The question landed like a physical blow. Maggie's fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress, the action both nervous and unconsciously defensive. Nicholas. The name, long banished from her thoughts, surfaced with a jolt, a tide of buried emotions threatening to break the dam she'd so carefully constructed.
Ever since that harrowing night, when he abandoned her to die at the mauls of a snarling pack of dogs, she had unconsciously locked all memories related to him into a box and shoved it into the deepest recesses of her mind.
The Marquess of Canterbury saw the abrupt change on Maggie's face and realized that he might have touched a nerve.
"Should we talk about this another time?" he queried.
"No."
Maggie courageously held her chin up and looked the Marquess in the eyes.
"I used to think that I would end up marrying Nicholas Cunningham, my distant cousin. After everything that happened that night, I trust that it is no longer the case."
"I see."
An unsettling silence stretched between them before the Marquess eloquently continued their conversation about the requirements Maggie must fulfill in order to qualify as the heir of the Earldom of Huntington.
"If that's the case, I guess you should prepare yourself well for the upcoming season."
Maggie couldn't help but stare. The Marquess arched a brow at her.
"Surely you know what I am talking about."
"I do," Maggie slowly said. "But..."
The Marquess alluded to the tumultuous London Season, a yearly spectacle where eligible young ladies, adorned in their finest regalia, were presented to society's most promising bachelors. This orchestrated dance of courtship culminated in advantageous unions, meticulously crafted to benefit not just the hearts involved, but the lineages and fortunes of both families.
The undisputed crown jewel of the Season was the Debutante Ball held at the opulent Bloomsbury Ballroom. Here, amidst glittering chandeliers and a sea of expectant faces, debutantes of eighteen summers were presented. Each young woman, a vision of nervous excitement, would be escorted by her beaming father.
As they gracefully paraded across the polished floor, a hush would fall over the room. This was the moment they would be introduced, one by one, to a carefully curated selection of honorable gentlemen.
These gentlemen, potential husbands for the future, would scrutinize the young ladies with a practiced eye, evaluating not just their beauty and charm, but also their breeding, dowry, and social standing.
It was a night of calculated introductions, where the seeds of future alliances were sown, shaping the destinies of families for generations to come.
At Cavendish Academy, so short before their graduation, it was all the young ladies talked about.
Oh, how they planned to shine in the upcoming Debutante Ball.
Their gowns, chosen in accordance with tradition, were pristine white, embodying the purity of a debutante. Yet, they did not come without a touch of extravagance that whispered of the family's wealth and social standing.
A string of the biggest pearls they could find, a glittering family heirloom, or even tiny diamonds sewn into their gowns.
Maggie's gown was waiting for her at the Huntington Hall. It was the dress she picked together with her father. Unfortunately, right now she had no way of retrieving it.
"I... My father..." Maggie's words came out in broken fragments. She did not know how to even begin to describe the emotions flooding her heart at the moment.
In the whirlwind of grief and responsibility that followed the Earl's passing, a peculiar numbness had settled over Maggie.
Lost in a sea of studying and managing her massive inheritance, the enormity of her loss hadn't fully struck.
But now, as the reality of the Debutante Ball loomed in the near future, a gaping hole opened in her heart.
There would be no reassuring hand to guide hers across the ballroom floor, no familiar voice to introduce her to London's most elite society. The weight of discerning a suitable marriage prospect, a decision that would chart the course of her life, now rested solely on her shoulders. Her father would not be there to voice his disapproval or approval.
It was all up to Maggie.
The ache of his absence intensified with every imagined milestone crossing Maggie's mind – the hopeful glint in his eyes upon meeting her future husband, the pride on his face as he walked her down the aisle, the joy he might have known from grandchildren.
The stark truth echoed in her mind over and over again – her father was gone.
The Marquess subtly lowered his gaze when Maggie broke into a series of heartwrenching sobs. He retrieved a handkerchief and offered it to her, not knowing the proper words to say to console the young lady.
"I am sure that the Earl would have given anything to be by your side right now," he muttered. "If there is anything I can do to help, please do not hesitate to inform me."
Maggie sobbed into the handkerchief. The season would start within three weeks from now. She had no time to waste.
"It's alright," she said with a soft, trembling voice. "I can manage just fine. I just need to pick up another gown as soon as possible, and..."
Maggie rubbed at her aching temple. She could not stay at Locksworth Manor forever. She had to move out eventually. Her father had thankfully allocated some funds under her name, but she was not sure how many months she had before it eventually ran out.
As if reading her mind, the Marquess proceeded to inform her that, "My father, the Lord Chancellor, shall be back around the time the season starts. Once the season ends, it will be the perfect time to submit your claim to the Earldom of Huntington."
Maggie swallowed hard and squeezed harder at her dress. Everything depended on her performance during the season! She had no other option but to shine!
"Until then, please feel free to stay in this manor," the Marquess said. "We shall depart for London in two weeks."