finishing the last of her coffee and collecting her things together.

The afternoon was drawing on, and Lily had everything she needed to begin composing her next piece. Ellen would add further details next week, and the piece would be worth anything up to ten pounds – enough for Lily’s expenses and to help her father in prison.

“Poor Father. He’s been treated so unjustly,” she thought to herself, as she paid for the coffee and stepped out onto the bustling street outside.

Her father was in prison – sent there over a dispute at a gentleman’s club involving the fixing of cards and dice. He had always protested his innocence, and Lily knew the aristocracy had been responsible for his downfall. They had conspired against him – the gentlemen of the club – and because her father was a good and noble man, he had taken the punishment others deserved. It was for this reason – amongst others – Lily wrote her scandal pages. She wanted to take revenge on the society responsible for her father’s downfall, and she had brought about the ruin of many men and women, whose secrets she aired in the pages of the penny periodicals in which her work was published.

“But enough for today. I’ve got everything I need,” Lily said to herself, as she hailed a carriage to take her home.

Lily lived with her mother in a house close to Saint Paul’s. They lived a comfortable life – thanks, in no small part, to Lily’s earnings. Her parents were separated, and Lily’s mother had nothing to do with her father, blaming him for so many of her woes. Lily found herself in the middle of their dispute, but she had always sided with her father – much to her mother’s discontent. But there was little her mother could do or say about it, given her reliance on Lily for the roof over her head and the food on her table.

“I don’t like you writing those awful gossip pages,” she would say, but Lily would merely shrug and wave her hand dismissively.

It was not easy for a woman to earn a living through independent means. A novel might be written, or a painting sold, but a woman was so often dependent on a man, and given Lily had no intention of marrying, this was not an option. She had fallen into her current occupation quite by chance – a stray word from a lady’s maid about her mistress’ affair with a count from Florence having given her the idea of writing about it – but now she could not imagine doing anything else.

“And why shouldn’t I?” she thought to herself, relieved to have some way of making money, as the carriage pulled up outside the home she shared with her mother.

Having paid the carriage driver, Lily made her way up the steps and let herself in. It was early summer, and the hallway was pleasantly cool. She was met by the maid – Jean – a young girl of just fourteen, whom Lily’s mother had taken sympathy on after her own mother had died, who took her coat and informed Lily her mother was in the drawing room.

“I’ll have some tea, Jean,” Lily said, and the maid bobbed into a curtsey as Lily made her way through the hallway to the drawing room.

Her mother was sitting by the window, reading, and she looked up at Lily, raising her eyebrows, as Lily took out her pocketbook and went to the writing desk in the corner of the room.

“Must you write those awful pages in here?” she asked, without so much as a greeting.

“Those “awful pages” ensure we’ve got a roof over our head and food on the table, Mother. What else am I meant to do?” Lily replied, shaking her head.

It was always the same. Her mother did not seem to understand the precarious nature of their position. With her father unjustly imprisoned, they could not rely on any man to provide for them. Lily had wanted only to be a dutiful daughter, and she was determined to do whatever it took to ensure she provided not only for herself, but for her father, too.

“It’s not nice, Lily. I worry about you – traveling all over London to gain your information. And what happens if you’re discovered to be the one writing all these dreadful things?” her mother said, shaking her head.

“But I won’t be. No one ever connects my name with any of the things I write. I’m careful about it, Mother,” Lily replied, taking a piece of paper, and dipping her quill into the inkstand.

“Careful? I’d call it devious. You’re becoming more and more like your father every day,” Lily’s mother replied.

This was always her trump card. Lily’s mother liked to play the victim. She had married Lily’s father when she was young, but the marriage had not been a happy one.

“I regret the day I ever married you,” Lily had once heard her mother shout, and her father had retorted in kind.

“And I regret it, too, Emily,” he had exclaimed.

Who was in the wrong and who was in the right was a matter of debate. Lily’s father was often absent – away on business, or with friends – and Lily had grown up hearing her mother lament his absence and curse him for leaving them destitute. But Lily’s father told a different story – her mother was a drinker and could even be violent. She spent the money he gave her on gin, and was often drunk, making her intolerable company.

“That’s why I was always away. I wanted to take you with me, but it just wasn’t possible,” Lily’s father had explained, and in this atmosphere of division, Lily had felt torn between the two.

Her mother was still a drinker, secreting gin around the house, and when she was drunk – which she often was – she would throw things and rant and rage about Lily’s father.

“He drove me to this, he did this to me,” she would say, and Lily would retreat to the safety of her bedroom, locking the door and writing her next scandal sheet.

This was how they lived, but as time went on, Lily had come to favor her father over her mother, siding with his explanation of what her mother was like. She was determined to see her father freed from prison, and until that day came, she would continue to take revenge on the society responsible for his incarceration.

“You can’t trust any of them, Lily, and you owe them nothing. They’d spit on you if they passed you in the street. I should know – I’ve spent my whole life around such people. They’re treacherous, self-serving, and concerned only with their own interests,” Lily’s father had said, shaking his head angrily.

Lily knew her father had been badly treated in the past. He had been the land agent for a duke – a wicked man who had made his life a misery – and his imprisonment now was the result of just such aristocratic arrogance. The nobility were all the same, and Lily despised, just like her father.

“I’m more than happy to be like my father, Mother. What’s the alternative?” Lily replied, and her mother scowled.

