Chapter 3 : Maggie's Worst Birthday

The Earl of Huntington was put to ground on the day of his only daughter's eighteenth birthday. The young lady evoked endless pity from all the mourners, who were not quite sure what to say to offer her their condolences.

Not to mention that Lady Marguerite Blanchard's esteemed mother had passed on quite early, leaving only the father and daughter to tend to the earldom's vast estates and plantations.

Thankfully, so the mourners noted in their hearts, Lady Marguerite Blanchard was not entirely on her own. There was Mr. Nicholas Cunningham, her distant cousin, and Mr. Lloyd Cunningham, Mr. Nicholas' father, who were with her the entire time to coax her out of her grief. They were so attentive to the poor young lady that they took the initiative to move into Huntington Hall the day before the funeral took place.

Maggie could hardly believe what transpired within these past few days.

Her father was no more.

And the last thing she screamed at her father when she was being hauled off into the carriage heading for the Cavendish Academy was, "I hate you, Father!"

She still remembered what her father looked like that day. He stood taller than the ironwork, yet seemed to shrink under an invisible weight. The man whose love had always been a warm sunbeam in her life now wore an expression etched with an indescribable sadness. It was a look Maggie had never glimpsed on his face before, a flicker that foreshadowed a coming storm.

As fate would have it, that farewell would be their last. Her father, the source of her unwavering security, would soon lie cold and still, his eyes forever closed, the warmth of his life extinguished.

"Sob…"

"Sob, sob…"

Maggie buried her face into her pillow and cried her eyes out for maybe the twentieth time ever since the earth reclaimed her father.

She did not care for anything anymore.

All she wanted to do today, tomorrow, and the next several foreseeable days, was cry for his father and beg for his forgiveness.

Nothing else mattered.

For her.

Knock, knock, knock.

Maggie ignored the rapping on her bedroom door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Alas, the one who stood before the door lacked the necessary sensibility to let her wallow in her grief and sorrow.

"Go away," the young lady snapped none-too-friendly while wiping tears off her face.

"Maggie, it's me," came Nicholas' soft voice from outside the door. "May I come in?"

Maggie lifted her head from the pillow and dragged her dispirited body to the nearest mirror.

Her once vibrant auburn mane, normally a cascade of life, hung limp and dull, reduced to the disarray of a forgotten rag. The usually bright blue sapphires of her eyes were dimmed, reflecting a lackluster spirit. No way, she blinked at her reflection in disbelief. She looked absolutely ghastly. Even a malnourished ghost looked prettier than her.

"No, Nicholas," Maggie choked out. "Please go. I do not wish to see anyone today."

"But Maggie, this is important. An official from the Crown Office has come with Letters Patent to appoint you to the Earldom."

The Crown Office.

Maggie's breath hitched in her throat.

Her father had barely touched the ground and he already lost his nobility title. And to an ungrateful daughter who did not deserve such a father at all.

More tears rolled down Maggie's cheeks.

"Maggie…?"

Nicholas knocked again.

"Maggie, I am here for you, you know that. I wish I could leave you alone to mourn, but…"

"I know," Maggie snapped. "I will come out to meet with the Crown Office's official."

Her maids strove to banish every wrinkle of sorrow from Maggie's face, but grief clung to her like a shroud, evident in her every gesture. In the end, her maids threw their hands in the air in exasperation and allowed Maggie to leave her bed chamber.

The official from the Crown Office was as old as the dear departed Earl. He even wore the same kind of waistcoat and hat the late Earl used to wear. Not that noblemen had an extensive wardrobe full of fashionable attires to choose from. Still, the sight did little to lift the leaden weight of despair settling in the young lady's stomach.

Seeing Maggie on the brink of another breakdown, the official hastily proclaimed the reason for his visit.

"Lady Marguerite Delaney Antoine Blanchard, this servant is here today to bring you the Letters Patent, in which your appointment as the next Countess of Huntington has been duly recorded. Please keep this document for your records, and this servant is deeply sorry for your loss. Earl of Huntington was a remarkable man, a great leader, a visionary…"

Next to him, Nicholas cleared his throat, a subtle gesture to make the official stop blabbering before Maggie succumbed to another tearful outburst.

"Right. Well then, Countess of Huntington," the official did not forget to address Maggie with her new title. "This servant will take his leave now. Ahem… Good day, Countess, Mr. Cunningham," he nodded at Lloyd, "and Mr. Cunningham," he spoke again in reference to Nicholas.

After the official took his leave, Maggie read through the Letters Patent again. Nicholas and Lloyd exchanged meaningful looks with each other.

"Maggie, dear, please do not think of the Countess title as a burden," Lloyd spoke with a fatherly smile. "It was bestowed to you by His Majesty the King personally. It is within your birthright."

Maggie did not answer. She did not know what to say. She was grateful for the appointment, of course, but her gratitude did not eclipse her loss. She would rather have her father back in her life.

The Letters Patent was but a poor replacement.

"Maggie, why don't you put that document aside? Let's take a walk in the garden. All the flowers are blooming so beautifully. I am sure that you will feel better once you take a walk," Nicholas coaxed as he held out a hand in Maggie's direction.

Maggie took a deep breath and sniffled softly to herself.

"Yes," she agreed. "Let's take a short walk through the garden."

Maggie's mother, Lady Daisy Eugenia Blanchard, hailed from the Beaufort family who resided in the southern area. The area where she was born and raised was known for its juicy strawberries and apples. Lord Beaufort, the lady's esteemed father, turned the empty land surrounding his estate into a vast orchard, and planted all kinds of fruits and flowers in there.

Despite its undeniable lavishness and luxury, Huntington Hall couldn't quite charm the new lady of the house. The grand estate, to her refined sensibilities, reeked of a bygone era and emitted a pervasive scent of decay. Weeks of her not-so-subtle complaints culminated in the Earl throwing his hands up in exasperation.

The Earl was known to ask for ten gardeners to come grace his estate and transform his "dour and unappetizing" garden into an enchanting one for his wife.

Maggie recalled spending her childhood playing with the mud and soil in the garden. Countess Blanchard liked to do her own gardening herself. She even taught her daughter how to plant various plants and flowers.

Maggie liked to boast to visitors that it was their combined efforts that turned the garden into what it was back then.

But when Countess Blanchard passed away thirteen years ago on the birthing bed, taking the poor babe with her into the afterlife, Maggie was left to take care of the garden alone.

She moved into the Cavendish Academy's dormitory from the time she was eight years old, thus the maintenance of the garden was left to the gardeners, who did not quite share the Countess' taste.

The strawberries and apples were gone, replaced by plants Maggie did not know and did not care about.

"Maggie, did you hear what I just said?" Nicholas gently asked.

"No," Maggie picked at a thorny rose absent-mindedly.

Nicholas plastered a polite smile across his face and repeated his words.

"I was wondering if you would feel better after relinquishing the control over the lands to me."