Chapter Five

Maggie did not re-join the party after her hasty exit. She knew that if she were to partake in any conversation regarding her leaving then she would surely say something that she would regret. She had an awful talent of saying the wrong thing whenever her temper flared.

So instead, Maggie hid herself in the servant’s sitting room, playing cards with Max. They could hear the conversations coming from the dining room and the kitchen staff completing their chores before they retired to bed.

The fire crackled beside them, giving off a comforting warmth. The rooms below stairs could often be quite cool.

“There you are,” remarked Rebecca. Rebecca stood in the doorway, appearing to be relieved that she’d finally located her brother and Maggie. Rebecca entered the small room and closed the door behind her. Max’s elder sister was so lovely. Maggie was sure half of Derbyshire were already in love with her. Her American accent had not completely disappeared as Max’s had, but it had mellowed greatly. She spoke very well and her speech was very eloquent. Miss Tully had seen to that. This had been Rebecca and Max’s first full year without their childhood nanny and governess for she had met a London banker during the summer season last year. Of course it was unusual for a governess to educate a young man but an Eton education was not what Max desired. They often received letters from Miss Tully with news of her new family, including that of her infant son. “Daddy sent me to find you. I have climbed and descended every staircase in this house.”

“Our family do not think me terribly licentious, do they?” Maggie asked Max after a while of menial conversation.

“Licentious?” Max exclaimed, his eyebrows raised. “I should think not.”

“Your father was put out upon your departure. I believe a motive of his was to perhaps dissuade you from leaving but I could not swear to it. The conversation stunted a little and we had to rely upon loquacious Aunt Bess to rally the spirits of us all.” Rebecca stood behind Max’s chair and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Would you like to come upstairs now?” she asked. “We’ve all retired to the drawing room for cheese and wine and a little music.”

“Oh, you’re not singing, are you?” Max asked, groaning.

Rebecca looked down at him with a displease expression on her face. While Rebecca’s accomplishments were extensive, her singing talents were well below par. “No, I am not singing,” she retorted, “but I will play. Come and hear,” she urged them both.

“You should go, Max,” Maggie encouraged. “I think I shall just go to bed. I am tired.” Besides, she had plans to rise early the next morning to pay Isaac Lavelle a visit.

Both Rebecca and Max kissed Maggie’s cheek before returning to the family and Maggie crept up the servants’ staircase which was carefully concealed in the walls so that she could reach the second floor without detection. It was cowardly but Maggie did not want to see any disappointed faces.

Maggie rose early the next morning. The sun had barely risen when she opened her drapes and she elected not to ring the bell for a maid to help her dress. She was still wearing her corset from the night before as she had not had any help to undress. She’d merely loosened it in the front so that she could sleep. Maggie tightened the corset and fixed the laces. She buttoned herself into a sky blue day dress and fixed her hair into a braided bun. She found a matching bonnet and tied the silk ribbon underneath her chin and then pulled on her riding gloves. Maggie didn’t care for bonnets as they served no purpose for her but she could appreciate the fact that it was appropriate for her to wear one.

She then wrapped an overcoat around herself and then left her bedroom. She crept downstairs and made her way outside. She lifted up her skirts and broke into a run, heading towards the stables.

There was a slight breeze about which was dramatically cooling the summer morning, but the Derbyshire air was fresh and the day was beautiful.

The stable was a small building hidden in between the hills on the Montrose estate. Montrose did not have nearly as many horses as Ascot. Instead, they had twelve. Several were carriage horses, but Maggie and her parents each had a horse that they rode on regular occasions. Maggie’s horse was Midnight, the filly that Nate had purchased for her from Ascot. Maggie loved her mare. Midnight was a very loyal horse.

When Maggie entered the stable, she saw that a few of the horses were missing. The stable hand was obviously exercising them. Luckily Midnight was still safely inside her stall.

Maggie fetched Midnight’s saddle and bridle from the tack room and she brought them to Midnight’s stall. Her horse perked up when she saw Maggie and she whinnied happily in greeting.

