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The cabriolet swung around the corner at great speed, down the path to the quaint and inconspicuous cottage. Everything was mud and ruts, and Edward tried not to think too hard about what would happen if one of the horses stumbled and they overturned.

 It’d ruin his coat, certainly. 

Not that it mattered out here, in this depressingly unfashionable village. Coming down here in any sort of fashionable equipage always drew a number of stares which would be flattering somewhere less godforsaken, and the mere thunder of a matched pair seemed to draw every yeoman and yokel in a five-mile radius 
Indeed, he was just coming up to the gates when an ugly fellow clutching some manner of gardening implement actually stepped out into the driveway to bar their entrance. 

Every single time.

Edward hauled on the reigns and brought them to a standstill. One of these days, he would ride the fellow down.

“The Lady Valance is not at home to visitors,” said the yokel in a voice that was thickened by some kind of obscure accent, or possibly just congenital bad manners. Charlie really did enact his duties to the paternal decree with rather too much vigour.

Edward twitched his whip with a nice little cracking sound and Peaches jumped down, all town manners and swagger, to start reasoning with the fellow. It didn’t work, of course – the servants of this particular dwelling were selected for their bullish obstinacy and single-minded commitment to the honour of Westlehill. 

It was like half a dozen Hedges in miniature, but without his superhuman skills of estate management. 

After five fruitless minutes, Edward himself descended with as much ceremony as could be managed in the face of such blatant obstruction. “My good man,” he began, which at least occasioned the removal of the cap and something approaching a bow.

“My Lord Forthenby,” cried Peaches, feigning surprise, “please my Lord...”

“What’s the cause of this delay,” he said, in the loudest, most hectoring voice he could manage. “Is there some problem here, er…,” he paused, although he could remember the name perfectly well, “Deerbon, isn’t it?”

The man mumbled and bowed something that included, “My Lord.”

 “Now, what’s all this? You know who I am. Let me pass, man.”

Mumble mumble, Sir Charles, mumble.

“Don’t be ludicrous. We are expected.”

Mumble mumble, ‘fraid you bain’t, something something, my Lord.

“Do you mean to say the messenger hasn’t reached you yet?”

Another bout of mumbling and a shake of the head.

“Well, that’s simply unacceptable. I’m afraid you must stand aside. And take my horses round, would you? I know your stables are rather primitive, but do the best you can with them.”

He slapped his whip against his thigh and began marching towards the house, followed by a blither that carried the faint note of protest, but he and Peaches ignored it, just as they did the twittering housekeeper, (“Master Edward!”) and the maid who attempted bodily to block their passage. 

Eventually, they came to the little parlour at the front of the house – drab, and depressingly mean – where a fair-haired woman of her middle years sat, sticking pins in to a piece of terribly executed embroidery with a fixed expression of intense boredom. An open book of scripture was beside her, to which her back was pointedly turned. 

At the sound of the door, she glanced up with a mutinous air, which melted to a sheer and gratifying joy when she saw who it was sweeping in like – even if he did say it himself – the Prince in a fairytale. 

“Oh, my darling boy,” cried Lucinda, the dowager Lady Westlehill, “fancy you dropping by! I told Charlie he was being stupid trying to keep you away.”

“Hello mater,” said Edward, sweeping a low bow and catching her hand, kissing it, “do you grow more beautiful weekly, or by the hour?”

“It could be monthly and you wouldn’t notice, reprobate boy.”

He assumed and expression of dismay, “You know that Charlie takes a dim view of me appearing at all. It’s only because of the old Earldom that I can –”

“Oh, Charlie can go and boil his brain for a cabbage.” She seized him in her arms, pressing him to the maternal bosom and an overpowering scent of attar of roses. “It’s been a positive age…” Then, catching sight of the prize, she turned her attention to Peaches. “Oh, but you didn’t tell you had new valet! Is this one a Forthenby fixture?”

Peaches gave an awkward bow.

“Oh, but he’s charming. And so handsome. I don’t suppose you’d let me keep him?”

“Mama, dear,” Edward pulled away and kissed her, first one cheek then the other, “Peach is indispensable to me.”