“He lies to you. He lied to me, and he’s lying to you, too. I know what he’s really like, and I can see the same in you. I don’t want you be like him, Lily – making a business from ruining other people’s lives,” her mother said, but Lily had heard enough.

It was not she who ruined the lives of those she wrote about. They had already done so by their actions. Lily was always careful to check her facts, and she never published anything without a corroborating source. As far as she was concerned, those involved had brought it on themselves. They were responsible for their own downfall, and if the fact brought it about, so be it.

“My father didn’t ruin anyone’s life. They ruined his,” Lily retorted, even as her mother rose to her feet, her face flushed red with anger.

She threw her book across the room and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at the tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, Lily, can’t you see what he’s done to you – the same as he’s done to so many others, too. It’s not true, none of it’s true. He tells lies, he manipulates. He’s driven me mad, quite mad,” she said.

“You’re drunk, Mother. Go to bed and leave me alone. I’ve got writing to do – or would you prefer it if we lived on the streets? Then where would you get your gin from?” Lily said.

Her mother fell silent, shaking her head, as she left the room in tears. Lily sighed and dipped her quill into the inkstand. She would write up her notes from the day, the beginnings of her scandal sheet now forming in her mind. But first, she wrote to her father – just as she did every day. Her mother was wrong about him, and Lily trusted him implicitly. He had never lied to her, and she was certain he never would.

“My dear father, what a day it has been…” she began, writing down the details of the things she had discovered, and asking her father’s advice as to how best to proceed with the information she had learned.

Her father always knew the best way to use whatever she had come to know, and there were times he advised her to hold back on publication, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

“I’ll see them all ruined – all of them,” Lily thought to herself, knowing the price of her information was high.

But as she finished writing to her father, Lily could not help but wonder what the future held, knowing the true prize still lay ahead.

“The Duke of Lancaster,” she said to herself, knowing it was he her father wanted revenge on, and feeling determined to see it wrought.

 

 

Chapter 2

Lancashire, England, 1816

“Be quiet, we’ll wake the whole household,” Maximilian hissed, as he fumbled for the key in his pocket.

It was late at night, and the full moon above cast a silvery light over the forecourt of Burnley Abbey. Maximilian found the key in his pocket, his young companion standing giggling at the bottom of the steps.

“Am I really to be allowed into the house? I’ve always wondered what it’s like. Could I be the duchess?” she said, as Maximilian was still fumbling with the lock.

“Oh, yes, you can be the Duchess of Lancaster one day – as long as you kiss me very nicely. But keep your voice down, we don’t want to get caught, do we?” he said, finally finding the lock and turning the key with a grating noise.

The sound echoed in the still night air, and the door creaked open, as Maximilian almost fell through it.

He had been drinking for most of the day in the village inn, and Elsie – or was it Clara? – had kept him company.

“It’s so dark. I can hardly see a thing,” she said, following Maximilian into the hallway.

Maximilian was used to navigating the house at night. Even in his drunken state, he knew to step over the third stair on the staircase to avoid its creak, and that the butler, Mr. Gregson never retired before midnight.

“Take my hand, and watch out for the table in the middle of the hallway,” Maximilian said, reaching out in the darkness, but finding only empty space.

“Where are you?” Elsie – or Clara – said, for with the door closed, the hallway was plunged into darkness.

“Wait there, I’m coming back,” Maximilian replied, but as he stepped back, he stumbled, falling into a suit of armor – one of three displayed in the hallway.

The crash was enough to wake the dead, and Maximilian found himself sprawled on the floor, struggling to regain his feet. The girl screamed – a piercing scream, echoing around the hallway.

“What’s happened?” she exclaimed, as footsteps now came hurrying on the landing above, and the light of a candle appeared from the door leading to the stairs down to the servants’ hall.

“Who’s down there?” came a voice from above.

It was Maximilian’s father, Ralph, the Duke of Lancaster, and now the face of Mr. Gregson loomed over Maximilian, peering down at him with a look of disdain.

“Lord Maximilian, your Grace,” he said, as a cry of exasperation came from above.

“Get off me, Gregson, I’m quite all right. I just fell, that’s all – these stupid suits of armor…” Maximilian exclaimed, stumbling to his feet, as the butler held his candle aloft.

The light illuminated the figure of Elsie – or was it Clara? And now, the butler raised his eyebrows, as the duke himself came hurrying down the stairs. He was dressed in his nightgown, and he glared angrily at Maximilian, who stood sheepishly in front of him.

“What’s the meaning of this? Where have you been – drinking? I can smell it on you. And who’s this?” the duke demanded, turning to the girl, who looked terrified.

“Elsie Greenwood,” Maximilian muttered.

He was sobering up now, angry at having been caught, and angry at being treated like a child. He was twenty-two years old, and yet his father treated him as though he had not yet reached any kind of maturity.

“Clara Greenwood,” the girl said, fixing Maximilian with an angry glare.

“From the village, I suppose? Well, you’re not the first,” the duke said, and Maximilian scowled.

Clara looked indignant.

“He told me he’d never invited any woman to the abbey. I was the first. I was going to be the duchess,” she exclaimed.

“The only thing you’ll be, Clara, is disappointed. Now, I suggest Mr. Gregson sends for one of the footmen – he can walk you home. As for you, Maximilian – get to bed. We’ll talk about this matter in the morning,” the duke said.