Maggie affectionately scratched her forehead and then began to saddle her. Thankfully she’d seen the stable hand saddle many a horse over the years so she knew what to do. Once the saddle was properly secured on Midnight’s back, Maggie led Midnight out of the stables and out onto the grass. She mounted her, settling herself in the saddle, and then she pushed Midnight on.

Pendleton Park was a magnificent structure built in the Jacobethan style. Nestled in and between Derbyshire’s rolling hills, it was a tranquil place for one to relax and to take in the scenery.

Maggie galloped on Midnight towards the large house. Several gardeners were about the grounds that morning tending to the many hedges and flower beds. They did not take notice of the young lady approaching the house. They were used to guests.

Maggie dismounted Midnight as gracefully as she possible could and she tied her reins near a trough of water that had been left outside the house. Stephen and Derek, her relatives and the owners of Pendleton Park, had modernised the building to suit all travellers.

Maggie lifted her skirts and climbed the stairs. She crossed the threshold through the open front door and entered into the reception area. The foyer had been transformed into a comfortable waiting area. Velvet chaises lined the walls between the archways that had been built to open the downstairs rooms. What had once been concealed behind closed doors were now public sitting, drawing, dining and music rooms, as well as a fully stocked library.

A man of about thirty years sat behind a desk at the base of the grand staircase perusing the guestbook. Every guest that stayed at Pendleton Park was catalogued in the guestbook. Her own father’s signature was now inside the leather binds.

Maggie could recall her uncle talking of the man at reception, a Mr Green, or perhaps it was something else. Maggie had not been listening properly as per usual.

“Good morning,” she said happily, causing the man to jump. He had not heard her enter.

“Good morning, Miss,” he stammered, quickly standing to receive her. His steel grey eyes quickly took in her appearance and he pursed his lips questioningly.

Perhaps he did not believe that a young woman of colour had the funds to stay at such an establishment. She was not wearing her most glamorous gown. She would not have been able to dress herself had she draped herself in a hundred yard of satin and silk and lace. She would not be presumptuous and instead she would give him the benefit of the doubt. “I seek an audience with one of your guests,” she said politely, “a Mr Isaac Lavelle.”

She could not mistake his next expression for anything but disapproval. “We offer our guests a private and exclusive experience here, Miss. Our guests expect,” he looked her up and down inquisitively, making Maggie feel as though she were suddenly naked, “certain standards, you understand.” His smile was slightly smug, as though he expected her to understand that people like her were lessening the image they were trying to uphold. Little did the man know that she was the granddaughter and the niece of the owners.

Maggie put on a false smile. “Of course, I understand,” she replied sweetly, “we wouldn’t want young ladies like me traipsing through your halls. Young ladies like me surely carry all sorts of ailments that pale faces like you have never come into contact with.”

His smile was still smug, as if he thought himself better than her. “Thank you for your visit, Miss,” he replied.

“Margaret,” Maggie informed him, “my name is Miss Margaret. Or if you want to be very proper, Lady Margaret Swift, eldest daughter of the Earl of Montrose, granddaughter of Stephen and Marie Montgomery and niece of Derek Montgomery.” She was not one to be spiteful, but Mr Green, or whatever his name was, deserved it.

His face paled as realisation washed through him. “Oh …” he whispered.

“Yes,” Maggie snapped. “I should think that were I to tell dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma of my reception here at Pendleton Park that you would be out of a job before you could even apologise to me.”

“Lady Margaret …” he began, stuttering.

“That is milady to you,” she said icily. She had never been one to insist on being addressed properly but she did want to make the man squirm.

“Milady, I must convey my sincerest apologies –” he started again but Maggie interrupted him.

“I do not care to hear your insincere attempts to try to save your position, Mr Green. What you can do is have Mr Lavelle brought down to me immediately,” she said firmly.

He furrowed his brows and opened the guestbook. “Milady, my name isn’t Green,” he said quietly as he scanned the named using his index finger.

“I do not care,” Maggie reiterated. As it turned out, she hadn’t been listening. He was green though. He looked to be very ill. Perhaps he would now think twice before insulting someone because of their differences.

