A Christmas Scandal (12 page)

When the group returned, all smiling faces, cheeks rosy from the brisk air and sunshine, Edward bid them all good day and headed to the duke’s library. Or rather, escaped to the library to brood and be alone.

For the next several days, he threw himself into his work, pausing only to say good-bye to his aunt and her brood when they returned to his estate. Apparently his aunt had found an exciting prospect for a governess, a young woman who’d been the oldest of a large family and who was used to the chaos of children. In one week Advent would begin, and the children, excited that meant Christmas was growing closer, wanted to be home.

Maggie, who had been using the library to write her letters, stopped appearing. Edward didn’t see her, didn’t want to see her. He was doing the gentlemanly thing and bowing out. He’d lost, and it appeared Sir William was going to win. He’d be better off without someone like Maggie in his life anyway. Just look what she did to him, turned him into a blathering idiot, a besotted fool, the very kind of man he used to ridicule. It was likely only lust anyway. He hadn’t sought out his regular female companionship in months, so it was clear to him he just needed a good bedroom romp.

On the third day of his self-imposed exile, he stood in the center of the library and looked about. Every crate had been emptied, every book briefly examined. The room was beginning to look more like a library than a warehouse. Now would come the meticulous cataloging, comparing old lists of books from the former dukes, determining whether he should pursue those books, their worth. It seemed like an endless task, he thought rather happily. Thanks to his meticulous uncle, his estates ran exceedingly smoothly, so he didn’t feel at all guilty for ignoring his own holdings. Well, perhaps a small twinge. For some reason, it was taking far longer to organize his friend’s library than he’d thought, considering the amount of time he’d been devoting to the task.

It was warm in the room, the duke’s new central heating kicking on with a vengeance. It was either fiercely hot or downright chilly in any given room of the mansion, but he didn’t say a word. The duke and duchess seemed inordinately pleased with the heat and would beam smiles at each other every time they heard the pipes clanging loudly indicating the furnace was on. Their obvious happiness with every aspect of their lives was becoming annoying.

Loosening his collar and tossing his cravat aside, he was heading toward the nearest window when he heard a female laugh and stopped dead. The sound came again and Edward realized it was his sister, not Maggie. Then his sister let out a squeal so loud his heart nearly jumped from his chest. He turned about, rushing from the room to see what horrible thing had just occurred, when the sound came again.

He found her clutching a piece of paper, her face alight with joy, jumping about as if unable to contain the happiness that little piece of paper had wrought.

“Good God, Amelia, I thought you were being murdered.”

“I shall die of pure happiness,” she said dramatically, waving the paper, which he now saw was an invitation, about in the air.

“I take it that is a well-coveted invitation,” he said, quickly losing interest.

“Only to the Lady Rotherham’s Christmas Ball!” Another earsplitting screech followed.

“Do we know Lady Rotherham?” Edward asked, craning his neck to see the invitation.

Amelia looked at her brother as if he were crazy. “Of course we don’t. We’ve never met. We never go anywhere, so how on earth would we know Lady Rotherham?”

Edward gave his sister a strained smile. “Then I fail to see why you are so excited.”

Suddenly her demeanor changed. “I’m not. Not really. It’s just that I’ve never been to a Christmas ball and I daresay it sounds wonderful. I do love the Christmas season. It seems as if we haven’t truly celebrated Christmas in years and years.”

Edward felt a sharp twinge of guilt. Since his parents’ deaths he’d avoided such family festivities, thinking that Amelia felt the same as he. Now he realized his sister had missed out on nearly every Christmas tradition he’d grown up with. He hadn’t even put up a tree for her.

“The ball is in London,” Amelia said, a tiny bit of distress in her voice, as if he would reject the invitation because of that. Was he such an ogre? “There will be all sorts of interesting people there. It’s not that important,” she said, so seriously that Edward knew immediately that she would kill to attend the ball. “But I suppose I would like to go. I could wear my new gown.”

Edward held out his hand, clearly expecting her to place the invitation into it. He had every intention of escorting her to the ball, but it wouldn’t hurt to make her squirm a bit. She stared at his extended hand, pretending not to know what he was requesting.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see the invitation.”