Maximilian had no grounds for protests, and as the butler led Clara away, he stalked upstairs, ignoring his father’s further words about his rakish behavior.

“I don’t care,” he exclaimed, rounding on the duke, who had followed him to his bedroom door.

“If you want to inherit the dukedom, you’d better start caring, Maximilian. You’re behaving like…like the worst kind of man,” Ralph said, shaking his head.

Maximilian did not reply, opening his bedroom door and stepping into the darkness. He slammed it behind him, leaning heavily back and sighing. It was always the same – his father was disappointed in him, and he would go on being disappointed in him, whatever Maximilian did to try to make amends.

“Just because I’m nothing like William,” Maximilian said to himself, as he lay fully clothed on the bed, his mind racing, unable to sleep, and wondering what the morning would bring…

* * *

Maximilian slept late the next morning. He had no desire for the inevitable confrontation with his father, and it was only when a gentle tapping came at his door, after he the clock had struck the eleventh hour, he summoned the strength to move.

“I don’t want any tea, go away,” he called out, groaning as he sat up on the side of the bed.

He assumed it was a maid, but the voice of his mother, Miriam, the duchess, now came from the corridor.

“Maximilian, your father wants to speak to you. But I thought you might like to speak to me first. Can I come in?” she asked.

Maximilian sighed. Whilst he and his father existed in a perpetual state of opposition, his relationship with his mother was less strained. He got up and went to the door, opening it to find his mother standing outside. She was a pretty creature, with long auburn hair and bright green eyes – similar to Maximilian, himself. She smiled at him, rolling her eyes and sighing.

“I don’t want to speak to him,” Maximilian said, as he stepped back to allow his mother to enter his bedroom.

It was messy – his clothes strewn over the floor, and open books and papers lying on the table. The bed was unmade, and only one of the curtains was drawn.

“I heard all about your antics of last night. What were you thinking – bringing a girl from the village here? Can you imagine if word got out?” the duchess said, shaking her head.

“I don’t care. I’ve brought plenty of girls from the village here,” Maximilian retorted.

His mother’s eyes grew wide, but she made no immediate reply, crossing to the window and pulling back the other curtain.

“You can’t go on like this, Maximilian. Your father’s at his wit’s end. We’re worried about you. You get drunk, you neglect your responsibilities, you do nothing to make amends for your behavior. What’s going to become of you?” she said.

Maximilian threw himself back onto the bed with a sigh. He had no interest in responsibilities. His father already considered him a lost cause, and Maximilian was not about to make any effort to change. He was happy enough, or so he told himself.

“I’m going to inherit the dukedom from my father. Isn’t that what’s going to happen to me? I thought that was the point of hereditary titles. It doesn’t matter what I do. It’s mine because of birth. I don’t care,” he said, as his mother came to sit on the bed next to him.

“But I care, Maximilian. I care about my son, and I fear for the future. I’m worried about you, and I want you to be happy, but I can’t imagine you are – not living like this. Where’s your passion?” she said.

Maximilian did not like it when his mother used such tactics on him. His father would be angry with him. He would shout at him, and Maximilian would shout back. But it was different with his mother. She was more subtle and would speak instead of disappointment rather than anger. Maximilian did not like to think of her as being disappointed in him, and he sat up and sighed.

“Mother, I…I don’t know what I’m expected to do. I know how it’s going to be. I’ll go downstairs, we’ll shout at one another, and my father will end by telling me I’m a disappointment because I’m nothing like William,” Maximilian said.

His cousin, William, was, according to the duke, everything Maximilian was not. He had proved himself as the Baron of Mowbray, a worthy inheritor of the title the duke had bought him as a safeguard for his future. William was married to Anne, and she had just given birth to a baby boy, whose name was Jacob. William was hard working and diligent. He had come from nothing and discovered himself to be the son of Maximilian’s uncle, the deceased Duke of Lancaster, after whom Maximilian was named. The relationship of the two cousins was not widely known. William was the duke’s Godson, and it was said he had favored him with the barony because of this. In their youth, Maximilian and William had not seen eye to eye – they had often been at odds – but their relationship had mellowed in recent months, and Maximilian now counted William as a friend, albeit one his father often compared him to.

“That’s not what he thinks, Maximilian. Your father loves you, and he wants what’s best for you. As do I,” the duchess replied, but Maximilian shook his head.

He knew his father had always favored William. The duke felt a particular affinity towards his nephew, one he had expressed in the education he had provided him with and shown in his gift of the barony. Maximilian felt second best and often compared himself to his cousin. It was for this reason – amongst others – Maximilian indulged his rakish behavior. He had no intention of changing now, and his father would simply have to get used to it.

“To be left alone, that’s what’s best for me, Mother. I’m going to the garden. I’ll get some peace there, at least,” Maximilian replied, rising to his feet, as his mother sighed.

“Won’t you speak to your father? He wants to help you, Maximilian,” she said, but Maximilian shook his head.

“He wants to shout at me, Mother. If it wasn’t about this, it would be about something else. It’s the only thing he knows,” Maximilian retorted.

He had not bothered to undress before bed, and now he left his bedroom, making his way along the corridor to the landing and down the stairs to the hallway. He was making for the rose garden – his one solace in an otherwise miserable existence. Maximilian loved the rose garden and tended it with great care. He had cultivated all manner of different varieties and found a sense of peace and solitude amongst the blooms. But as he crossed the hallway, the door of his father’s study opened, and the duke appeared, beckoning Maximilian inside.