“Oh, you always were attended by the prettiest boys. And he never knew the meaning of compassion.” She addressed herself to Peaches who – even in her state of advanced debauchery – seemed to be struggling with this display. “Every one of his friends and a more than a fair number of his servants have been quite wildly beautiful, and did you know the ungrateful boy would always insist upon the sacredness of male friendship and never release a single one to my clutches? Ruthless. Utterly.”

“Mama, I have driven all this way merely to visit you –”

“Ha! Barely any distance in that new cabriolet I heard thundering past. That was you, wasn’t it? And no doubt you will be rushing away at the first opportunity?”

“Hardly that, darling mater.”

“He really does tax me unfairly.” She fanned herself. Vigorously, “If you truly did pity my predicament, Edward, you would leave me some comfort in my solitude. I am positively starved for company. You know, a face like that,” she pointed the fan at Peaches, “would be an tonic to a woman of my advanced years.” 

“Advanced?” He shook his head. “Balderdash. Besides, Peach does not offer his services to all and sundry.”

“And when have I counted as all and sundry?”

“Besides, Charlie would never permit it.”

“Pah. Charles. I can handle him – he’s like his father, only even stupider. You know,” she continued, speaking to Peaches alone, “I once knew a horse trader with a face very much like yours. Such an attractive man. And so very… talented.”

Peaches bowed, “Perhaps he was a relation, my Lady. It’s said to be a family trait.” And she winked, damn her. “Horses, that is.”

“That’s enough of that, Peach. And mama, there is no need to be economical with the truth, we all know very well that he was a horse thief. And I needn’t remind you how that one ended.”

“You even sound like Charles now.”

“If that is ever true, mama, you may orphan me entirely. I’ve been disowned by one parent, I may as well make it the full set.”

She laughed, and gestured for him to sit, then to draw his chair nearer, and nearer still, to her own. She also motioned to Peaches to come and stand with them, and Peaches obeyed in that delightfully insolent swagger of hers. 

Although Edward noticed she still kept a judicious distance from the dowager Lady, as though she was a touch afraid Edward’s mother might bite.

“I’m afraid I can’t offer either of you champagne,” Lucinda said, “but there is, however, tea.”

He grimaced. “I had no idea things had become so bad.”

She sighed. “One wonders how I maintain my spirits – but I will not allow my tormentors to triumph. I shall show strength in adversity, and I shall remember to offer you coffee – although I’d much prefer not to mention it. I can’t bring myself to give that foul stuff  to my favourite son, even if he does neglect me dreadfully. Tastes like dandelion roots and other ghastly things.”

Edward really had missed the baggage. 

“I’ll have a package sent down to you,” he said. “But it may need to pass the inspection your gaolers.”

“Oh, darling boy.” The maternal hand came up to caress his cheek, “I’m so glad you got my looks and a good temperament. I’m sure he’s a very generous master, too,” she said to Peaches.

“Very much so, my Lady.”

“Oh, please, my boy, call me Lucy. ‘My Lady’ makes me feel quite ancient, and that’s unjust when speaking with someone as handsome as you. Ah, it seems just, somehow, when virtue and beauty run together. Not possible in my case, of course, not if we listen to Charles – but I was so very beautiful it perhaps makes amends for being… What does Charles call me? Disgraceful and unwomanly. Could you credit it, Peach, my own son saying such things?”

“Not at all.” Peaches flashed a smile, “Lucy.”

“Oh, I like him dreadfully, Edward. Let him stay to comfort me in my exile. You couldn’t refuse your poor mother, could you?”

“With consummate ease.” He bowed – tricky to do when seated, but he managed. “Peach is my man, dear mama, and I will not part with him.”

“And I brought you up to share.” She waved a hand, “Really, dear boy, I could do with a servant who isn’t a dreadful thief. All those lovely things you’ve sent me this last year, and I’ve been allowed to touch scarcely any of them. They tell me that they will simply excite my nerves and overheat my blood. I’m a victim of my own weak morals, you see,” she told Peaches. “I tried to reason that, as I’m already a fallen woman, there really isn’t much scope for me to take any more of a downward motion, but apparently I should now be applying myself to moral improvement. Nonsense. It’s just an excuse to keep all the nice things to themselves and leave me nothing but sops and lavender water. It’s shameful, really it is. Now tea?”

Edward nodded, flagging a little under the verbal barrage.