Abby Grahame - Wentworth Hall

To Julia Maguire and Zareen Jaffery,

with thanks for all their creative and editorial ideas

Maggie Darlington rolled over in bed and squinted into the sunlight pouring through the lace curtains of her bedroom window. As if suddenly realizing where she was, she groaned, spread her fingers wide, and placed both hands over her face. She wordlessly cursed the brilliant sunshine and bemoaned her return to Wentworth Hall, sliding deeper under her floral eiderdown quilt and soft, voluminous bed covers.

If she were in Parisas she had been only two weeks earlierthe red velvet drapes would still be drawn and shed be permitted to sleep until noonat least. To think, she had looked forward to coming home. She had really believed life would return to normal after her year away in France. How wrong she had been.

But, like it or not, she was back in Sussex now, and Nora, her ladies maid, had already begun their morning ritual, slipping silently into her room only a few hours after dawn to draw aside the heavy damask window coverings. It was Maggies father, Lord Arthur Darlingtons, none-too-subtle way of rousing the household for the day. Her father loved Wentworth Hall, and felt his entire family should share his affection. Never mind the fact that there wasnt much to do at the house if you were a lady. Other than read in the library. Or practice sewing in the parlor. Or have tea with her younger sister, Lila. Despite eighteen years of doing just that, Maggie had yet to grow fond of those activities.

Dropping her hands down by her sides as if in surrender, she realized it was no use trying to go back to sleep. She had already spent the last few weeks claiming the journey had exhausted her. If she couldnt get back to normal exactly, she did have to find a new routine, a new normal. And no better day than the present to get started.

She could hear the servants already up and about. Footsteps trundled down the hall, and the lingering homey smell of bacon was unmistakable. Probably a servant delivering Lady Darlingtons breakfast. She was the only one Lord Darlington allowed the luxury of breakfast in the bedroom, and solely because Lady Beatrice Darlington had recently delivered him a second male heir. Meanwhile, said male heir was being cared for night and day by the French nanny they had brought back from Paris.

Although Maggie claimed to have developed a preference for the continental breakfast of pastry and dark coffee shed been enjoying during the past years stay in Nice and then Paris, this morning the idea of a good English fry-up had appeal.

Maggie tossed off the quilt, letting it slide to the floor, sat up, and stretched her lanky frame. Gathering her lush honey blond curls into a bundle, she twisted the hair into a topknot that would hold its form without the help of hairpins or a ribbon.

She lowered herself from her high four-poster bed, pulled a matching peignoir over the daring rose-colored satin nightgown her aunt had purchased for her on the Champs lyses and crossed to the window.

Green hills dotted with trees rolled out for miles, and the streams water sparkled in the distance. It called to mind the many hours shed spent riding on those very grounds. She remembered laughing as she galloped faster and faster, scaring Michael, her groom, and forcing him to race after her. Once upon a time, Maggie had spent as many waking hours as possible out in those very fields, relishing the feel of the wind in her hair and the reckless abandon of pushing her favorite horse, Buckingham, to his limits.

But those days of girlish, foolish, behavior were over.

She stepped back when she saw Michael walking out of the stable with Lilas horse, Windsor. Maggie hadnt seen Michael since the day she left for the Continent, over a year ago. From this distance, he looked just as she rememberedbroad shoulders, strong arms, and easy, self-assured gait. Hed always had a confidence about him, even when they were children. She caught sight of her reflection in the windowpane and wondered if he would notice any difference in her. Not that she planned to give him an opportunity to do so.

Maggie inspected her hazy appearance in the glass, not so much to admire itthough since childhood everyone had commented on what a pretty girl she was and she wasnt deaf to the praisebut rather to search for signs of change. Surely the experiences abroad had lent maturity to her features? Had the girlish sparkle left her brown eyes, replaced by a new worldliness?

There was a knock on the door. Come in, Maggie responded, turning and crossing her room to take a seat at her vanity. She assumed Nora was returning to lay out her clothing.

Pardon, mademoiselle.

Turning sharply toward the unexpected voice, Maggie took in the figure of petite, delicate Therese, nanny to newborn James.

What is it, Therese? Maggies tone was colder than she had intended.

Madame Darlington is still sleeping and I am not sure. Shall I take baby James for a stroll this morning? Therese inquired in her heavily accented English.

Why would you ask me? Maggie snapped. Seeing the bags under Thereses normally sparkling brown eyes made her regret her tone. Perhaps Therese was homesick for France. Or for her mother, who Maggie had learned had died only a year before, leaving Therese without any family in the world.

I am sorry. I only thought

Feeling guilty for her peevishness, Maggie softened. Please dont apologize. I only meant that James is not my responsibility. If Lady Darlington is still sleeping, ask my father to wake her.

Therese stepped back, almost recoiling from the very idea. Oh, no, she said, hesitating. I would never wish to bother Lord Darlington with such a matter.

I dont see why not. I cant imagine what Lord Darlington could be doing that is more important.

Right now he is addressing the staff, Therese told her.

Maggie sniffed with annoyance. Whats he bothering them about now? Though it did explain why Nora wasnt there to help her dress. Maggie walked over to her wardrobe to select an outfit for herself.

I am not certain. I was told it did not concern me. Therese tilted her head toward the open door. Pardon, I must return to little James.

Yes, yes, by all means, go, Maggie dismissed Therese with an absent wave and surveyed the many dresses in front of her. The less she saw of Thereseand baby James, for that matterthe better.

Before shed selected the days outfit, seventeen-year-old Nora burst into the room, red-faced and frazzled. Sorry, Miss Maggie. I was hoping you werent up yet. His lordship was giving us a talk and I just slipped away quiet-like because I didnt want to leave you stranded here in your room with nothing to wear.

Well, you neednt have worried, Nora. Im perfectly capable of dressing myself. In fact, from now on lets just skip this dressing ritual. Really, its so old-fashioned. What do you say?

Nora bustled past Maggie and pulled a charcoal gray frock with a wide white bib collar from the wardrobe and laid it out across a love seat in the corner of the room. Her ladyship would never hear of that! Nora objected firmly. It wouldnt be right.

Turning, hands on her hips, Nora looked Maggie up and down. Youre looking very ooh-la-la today. Very pretty nightgown, I dare say, but has your mother seen it?

Im eighteen, Nora! I dont have to have my mothers permission for my nightgown.

You got that in Paris, didnt you? Nora guessed with an air of disapproval. And Ill wager her Ladyship wasnt with you when you bought it.

Nora! Maggie scolded. She had known Nora for as long as she could remember and she wasnt about to be lectured to by the waifish, freckle-faced maid with whom shed played as a child while Noras mother cooked downstairs in the servants quarters.