“I want to talk to you,” he said.

The words were not an invitation, but Maximilian shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk to you. We’ll only argue, you know that,” he said.

But to Maximilian’s surprise, his cousin now appeared at the study door. William smiled at Maximilian, shaking his head as he did so.

“Have you recovered from last night?” he asked.

Maximilian knew what they were doing. This was a three-pronged attack. His mother’s weapon had been to use an air of disappointment, his father’s would be anger, and William’s would be understanding.

“There was nothing to recover from,” Maximilian replied.

He was more than able to handle his drink and would gladly have returned to the village inn that very moment if it meant escaping from his father and cousin.

“There was everything to recover from. You disgraced yourself, Maximilian,” the duke exclaimed, but William now stepped forward.

“If I may…perhaps Maximilian and I should spend some time together,” he said, fixing his gaze on Maximilian, who shrugged.

“Don’t we do so already?” he replied.

William had been appointed as the land agent, and rarely went by when he was not present at Burnley Abbey, advising the duke or discussing some matter of business. Maximilian’s father insisted Maximilian take part in these meetings, but the pair rarely saw eye to eye, and William was often the arbiter of disputes between the two.

“We do, but not in the way you might benefit from,” William replied.

Maximilian laughed.

“And how might I benefit, Cousin? I spend my time drinking and carousing – isn’t that true, Father? I doubt you’d wish to lower yourself in such a way,” Maximilian replied.

His cousin smiled.

“There’re different ways of drinking and carousing, Cousin. Some are more respectable than others. We could go to one of the gentleman’s clubs in Lancaster. There’re several, as I’m sure you know. We could talk,” William said.

Maximilian glanced at his father. He wondered whether this tactic was to prove an alternative to the usual angry outburst. Was his father giving him a chance?

“What about?” Maximilian replied.

“About your future, Maximilian. You’ll be the Duke of Lancaster one day. Don’t you realize the responsibilities that brings?” the duke exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

Maximilian did know the responsibilities his future title brought. He saw them expressed each day, and he knew his father took his role seriously, even as it should never have been his. The death of Maximilian’s namesake had brought with it a seismic change, and had the previous duke not died, it would have been William who would have inherited the title.

“And perhaps he’s better suited to it than me,” Maximilian thought to himself.

But he knew William was only trying to help, and he nodded.

“We could make a day of it – just the two of us. Luncheon, a walk, and then some drinks – no rakish behavior,” William said, and Maximilian smiled weakly.

“Very well, since I’m to get no peace, unless I agree – we can talk, but I won’t promise anything, and I don’t know what you intend to achieve by talking,” he said, as his father sighed.

“Thank you, William. You’ve managed to talk some sense into him,” the duke said.

But Maximilian was not about to have anyone talk their version of sense to him. His behavior was as he desired it, and not according to anyone else. He would talk with William, but it would not change anything. Maximilian was a rake – society described him as such, and his reputation preceded him.

“We’ll go to Lancaster tomorrow, Maximilian,” William said, and Maximilian nodded.

“Very well, but for now, I’m going to tend to my roses. I’m sure you can’t find anything wrong with that, can you?” he said, and turning on his heels, he marched off across the hallway, determined not to be changed by anyone.

Chapter 3

“Lady Sandra Allington – whose stable will she find herself in? A passion for horses, or a passion for the stable hands?” Lily concluded, reading over her words, and feeling pleased with her latest scandal sheet.

She had met the maid, Ellen, again at Sloane’s of Mayfair, and been furnished with further particulars of Lady Sandra’s illicit activities. It seemed another woman was involved, too, and the maid had seen several well-known young men of the aristocracy entering the mews at night. Lily had written two pages on the matter and was now on her way to deliver the final copy to the editor for whom she wrote, and who paid her.

“He’ll be very pleased with this,” she told herself, as she left the house that morning.

But before meeting with her editor, Lily had another task to perform – her weekly visit to the prison where her father was being held. It was a grim penitentiary on the south side of the Thames at Lambeth, a repository for some of the worst criminals in London. Lily’s father had been there almost a year, and the determination of his sentence had been vague. Lily knew there were those in the judiciary conspiring against her father – he had told her so – and that meant he would only be released when they were satisfied revenge had been served.

“I’ve come to see Connor Edge,” Lily said, as she arrived at the gates of the prison, where two warders stood checking the details of those visiting.

Lily had brought her usual basket of cakes and other treats for her father, and by way of a bribe, she slipped a shilling into the warden’s hand as he looked her up and down.

“Ah, yes Miss Edge. Your father’s waiting for you, I believe,” the warden – who was regularly on guard at the gate – said, ushering Lily through into the prison yard beyond.

Lambeth Gaol was a grim edifice, part medieval fortress. Its turrets and battlements had been augmented by a wing designed by Sir Christopher Wren, though without the architectural style of his work at Saint Paul’s, and the prison yard was surrounded on three sides by neo-classical blocks, with steps rising to metal studded doors, the windows barred, and the ever-present sound of human misery emanating from within. Today was visiting day, and Lily joined the queue of wives and daughters waiting to be given entry to the visiting hall.