Maggie had a talent for abrasive retorts that were nigh on rude, but it didn’t mean that the words that were spoken didn’t hurt her. They did hurt very much. Mr Green did not want her around his posh guests for fear that they would be uncomfortable. Did people seriously believe that she carried some horrid illness? She had grown up in Derbyshire. She’d had English tutors and she knew the English dances. She was, for all intents and purposes, English. Except she wasn’t, and that was what everyone thought when they looked at her.

Maggie spied Isaac’s signature at the bottom of the page Mr Green was scanning. His handwriting was small and neat.     

“I will fetch Mr Lavelle for you, milady,” murmured Mr Green once he had Isaac’s stateroom number. “Perhaps you would like to wait in the library,” he suggested, “I will return shortly.” He walked out from behind the desk and started up the stairs.

Maggie wandered into the drawing room and removed the bonnet from her head. The drawing room was a very neutral space. There were several little areas for guests to sit and every hard surface had a vase filled with fresh cut flowers and a bowl filled with boiled sweets. She smiled, thinking that if she were there with her younger siblings that the sweets would soon disappear into pockets.

Maggie chose to sit down at the settee nearest the fireplace. It was not lit, though she could still smell the ash from the flame the previous evening. The sweets were very tempting, especially because she had not eaten breakfast. She internally chided herself. Her family would be sitting down to breakfast soon and she would not be there. Her father was already displeased with her. She would have to grovel some, she thought.

Maggie selected a sweet that smelled of peppermint and popped it into her mouth. She enjoyed the taste but it was a very hard piece. She then heard the sounds of footsteps as two men began to descend the stairs talking quietly. She couldn’t very well talk to the man with a large sweet in her mouth. Maggie immediately reached for her handkerchief but realised she had not put one in her sleeve when she’d dressed that morning. Panicking, she spat the peppermint into the fireplace. She could just imagine her grandmother’s complaints at the vulgarity of the action but little did Marie know that Maggie enjoyed swinging upside down from tree branches, an action that displayed her undergarments.

Maggie smoothed the skirt of her gown as she rose to her feet. Isaac and Mr Green came to the entry of the drawing room. Isaac was smiling at her. He looked relieved also. His suit was a little creased, suggesting to her that he had dressed hurriedly. His dark hair was not combed but his eyes were still the same. Bright and so startlingly identical to Maggie’s.

“That will be all, Mr Green,” Maggie said dismissively. Mr Green nodded and bowed his head before returning to the desk.

“I don’t think his name is Green,” Isaac informed her, coming to join her at the settee.

“We have an understanding,” she replied, knowing her father was not aware of the double entendre at play. “How are you this morning, Mr Lavelle?” Maggie asked, changing the subject.

“You don’t have to call me that, Maggie. You can call me Isaac, or Dad if you would prefer,” he offered.

“I would prefer to call you Mr Lavelle, if you don’t mind,” Maggie replied carefully. “Anything less would be disrespectful to my father. I hope you understand.”

“Of course.” Isaac nodded. “But to answer your question, I am very well this morning.” He smiled at her. “I am very happy to see you,” he added.

She was glad to hear it. “There are still conversations to be had, but I have decided to go to America with you, Mr Lavelle.”

Isaac’s face lit up and he seized her hand. Maggie was surprised at the sudden contact. He held it between his two palms. “Oh, you have no idea how happy this news makes me,” he told her sincerely. “I have waited for this for a very long time.”

Maggie had waited for this for a long time as well. This trip was going to change her life. This trip was going to change everything. “But there is one condition,” she added, “my parents insist on a chaperone.”

“A chaperone?” His eyebrows raised. “No, of course, I understand. Who is to come? Your mother?” He frowned slightly. “Your father?” His tone indicated that he did not want Nate to come with them.

“No, a friend,” she clarified. “My dearest friend, Max Montgomery. He is the son of the owner of this hotel.” She would be forever grateful for Max agreeing to come on the trip with her. “He is to take care of me, to keep me out of trouble.” If Isaac knew her, he would know that trouble wan inevitable. She hoped he would get to know her on their journey. She hoped that he would like her.

Isaac looked to be as though he was thinking about what Maggie had just said. After a moment, he spoke. “Is he a … a lover?” he asked awkwardly.