Amelia made a small face, then dutifully handed it over, crossing her arms impatiently. It was a simple invitation, requesting the honor of their presence. He handed it back slowly, a gesture full of suspicion.

“What?”

“You tell me.” His sister put on a familiar mulish expression. “Tell me or I will not accept.”

“Oh, you are truly the most horrid brother a girl could have,” Amelia said, but it was clear she did not mean it. “I heard through Miss Sterling that Carson Kitteridge is going to be an honored guest. That’s all.” She gave a shrug as if it didn’t warrant any further conversation.

“Carson Kitteridge?”

“The American cowboy.”

Edward gave his sister a blank stare as his mind recalled the conversation at a recent dinner party in which his sister was gushing about some poster she’d seen. “And that’s what has you screeching to high heaven? You are very lucky you didn’t break any of the duchess’s fine crystal.”

Amelia scowled at him. “He’s far more exciting than anyone around here. At least he’s
lived.”

“Carson Kitteridge, hmmm? It sounds like a made-up name. A stage name. His name is probably Elmer.”

“Or worse, Edward.”

It was Edward’s turn to give his sister a face. No one watching the pair would have thought Edward was an earl and Amelia a lady.

“Well. Can we go? Miss Pierce will most certainly want to attend. Do you think you could get an invitation for her? Or perhaps I should ask the duchess. Or perhaps Sir William received an invitation and plans to ask her.” She smiled at him and he smiled right on back.

“Perhaps. And yes, you can go.” She jumped into his arms, letting out yet another happy squeal. “I’ll see what I can do about Miss Pierce. I’m certain once Lady Rotherham realizes she is a guest of the duchess an invitation will be forthcoming. When is it, anyway?”

“December seventh.” She calculated quickly in her head. “Two weeks!”

“I cannot wait,” he said dryly. Edward turned to go, but his sister stopped him. He was surprised to find her expression sincerely somber.

“I think Sir William is going to propose. So does Miss Pierce.” She studied his carefully passive face. “I thought you might want to know.”

“I am happy for them both,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral, a Herculean task given what his gut had just done.

“Are you?”

Edward let out a beleaguered sigh. “I really cannot say why you would think I even care.”

“All right, Edward.” Amelia brightened immediately. “I’m going to hunt down the duchess and talk to her about the ball with Miss Pierce. Too bad she’s stuck in bed, she’ll miss all the fun this season. It shall be the event of the winter. Everyone says so.”

With that, she ran away, happily clutching her invitation.

Maggie thought her face just might crack for all the smiling—sincere and false—that she’d had plastered on her face all week. When she was with her mother, it was a sort of hysterical smile, one that begged her mother to please, please return to the mother she’d known most of her life, the sweet, distracted, gentle woman. When she was with Sir William, the smile was sincere. She truly enjoyed his company. She did. Just as long as he didn’t look at her in that certain way that fairly made her skin crawl. It was very distracting to realize that the man she’d targeted to be her husband, the one who seemed to want to be her husband, was the one she least wanted to kiss.

And when she smiled in front of Lord Hollings, on those rare, wonderful, horrible times she saw him, her smile was utterly false. She’d tried avoiding him, which wasn’t all that difficult since he spent most of his time in the library, but when she saw him it was as if something sucked the wind from her lungs, made her heart stop for just an instant. Made her wish he’d look at her with something more than the indifference she saw in his eyes. She was not paying attention to Sir William to make Lord Hollings jealous, but it would have been a bit gratifying if he were. She’d thought that first day when he’d forced himself upon their carriage ride that’s what he’d been doing. But he’d been quiet, almost sullen on that ride, and since then nearly completely absent from all the house’s activities. Sir William had become rather a fixture in the grand mansion, coming to dinner, inviting her for strolls, sitting with the family in the evening to listen to Amelia and her play the piano. She realized Lord Hollings had never heard her play.

