A Christmas Scandal (13 page)

Maggie let out gasp. “You didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said on a sigh, then giggled. “I wanted to, though. I’ve never in my life come so close to doing physical harm to another person.”

“Sir William has been the consummate gentleman. If it wasn’t for the way he looks at me, I’d think he simply enjoyed my company.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “How does he look at you?”

“You know, like a man looks when he
wants
to kiss you. And don’t look like that. He’s really quite handsome.”

“For an old man.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile; she wanted Elizabeth to think she was at least a little angry. “He’s not so old and you know it. Fifty-one is not old.”

“True enough,” Elizabeth said without conviction. “Do you want him to kiss you?”

“No,” Maggie groaned. “But I do like him. Maybe when he does it won’t be so bad.”

“Maybe,” Elizabeth said doubtfully. Then she gave her friend the biggest of smiles. “We’ll be neighbors! Oh, Maggie, if you marry Sir William we can be like sisters again. Our children will grow up together, we’ll grow old and sit in rocking chairs with our horrid shawls wrapped around us. Two American crones ruling English society.” She let out a rather cronelike cackle.

Maggie couldn’t help but get caught up in the idea that if she did marry Sir William she could be near her friend forever. Everyone would be happy, her mother, her friend. Everyone but her. There were worse things than marrying someone you didn’t love. Far worse.

“If he asks, I’m going to say yes,” she said, almost feeling something like happiness envelope her.

Elizabeth suddenly looked worried. “I would never ask you to do something you didn’t want to do simply because I miss you so.”

Maggie grabbed her hand. “I know that. It will be the best thing for everyone if he does propose. But I’m not going to get my hopes up too high. You know what happened the last time,” she joked.

But Elizabeth did not smile. “Does he know about your father, about your situation?”

“No, but I am going to tell him.” She just wasn’t certain exactly what or how much she was going to tell him, for she was a girl who had a lot to hide.

Maggie tugged on her gown, worrying over the tight fit of the bodice. The poor seamstress could only let out so much material, it seemed, to Elizabeth’s old gowns. While Elizabeth and Maggie were the same height, Maggie had far more curves than Elizabeth, whose mother had fairly starved the poor girl to achieve her tiny waist. Maggie let her corset do most of the work, something that was decidedly uncomfortable but absolutely worth the pain.

Everything about this evening was decidedly uncomfortable. She and her mother were staying in Lord Hollings’s London town house at the insistence of Amelia. For practical reasons, she knew it made sense to accept the invitation; they could not have afforded a hotel in London. But the place was his. He’d sat in nearly every chair in the sitting room. His hands had touched the gleaming mahogany banister, he had been in this very room, no doubt looked into the very mirror she was looking into.

Maggie let out a sigh. Lord Hollings would be at the ball tonight and no doubt he’d ask her to dance, but she would be escorted by Sir William. In the past week, Sir William had become inordinately contemplative. She would find him staring at her and she knew he was thinking about what sort of wife she would make. No doubt, he’d get “that look” in his eyes when he saw her in this formfitting gown.

Still, she thought, gazing into the full-length mirror, the gown was pretty and she wouldn’t change it. It was a deep burgundy, cut lower than she was used to, and revealing far more of her than she was entirely comfortable with. It was a wonderfully rich color in keeping with the holiday season. She bit her lip in indecision, whirling when she heard a gasp behind her.

“You look stunning,” Amelia gushed.

“It’s one of Elizabeth’s old gowns,” Maggie admitted. “I hardly fit into it.”

“It makes you look so…so…”

“Womanly?” Maggie suggested with a slightly sick look. “I’m not used to this.” She fluttered her hands to her exposed cleavage. “I don’t remember Elizabeth wearing this, but I certainly don’t recall her revealing quite so much flesh.”

“You do have more flesh,” Amelia said, trying to suppress a smile. “I wish I had more flesh. Look at me. I look like I’m twelve.”

Maggie laughed. Amelia did not look anything like a twelve-year-old. The gown was a deep navy and her hair, like her brother’s, was a sun-kissed blond. Tonight it was upswept, lending Amelia, who usually did look quite young, an air of sophistication. “You look beautiful. You and your brother have nearly exactly the same color hair and eyes.”

“The girls are always going on and on about my brother’s eyes, ‘Oooo, they’re so bluuue. Oooo, he’s so handsome.’ Honestly, he hates it all.”

Maggie laughed. “How awful to be cursed so.”

“He does hate this. I’d take pity on him if I was a grander person. As it is, I refuse to stay home simply because I know he loathes balls.”

“I’ve never noticed that. Honestly, he never seemed uncomfortable at any of the balls we all attended in Newport. He seemed quite relaxed as a matter of fact.”

Amelia looked shocked. “But surely all the American mamas were ready to sink their talons into him. No offense.”