Maggie’s eyes widened as she gasped. “Good Lord, no. No, we are friends, family. He does not think of me in such a way, believe me.” Why would he think of her in a romantic way? He’d seen her hanging from trees, throwing tantrums and behaving discourteously. He’d also seen her weeping and moaning and complaining. After experiencing and enduring the real Maggie, there was absolutely no way that he would have any sort of affection for her above that of a dear friend.

When it came time for her to marry, she would have to keep her mouth shut. Husbands did not want wives who behaved like she did. But then, she would have to find a man willing to wed her. Her dowry would entice many gentlemen, but she would always be conscious of the fact that her father’s money was her only attractive feature.

“I am sure we will be able to accommodate your friend,” he said kindly. “Joanna has always loved to play hostess.”

Maggie remembered him mentioning his wife, Joanna. “What is she like?” she asked curiously. She hoped that Joanna Lavelle was an agreeable woman. Maggie would understand if she had any resentment towards Isaac’s illegitimate child.

Isaac smiled slightly, affectionately. She could see that he cared deeply for his wife. That was a good trait in a man, Maggie believed. “Joanna is very headstrong and passionate. She likes things her way. It is easier to accept her opinion and move on rather than argue with her. If she wants something, she gets it. I suppose I spoil her,” he admitted sheepishly. “It did break her heart when we were not blessed with children but she has made do with Zachary.”

Maggie did feel for Joanna in that respect. She certainly wanted to have children in the future and she would indeed be heartbroken if she learned it was impossible. Maggie then wondered who Zachary was. “Zachary?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

“Zachary Kincaid, Joanna’s nephew,” he explained. “His poor mother, Joanna’s sister, died of consumption when Zachary was eleven and his father died before he was born. We have brought him up and given him a proper education. He’s a fine young man and he helps me manage the plantation.”

If Zachary was their surrogate son, then why was he not being left the plantation? “Why is Mr Kincaid not inheriting the plantation, Mr Lavelle?” Maggie asked, deciding to voice her questions.

“Ah, well, you see the Lavelle Cotton Plantation must continue in the Lavelle name,” he replied. “A Lavelle has been the master, or the mistress, of the land for a hundred years. My great grandfather’s will stipulates that if a Lavelle is not presiding over the land, it must be sold. Zachary is family, but he is not blood. You, my dear, are blood.”

Maggie pulled her hand away and bit down on her lip as she thought about the information. Did he choose to find her because he didn’t want his land to be sold? Because he didn’t have any legitimate, white children, a bastard child would just do. “Is that why you found me?” Maggie asked quietly. “You want to be sure your land stays in your family.”

“Maggie, I won’t lie to you. I do want to keep the land in the family, but I promise you I have always wanted to find you. I have always wanted to know you. And now that I have found you, I can finally show you what a hundred years of our ancestors have achieved. This is your history, Maggie. Don’t you want to be a part of it?”  

She could not deny her curiosity but she could not quell the slight suspicion that was floating about in the back of her mind.  

“You are my daughter, Maggie,” he said softly, “and I want to show you my world.”

It was time for a leap of faith. She’d been hurt enough in the past year with snide comments and cold stares. Even if Isaac did have an ulterior motive, he did seem sincere in his interest in knowing her. “When do we leave?”

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Hope you liked it!!

If you are in the USA or UK, "Rescuing Emilia" is on sale on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk :) So far it's been most popular in America and whenever I tell my mum I've sold another book she's like "Oooh, where?" She thinks it's so amazing that people overseas are reading my writing. I think that's amazing too! Thank you to everyone who has bought it so far :) xxxxx

Okay, if you're not watching "Outlander" start watching it! It's a TV show made from one of my favourite books. Set in the Highlands of Scotland, a woman from 1945 travels back to 1743 Scotland and falls in love with Jamie, a hot Scottish lad ;) In my head Jamie and I are already married with seven children and they all have his sexy accent. So get on it!! It airs on Saturday nights in America so Sunday at noon in Australia so that's what I'm doing on Sunday, huddled over my laptop falling deeper in love with Jamie Fraser hehehe. 

Okay, I'm going to go. My mum is sitting on the couch with a bag of chocolate honeycomb and yeah, I'm not going to get in on that :P Byeeeee xxxxxxx