“What’s in the basket?” one of the warders asked, peering suspiciously at Lily, who smiled.

Like the shilling on the gates, this, too, was a familiar ritual. Lily reached into her basket, taking out a small cake, covered in white icing and dried fruit. She gave it to the warden, fixing him with an expectant gaze.

“For my father, Connor Edge,” she said, and the warden nodded.

“Come this way, Miss Edge,” he replied, beckoning her past the queue to the front, where a pair of double doors stood open, leading to the visiting hall beyond.

The other women looked disgruntled, but Lily was used to being given preferential treatment. Her father had befriended the guards with promises of Lily’s basket and the bribes she could give. In that, she was her father’s daughter, and now she saw him – sitting at the far end of the visiting hall waiting to receive her. When he saw her, he rose to his feet and smiled.

“Father, you look well,” Lily said, hurrying to embrace him.

“I feel well, Lily – I’ve heard they might release me,” he said, and Lily let out a cry of delight.

“Oh, Father – that’s wonderful news,” she exclaimed, as they sat down opposite one another.

Lily set down her basket on the low wooden table, and her father delved beneath the red checkered cloth covering it, pulling out a currant bun and taking a large bite – these were his favorite.

“Yes, it seems I’ve got friends as well as enemies,” he replied, through a mouthful of currants.

Lily glanced around her. The visiting hall was no bigger than a large dining room in a grand house, with a dozen or so tables interspersed at intervals. The other women had entered now, greeting the men with long embraces, only to be told to sit down by the wardens, who patrolled menacingly up and down the room.

“The sooner you’re out of here, the better. I can’t stand to see you here – the injustice of it all,” she said.

Every time she came to the prison, Lily thought the same. Her father was surrounded by murderers and thieves, but he had done nothing wrong, and was confined here on trumped-up charges against him. There was no truth in any of it, and Lily was determined to see him freed.

“We must bide our time, but I hope to soon have further news. But tell me, how’s your mother? Is she still raging against me?” he asked, smiling at Lily, who nodded.

“We argued about you again, Father. She’s always drunk. I can smell it on her. And the more she drinks, the more emotional she gets. I can’t have any pity for her,” Lily said, and her father nodded.

“It was always the way, Lily. I’m sorry you have to put up with her. It won’t be for much longer. Once I’m out of here…well, I’m sure she can be dealt with,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

Lily knew her father intended to put her mother out of the house on his return, and in this, at least, she was torn. Her mother had been good to her, even as they had never seen eye to eye. She did not want to see her suffer, even as she knew the marriage was irreconcilable.

“Isn’t it more important to see those who put you here brought to justice?” Lily said, and her father nodded.

“You speak the truth, Lily – a daughter after my own heart. Yes, those responsible – they’ll pay dearly for what I’ve suffered. Not least the Duke of Lancaster,” he snarled.

The name of the Duke of Lancaster – Ralph Oakley – had haunted Lily’s childhood. Her father had often spoken of the man who had caused his downfall, though she really knew little more than that. He was a figure to be feared, and as a child, she had imagined him as the devil himself. In recent years, her father had often been away, and Lily had understood he was seeking the revenge he had always dreamed of. When this had failed, prison had followed, and her father had spoken of the duke as being responsible for his incarceration, conspiring with others against him.

“And how can we make them pay, Father?” she asked, wanting to help in any way she could.

“I’ve told you the story often enough – how I was driven from my job as the land agent by Ralph. He was hungry for power, and the death of his brother was the means of achieving it. I tried to hold him back, to reign in his ambitions, but he considered me a threat, and made up all manner of rumors about me. Even after I’d left Lancashire, he continued to persecute me. No, Lily…what’s needed is the exposure of the truth,” her father replied.

Lily smiled. She specialized in the exposure of the truth and taking her latest offering for the scandal pages from her basket, she handed it to her father. She was proud of her work – there was nothing untrue in what she had written, nor had she embellished the facts. The scandal was enough on its own, and as her father read through it, he smiled and nodded.

“How delicious,” he said, running his tongue over his teeth.

“I can’t believe how long she got away with it for. It’s quite remarkable. She’s been visiting the stables for months – and not always to see the same stable hand. It’s wicked. But the maid saw it all, and I corroborated the story with one of the other stable hands. Lady Sandra had spurned him, and he was only too glad of an opportunity for revenge,” Lily replied.

She spoke of her work in detached and professional terms. There was nothing underhand in her revelation of the facts – what she had written was true, and what happened as a result of it did not concern her. If Lady Sandra Allington found herself ostracized from society and reduced to a marriage of desperation, she had brought it entirely on herself. The actions were her own – no one had forced her hand, and she would be forced to live with the consequences, whatever they may be.

“My clever girl – you’ve got it all here, haven’t you? I’m proud of you,” Lily’s father said, smiling at, as he handed back the article.

“But that’s what we need for the Duke of Lancaster, too – couldn’t we write something about his past, or discover something new?” Lily ventured.

She had been thinking about the matter for some time, and it would surely be the way for her father to have his revenge. He pondered for a moment, a smile playing across his lips.

“If it concerned the past, they’d know I was the source. I kept certain details to myself…but as for something new, yes…there’s bound to be fresh scandals lurking in the family,” her father replied.

Lily wanted to do something to help her father in his hope for revenge. She hated to see him imprisoned – there was no justice – and she would gladly have written anything about the Duke of Lancaster if she knew it would help her father’s cause.