“None taken,” Maggie said, laughing. “Actually, we came up with the perfect solution. He pretended to court me and I pretended to be interested in him so the mamas stayed away from him and a certain group of brothers stayed away from me.”

Amelia looked positively stunned. “That,” she said, “explains a great deal.”

“Do you think I should wear my hair down like this? Or all up?” Maggie said, quickly changing the subject.

At the moment, Maggie’s voluminous dark curls were pulled back, leaving a trail of spirals down her back. It was a lovely affect and even she knew it, but she didn’t want to talk about Lord Hollings or Newport any longer.

“It looks pretty as it is,” Amelia said, squinting at her. “But I think you need a simple tiara. Nothing too gaudy, don’t worry. I have just the thing from my come-out ball.” As she rushed from the room she said, “That was nearly a year ago, so you can see why I am so excited about this night.”

Maggie knew why Amelia was so excited and it had little to do with her lack of social outings. It had everything to do with a silly poster from what looked to be a rather seedy-looking Wild West show. It seemed the English were far more fascinated with the American cowboy than were Americans. They arrived at Hanover Square yesterday morning and Maggie accompanied Amelia on a last-minute shopping expedition. Quite suspiciously they’d ended up near the entrance of the show. Maggie hadn’t even noticed it until she heard Amelia say, “Oh, my.”

Maggie looked up and saw a large poster depicting an impossibly handsome and rugged cowboy. His teeth were straight and white, his hair rather long and wavy, and he sported the fullest mustache Maggie had ever seen. He certainly was a sight. Oh my, indeed. Amelia sighed just gazing up at this example of American male.

“Isn’t he the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”

The artist had even put a twinkle in his gray-blue eyes, a twinkle that no doubt had all the English ladies swooning at the sight of him and begging their husbands, fathers, and brothers to take them to the Real Wild West Show. The brightly colored poster announced the Real Wild West Show would be departing the isle “Forever” in January.

“He is handsome,” Maggie said as she scrutinized the large poster. “He actually looks a bit like your brother. Put that hair and a mustache on Lord Hollings and he’d be the image of Kit Carson.”

“Carson Kitteridge.”

Maggie had laughed. “I know. I’m kidding. Kit Carson is a real American frontiersman.”

“Mr. Kitteridge is real.” Maggie didn’t have the heart to set Amelia straight.

“Here it is,” Amelia said, interrupting Maggie’s thoughts. She was holding a lovely, delicate-looking tiara, and Maggie smiled. “It’s just the thing, isn’t it? Sit down and I’ll put it in.” After a few moments of scalp-scraping and hair tugging, Amelia proclaimed her finished. She stood behind her as they both gazed into the mirror. Maggie had to admit she’d never looked prettier. She wasn’t used to looking so beautiful, and she credited Elizabeth’s gorgeous gown for her transformation.

“My goodness, Maggie, there isn’t a man in London who isn’t going to fall instantly in love with you.”

“My God, who is she?”

Edward stood with an old friend, Lord Havershaw, his body so tense he ached with it. “She’s an American girl staying with Bellingham for a few months. Miss Pierce.” Nothing in his voice betrayed the gamut of emotions he felt watching her, watching men want her.

“Weren’t you staying with Bellingham? What do you know of her?”

Edward tried not to let his irritation show, but it was a difficult task. Lord Havershaw wasn’t the only man gazing at Maggie with avarice. Hardly a man in the place could take his eyes off her, and if he did it was to look at his own sister. He didn’t know which was more grating. Both women seemed completely oblivious of the sensation they were making, but as a pair they were, Edward had to admit, delectable. Amelia, with her blond hair piled atop her head, looked entirely too old for Edward’s liking. He wondered where the scraggly little girl that he’d known all his life had disappeared to. The sooner he had her married off to some nice sort, the better because he was quite certain he would not be able to keep his fists unclenched if one more ne’er-do-well ogled his little sister. And next to her stood Maggie, those dark curls frothing around her head, her striking eyes seeming to take in everything at once. Except, of course, for the fact that every man from sixteen to eighty was drooling for her.

“I know only that she is an American. She’s pleasant enough, I suppose.”

“Not interested, Holly?”

“She’s practically engaged,” Edward said, cursing the pain in his gut that erupted at those words.

“But nothing formal?”

Edward forced himself to say no, she wasn’t officially off the marriage mart.

“That never stopped you before,” Havershaw said, laughing.

“Miss Pierce is not the sort of woman to trifle with. She’s marriage-minded and I am not.” Edward had no idea why he was lying to this man. He was within moments of stalking across the ballroom floor and dragging her from this room and hiding her away forever so that no other man could look at her, never mind touch her. Of dragging her to the nearest church and demanding an instant marriage. All this taking the high road and bowing out to the better man was not going at all as he’d planned. He was ready to scrap the entire plan and begin courting her in earnest himself. And he would have if he’d gotten even the slightest indication from Maggie that she would be receptive to the idea.