Just now was the most genuine of smiles as she looked at her dearest friend, bed-bound, surrounded by more pillows and blankets than an entire family should need. Her husband was rather frantic that his wife be as comfortable as possible, especially since the young Dr. Walton had suggested that, given her size and since it was her first pregnancy, the duchess might be—
might be,
he’d stressed—carrying twins. Elizabeth had said the doctor had been half joking about it only because her belly was so large, but the duke had taken it as near fact.

That was the day the duke tried to assert his absolute authority over his wife and demand that she remain abed until the baby or babies were born. It rather deflated the duke’s bluster, and served only to increase his concern, when Elizabeth readily agreed.

And so it was upon Elizabeth that Maggie shone her most wonderful smile.

“Twins. You always had to be better than anyone else,” Maggie said in mock anger.

“One is frightening enough. I cannot imagine two. I’ve never even held a baby, can you believe it? Rand is impossible. I wish Dr. Walton had never mentioned such a possibility. Before he was nervous. Now he is an absolute wreck. He has vowed to never touch me again.”

Maggie sat down on the huge bed next to her friend. With the doctor ordering bed rest, Elizabeth was put in a separate room from her husband. It was a pretty room and Elizabeth’s bed was set so that she could gaze out the window and look out to the garden below. Dr. Walton felt that as she could go into labor at any moment, she should be put into the birthing room, the general idea being that the birth and the mess associated with it should not be part of the marriage bed. The doctor’s words were still bouncing off the walls when the duke called the servants to ready the special room. If the doctor had told him Elizabeth should eat toad tongues three times a day until the birth, no doubt he’d be force-feeding her toad tongues.

“So,” Elizabeth said, her hands resting on her large abdomen. “What is all this I hear about Sir William?”

Maggie knew her friend was curious, but she wished she hadn’t brought the subject up quite so quickly. She’d hoped to enjoy her visit a bit longer before addressing her most pressing problem. “I have no idea what you’ve been hearing,” Maggie said evasively. “Do you feel as if you’ve got two babies in there?”

“No, I don’t. I’ve heard that Sir William is showing interest. Perhaps more than interest.”

“I’m curious who would be gossiping about me. Most unbecoming. Perhaps you’re carrying three. I have heard of such a thing.”

Elizabeth continued their strangely disjointed conversation. “I have one large baby. And my husband has been relegated to telling me all the goings-on of the household since I am stuck here. It is my understanding that Sir William is besotted.”

“With whom?”

“Maggie!”

“Don’t ‘Maggie’ me.”

“What are you thinking? I know you do not love him.”

Anger surged, unexpectedly. “You don’t know anything of the sort.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Do you?”

Maggie looked down, feeling her cheeks flush. “No. I don’t.” Then she gave her friend a fierce look. “Did you love the duke when you met him?”

“You know I didn’t. But the situation was entirely different,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “My mother forced me to marry him. You can choose who you want. I’m not saying that Sir William isn’t a fine man, but…”

“But?”

“He
is
very old, Maggie.”

Maggie let out a sigh. “I know.” She fiddled with the blanket, wondering how much she should tell her friend. “My situation is actually far more dire than yours was. I have to marry to save my family. My mother. Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so worried about my mother. I fear she is coming unhinged. Everything that has happened has affected her far more than I would have imagined. The only thing that seems to calm her is the idea that I will marry.”

“I had no idea,” Elizabeth said.

“She is obsessed with the idea. And because Sir William has shown such interest, she has sunk her teeth into him—”

“Like a rabid dog.”

“—and I fear she won’t let go until he proposes. Which I believe he will.”

“And you’ll say yes?”

Maggie looked helplessly at her friend. “I don’t know what else to do. He’s not an
awful
man. Quite the contrary. I actually quite like him. It’s just that…”

“He doesn’t make your head spin.”

“My head?”

“When he kisses you. He doesn’t make your head spin.”

Only one man’s kiss has ever done that.
“He hasn’t kissed me yet. Goodness, Elizabeth.”

“Rand kissed me, rather soundly as I recall, at the Astor’s Summer Ball,” Elizabeth confessed. “He was angry because I’d been meeting with Henry beneath the beech tree and I do believe that kiss was meant to punish me. I’ve never told him this, but I quite enjoyed it. He made my head spin. So I slapped him.”