“There’s got to be something, hasn’t there? I could go there. I could go to Lancashire,” Lily said, the thought suddenly occurring to her.

She and her mother were not getting on. They argued constantly, and whilst Lily would not see her mother destitute, she had no desire to continue as they were – always at one another’s throats. Time apart would do them good, and if Lily could discover something about the Duke of Lancaster, so much the better, she thought to herself. Her father thought for a moment, as though weighing up the possibilities of her proposal.

“You’d have to be careful,” he said, but Lily waved her hand dismissively.

She was used to being careful. Lily had established a network of contacts across the capital, always knowing one of them could betray her. She used false names and always ensured nothing she wrote could be traced back to her. It would not be difficult to establish herself in a new county – if only for a few months.

“I could go for the season. I could stay with my friend Alicia. Her parents have taken a house up there just recently. It’s perfect. Oh, do say yes, Father. I want to help you. I want to see an end to this terrible injustice,” Lily said, and her father nodded.

“Very well, you go with my blessing. But publish nothing until I see it. Do you understand me?” he said, and Lily nodded.

“I won’t, I promise. But I know I can do it. I’ll find something out about them – something new, something unconnected to the past. Once we expose it, the rest can follow. There’ll be nothing they can do to stop it,” Lily exclaimed, warming to the idea of revenge on her father’s behalf.

When the time for the visit was ended, her father embraced her, telling her he loved her, and how proud he was to call her his daughter.

“I’ll await your letters, Lily. Tell me everything you discover. But don’t tell your mother where you’re going. You know what she’d say,” he said, and Lily nodded.

“We’ll keep it between ourselves, Father. I’ll write to you, and it won’t be long before you’re out of this dreadful place, I promise,” Lily said, bidding her father goodbye as she took up the empty basket.

She followed the warden out of the visiting hall, hurrying across the prison yard towards the gate. Lily’s mind was made up – she would go to Lancashire, and she would use all her ingenuity and skill to discover something scandalous about the Duke of Lancaster. In her experience, every grand family had its secrets, and whilst her father was reticent in revealing the past, Lily felt certain the present would hold just the same intrigues.

“Will we be seeing you next week, Miss Edge?” the warder on the gate asked her, and Lily shook his head.

“No, I won’t be visiting for some time. I’ve got important business to attend to,” she replied, and the warden raised his eyebrows.

“Is that so? What is it you do to keep a roof over your head? You’ve no brothers. It can’t be easy for an unmarried woman,” the warden said, and Lily smiled.

“Oh, it’s easier than you’d think,” she replied, and nodding to him, she left the prison, vowing only to return when her father was avenged.

* * *

“Yes…oh, yes…really? She didn’t…how marvelous,” the editor said, looking up at Lily with a smile on his face.

She smiled back, pleased to see the evident pleasure on his face as he read the details of Lady Sandra Allington’s fall from grace.

“You’ll print it then, Denzel?” she asked, and the editor nodded.

“I’ll print it, and I’ll pay for it, too. But…why the hurry?” he asked, folding the piece of paper, and placing it on the desk in front of him.

The printing press was in a shabby part of town, close to the river. It was a secretive operation, and Lily knew Denzel was also a forger, too. He ran copies on a scandal sheet, distributed across the city, and his reputation was such as to make the aristocracy quiver in their boots. Denzel Scruton cared nothing for the destruction of reputation, and he was only too glad to have a steady stream of gossip imparted to him by Lily, whose father had introduced her to him.

“I’m going to Lancashire for the season. I wanted to get this to you beforehand,” she said, as Denzel held out her payment to her.

“Lancashire? The dukedom? It might prove fruitful,” Denzel replied, smiling at Lily, who nodded.

“I’ll happily send you copy of whatever I find. I thought it would make a change of scene. The aristocracy in London are on their guard. They know someone’s writing about them, and their intent on discovering who it is. The nobility of Lancashire might be more…well, less on their guard,” she said, smiling, as Denzel laughed.

“You’re a devious creature, Miss Edge – but you’ve got your father’s name, and I’d expect nothing less,” Denzel replied, rising to his feet, as Lily placed the payment in her purse.

Denzel had given her ten pounds for the article, enough for the journey to Lancashire, and the establishment of herself there amidst its society. The thought of it pleased her – she would attend balls and soirees, ingratiate herself with the gentry, and discover their secrets.

“I’ll send you something soon,” Lily told the editor, as he showed her out.

“And I’ll look forward to receiving it, Miss Edge. I’m sure your father will, too – anything to get him released,” Denzel replied, and Lily nodded – she would do anything to see her father freed, and as made her way home, thoughts of revenge were foremost in her mind.

 

 

Chapter 4

“I’m only speaking the truth, William – he prefers you to me, he always did. I didn’t much care about it when we were youngsters. But it’s different now. He holds you up as the example I’m to aspire to. You’ve got everything, and what have I got? I’m not married, I’m a disappointment to my father, and I’m not going to inherit his title for a very long time,” Maximilian said, sighing and gulping the brandy from his glass.

William looked at him sympathetically. They had dined at the Gresham Club – a gentleman’s establishment in Lancaster – that afternoon and were now drinking in the smoking room. The evening was drawing on, and Maximilian had become animated by the brandies, never knowing when to say know to another.