“Well, I wasn’t suggesting you bed the girl. I was simply wondering why you didn’t pursue her for yourself.” Havershaw sounded defensive, which meant Edward must have sounded testy, which meant he was allowing too much of what he felt to show.

“As I said, I have no interest in getting married.”

Havershaw laughed and slapped Edward on the back. “I have to tell you that up until that girl walked in, I didn’t have marriage on my mind, either.” It sounded so much like what Sir William had said, so much like what he himself felt, Edward nearly winced. “Would you mind making introductions?”

Edward minded very much, but he said nothing. He had a feeling Havershaw would not be the last man that evening to express interest in an introduction. “She’s not an heiress, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Actually, I hadn’t even given the matter any thought,” he said, as if amazed by his indifference. “Though you know I would adore an heiress. Things are a bit tight. But I’d live poor if I could wake up to her every morning.”

Edward smiled tightly and resisted the nearly overwhelming desire to punch the man in the face. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll introduce you.”

Maggie was completely oblivious to the stir she was creating. In fact, if someone had said something, she would have told them they were insane, that it was Amelia the men were staring at. She was aware only of one man and that was, to her great disgust, Lord Hollings. He was standing with another gentleman across the dance floor apparently talking about something interesting. What it was, she couldn’t imagine. Perhaps books.

Maggie had been to any number of American balls, but this one seemed to hold an extra bit of excitement, a thrum of anticipation. Perhaps it was simply the Christmas trappings that lent the evening such an air of expectancy. The ballroom was decorated throughout with boughs of greenery. In one corner stood the largest, most elaborately decorated Christmas tree Maggie had ever seen. It towered over the guests and was festooned with lighted candles, little presents wrapped in golden paper and bright red ribbon, and sprigs of holly. It was all beautiful and Christmassy, but no decorations could keep her mind off Lord Hollings. Maggie pretended to be admiring the decorations when in fact she was snatching glimpses of Lord Hollings. She’d look around and let her eyes rest, torturously, on him for just a few seductive seconds, before forcing herself to look away.

And when he looked up at her and scowled she pretended it didn’t matter. “Your brother looks displeased,” she said to Amelia, who’d been spending every ounce of energy looking around the room for her cowboy.

“My brother always looks displeased,” she said absently.

“And he’s coming this way with another gentleman. Do you know him?”

Amelia squinted her eyes at the man making his way around the ballroom with her brother. “I believe it’s Lord Havershaw. Single. Boring. Poor.”

Oh, dear, boring
and
poor. Lord Havershaw had been dismissed before he’d even arrived.

“He was at my coming-out ball. I suppose he’s nice enough.” Amelia shrugged and continued her search around the room, her frustration growing. Clearly any man not wearing spurs and a cowboy hat was far too boring for Lady Amelia.

“Is your dance card full?” Maggie whispered.

“No, but he’s not coming here for me. He’s coming here for you,” Amelia said. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening.”

“Miss Pierce.”

God, even his voice could make her insides swirl. Maggie turned to find herself looking into his eyes, those blue eyes that so many girls apparently swooned over. “Yes, Lord Hollings?”

“May I introduce to you Lord Havershaw? Lord Havershaw, Miss Pierce.”

Maggie gave a small curtsy then extended her hand, which Lord Havershaw took and held briefly. He was a good-looking enough fellow, rather nondescript, the kind of man you’d meet in the evening and need to be reintroduced to the next day. He had brown hair, parted in the middle, brown eyes, and a mustache, trimmed thin over his upper lip. That mustache was the only distinguishing thing about him. Maggie decided she like clean-shaven men, even if it wasn’t the style of the day.

“How are you enjoying London so far, Miss Pierce?” he said, in a strange rushing way, as if he’d run a mile to ask her that question. Maggie darted a look to Lord Hollings and saw him looking at his friend with slight bemusement.

“I haven’t seen enough of London to really form an opinion, but what I’ve seen so far is very lovely. I’ve been staying at Bellewood and I’ve only been in London this one day, you see.”

“You’ll need someone to take you sightseeing, then,” he said, pouncing on the opening like a hungry cat.

“I’m afraid I’m bringing Miss Pierce and my sister back to Bellewood tomorrow,” Lord Hollings said.

Both women turned to Lord Hollings in surprise. It was the first time they’d heard such a thing. Maggie would have been perfectly happy to go back to Bellewood, but Amelia actually stomped her foot in dismay.

“Tomorrow! Why, we’ve only just arrived in London. Surely we can stay longer than that,” Amelia pleaded. “I wanted to see the Wild West Show. I promised Miss Pierce we’d go.”

She’d done no such thing, but Maggie didn’t say a word because she knew how much Amelia wanted to see the silly show.

“Sorry to cause such an uproar,” Lord Havershaw said with a nervous smile. “No need, no need. I’ll just content myself with a dance. Miss Pierce. If you would do me the honor?”