“It’s not like that. You know that. He doesn’t prefer you to me. But perhaps I’m a little more…malleable,” William replied.

Maximilian laughed.

“Malleable? What’s that supposed to mean? You do as he tells you? Well, that’s true enough. But why? He’s not your father, is he?” Maximilian retorted.

He had only grudgingly agreed to spend the day with his cousin. An uneasy truce had been called with his father – mediated by the duchess – and William had invited Maximilian to Lancaster so the two of them could talk. But Maximilian was bored with talking. It never got him anywhere, even as it reminded him of his many apparent faults.

“He’s been good to me. My education in London, the title, his kindness to my mother, and the benefits of being his godson. I don’t know why you rebel against him so. What’s wrong with settling down? You could find a wife – you’re the heir to one of the richest dukedoms in the country,” William replied.

Maximilian sighed. It was easy for William to talk – he had a beautiful wife, Anne, and a son, Jacob. They lived at Podmore Grange, a beautifully restored house, close to the Burnley Abbey estate, and William was well liked and respected by his tenants and in the village. Maximilian, however, was not. He was something of a joke to the local people.

“If he’s not drunk, he’s going to be,” one person had rudely put it – but there was truth in the words.

“But who’d want to marry me? Besides, I don’t want to get married,” Maximilian replied, even as he would dearly have liked to have done.

The thought was often on his mind – to marry, to be in love, to court a woman. But his behavior spoke of other desires. Maximilian had the reputation of a rake, and it was women like Clara Greenwood, rather than the belles of local society, who attracted his attention. He was free with his favors, and not particularly concerned who received them. In this, he knew he had been lucky, and his father had reminded him on countless occasions as to the danger of scandal.

“Don’t you realize the things they write about us?” the duke had said, after Maximilian had woken up under an apple tree in the garden of a woman with a dubious reputation.

But Maximilian did not care much about his reputation. He counted on the fact of his inheritance, and apart from that, nothing else mattered. He would be the Duke of Lancaster – whether mired in scandal or not.

“Plenty of women would want to marry you – some of them even having good reputations,” William retorted.

Maximilian called for the steward to bring him another drink, even as his cousin pointed to the late hour.

“What’s wrong? Won’t Anne like you being out so late? That’s the difference between us, Cousin. You have your responsibilities, I don’t. And that’s how I want it to remain,” Maximilian replied, taking a gulp of brandy, and sitting back with a satisfied sigh.

His cousin looked at him sympathetically. Maximilian knew what he thought of him – what everyone thought of him. He was a rake, and a rake would not change his ways.

“And what about your mother? Doesn’t it matter what she thinks?” he asked, and Maximilian sighed.

He had known William would use this tactic against him. Maximilian loved his mother dearly, and he had no desire to upset her, even as his father’s sensibilities were a different matter. He knew the duchess worried about him, and to that, at least, he had a care.

“It does, but…well, she’d be better off not doing so,” Maximilian replied.

He did not need anyone to worry about him. He was twenty-two years old – his mistakes were his own, and what others thought was an irrelevance.

“You’ll only upset her. She was weeping in my mother’s arms only last week – lamenting the state you’ve got yourself into,” William replied.

But to this, Maximilian merely raised his glass in a toast.

“To my mother – may she never worry about me again. Let me alone with my rakish ways. I’m proud of them,” he exclaimed, taking a gulp of the brandy, as other members of the Gresham Club looked on askance.

“Really, Maximilian – don’t do this to yourself. It’s not right,” William said, and Maximilian laughed.

“Are you lecturing me? The man taken for a fool by Connor Edge, who paraded himself around London as the gentleman on my father’s good name? You were hardly the paradigm of reason then, were you, Cousin?” Maximilian hissed.

Even in his drunken state, he knew better than to speak loudly of his true affiliation with William. But the facts of the matter remained – his cousin, whose mother had once been a servant at Burnley Abbey – had been educated by Maximilian’s father, the duke, and sent to London. There, by means of an unfortunate manipulation, he had come under the auspices of Connor Edge, the former land agent, and a sworn enemy of Maximilian’s father. William had been far too trusting, and Connor Edge had used the fact to his advantage, turning William into a laughingstock, and setting him up as a failure. The matter had been resolved, Connor Edge was in prison for gambling crimes, but William’s embarrassment remained.

“I’ve made mistakes, and that’s why I want to help you, William. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes as I’ve made. We’re all allowed a second chance. I’m grateful to your father for mine, and I know he’ll give you one, too, if only you’ll allow it,” William replied.

Maximilian sighed. He had heard enough for one night. It was always the same argument – the same condemnation of his behavior. None of them would be happy until he had renounced his former ways and conformed to the pattern they themselves laid out. The duke wanted a son in the mold of William, and William wanted a cousin he could rely on as the worthy inheritor of the estate, as he himself gave advice as the new land agent.

“I’m sure it’s not as simple as that,” Maximilian said, rising to his feet.

The time had come to go home. Nothing had changed, nor would it, as far as Maximilian was concerned. The stewards seemed relieved the animated conversation had come to an end, and they bid Maximilian and William good night, the two cousins stepping out onto the street, where it was now dark. Their carriage was nowhere to be seen, and Maximilian cursed under his breath.

“It’s all right, I told him he could wait in the yard behind the club. We shouldn’t begrudge him the opportunity to warm himself,” William said, and he went off to find the carriage driver, leaving Maximilian pacing up and down in front of the steps leading up to the club.

“What a wasted night,” Maximilian thought to himself.

He liked his cousin. They got on well – now, at least. But if William believed Maximilian was ever going to change, he was surely mistaken. They were total opposites, and Maximilian knew he would never live up to the ideals of his cousin – or his father.

“And thus, I’ll always be a disappointment,” Maximilian said to himself, shrugging his shoulders, as he noticed a carriage pulling up in front of an inn and lodging house opposite.

A young woman clambered down, passing some coins to the driver, who pointed her in the direction of the lodgings. She was pretty, and Maximilian smiled to himself, deciding to have a little fun before William returned with the carriage. He stepped forward, clearing his throat. The woman looked up at him, her face illuminated in the light of the lamp above the inn door, where a flickering candle burned behind the glass.

“Yes?” she asked, looking Maximilian up and down with a disdainful expression.

She was a pretty creature, with long blonde hair, wearing a purple dress, and a traveling cloak, a bag held in her hand. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips red and inviting. Maximilian had never seen her before, but he thought her quite attractive, and wondered if he might steal a kiss from her before returning home.

“You’ve just arrived, have you? I don’t recognize you,” he said, and the woman laughed.

“Why should you recognize me? Am I meant to be recognizable?” she asked.

There was a haughtiness in her voice, and Maximilian decided she needed reining in. A woman should not be so forward in her words.

“That’s no way to speak to me. Don’t you know who I am?” he said, and the woman shook her head.

“No, I don’t. But I know one thing – whoever you are, you’re a drunk, and I’d rather not know you,” she replied, turning as though to make her way inside the inn.

Maximilian, emboldened by alcohol, and angry at having thus been so spoken to, lunged forward, grabbing her by the arm.

“I’m Lord Maximilian Oakley, son of the Duke of Lancaster. I only wanted to talk to you. You women are all the same, aren’t you?” he exclaimed.

But to his surprise, on hearing these words, the woman turned to him and raised her eyebrows.

“You’re the son of the Duke of Lancaster?” she said, her tone changing, and Maximilian nodded, smiling, and feeling pleased at the change his words had wrought in her.

Few women could fail to be impressed at such a title. The dukedom was an ancient one, and the Duke of Lancaster was, by far, the biggest landowner in the county, if not the north of England. The estate was a wealthy one, and with properties spread across the north, and business investments through the empire, Maximilian would, one day, be a very rich man indeed.

“That’s right,” he replied, and the woman put down her bag and smiled.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.

Maximilian took it, still feeling pleased with himself and hoping William would be delayed in his return with the carriage.

“Maximilian Oakley, at your service, miss…?” he said, for the woman had not yet introduced herself.

“Lily… Lily Porter,” the woman replied, and Maximilian raised her hand to his lips.

“It’s my pleasure, I assure you. You’ve only just arrived in Lancaster?” he asked, still holding her hand in his.

She nodded.

“I’ve come from London. It was a long journey, but I’m here now. I’ve come for the season. I’m to stay with a friend. Will you be…attending the events?” Lily asked.

Maximilian nodded. The season was an excuse to indulge his pleasures. He looked forward to it, even as his parents had already warned him of the dangers.

“Don’t cause a scandal, Maximilian,” his father had said, but Maximilian had not listened – he was happy to cause a scandal, even as he knew the consequences.

“How wonderful. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of one another, won’t we?” she said, and Maximilian nodded.

“I hope so. But…are you here alone?” he asked, for he had expected a chaperone to appear at any moment and chase him away.

Young women were always accompanied by chaperones, but to his surprise, Lily shook her head.

“Not at the moment, no. It’s…complicated. But I’ll have my friend, Alicia – she’ll be my chaperone at the balls and soirees. Why? Do I need a chaperone to talk to the son of the Duke of Lancaster? Aren’t I safe?” she asked, and Maximilian smiled.

“I’m sure you are,” he said, his hand lingering in hers, as he stepped forward, intent on planting a kiss on her lips.

She cocked her head to the side, looking at him coquettishly, and giggling. He found her very attractive, but as he moved forward, intending to pull her into his embrace, a voice from behind called out.

“Maximilian, I’ve got the carriage. Come on, it’ll be late by the time we get back,” William said.

Maximilian sighed. His cousin had spoiled the moment, even as Lily smiled at him.

“You’d better go – I don’t want you getting into trouble on my account,” she said, and Maximilian laughed.

“I’m sure I won’t, and I hope to see you again very soon – at the first ball of the season, perhaps. Or before, if I’m lucky. Why not take a carriage ride around the parkland at Burnley Abbey? Tell them I sent you, and we could ride together,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips again.

“Do you invite yourself into every woman’s carriage?” she asked, and Maximilian winked at her.

“Not every woman, no,” he replied, and stepping back, he bowed to her, watching as she made her way up the steps into the inn.

As he turned, he found William watching him and shaking his head.

“I leave you for a few moments, Maximilian, and you find a woman to flirt with. Who was she?” he asked, and Maximilian shrugged his shoulders.

“Just an idle distraction, cousin. But pretty enough. She’s here for the season. That’s long enough for me,” he said, following William back to the waiting carriage, intent on acquainting himself further with Lily Porter and discovering just how far she might go with gentle persuasion.

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